Wedded in Winter (The Wicked Winters Book 2) Page 7

  Just once, he promised himself. One kiss to her throat. He lowered his head, finding the silken skin of her neck, and pressed his lips there.

  “Mmm.”

  The sound of satisfaction emerging from her vibrated against his mouth. And he liked the way it felt, liked the softness of her creamy flesh at his mercy, liked the husky note of pleasure in her voice.

  What would be the harm, a voice inside himself asked, in one more kiss? In five minutes of indulging himself before she would be forever beyond his reach? And why did the notion of Beatrix Winter being beyond his reach beset him with such a surge of frustration and denial?

  Why did he want her so much?

  He kissed her neck again, lower this time, allowing his tongue to flick over her skin and taste her. She was smooth and sweet, with just a hint of salt. And then he wondered what she tasted like elsewhere, her nipples, between her thighs…

  His need for her blossomed, becoming endless, bigger than he was, threatening to swallow him whole. From the moment he had realized she had bloomed into a woman, with lush breasts and lips that begged to be kissed, he had wanted her. He had known, of course, he could never, ever have her.

  Surely that explained his reluctance to stop delivering kisses to her throat. His disinclination to release her breast. To put the necessary space between his engorged shaft and the soft mounds of her buttocks.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, hating himself.

  He was half-crazed with wanting her. Indulging himself one last time had turned into something else, something far more dangerous, because he did not want to let her go.

  “You are awake,” she said suddenly, not a trace of slumber evident in her mellifluous voice.

  She had been awake the entire time. He waited for the shame to fall upon him, but this time was different. Perhaps it was the intimacy of the early morning hours, or the novelty of waking to her in his bed, her body aligned with his, as if she were truly his to touch and to claim. Whatever it was, he could not seem to stop himself.

  He kissed her throat again, then kissed a path to her jaw, then to her ear, even though he knew he should not. Everything about Beatrix Winter was altogether wrong. She was not of his world, well beyond his reach. And yet, he was somehow tempted in spite of himself. In spite of all logic and reason.

  “I have been aiding an accoucheur,” she said then, the admission leaving her in a rush. “I…I want to be a midwife.”

  Her revelation was as sudden as it was unexpected, and it left him stunned. He kissed the whorl of her ear, measuring his response. Not only had she willingly told him a secret she had been fervently guarding, but she had also revealed something else to him.

  Their dialogue of the night before returned to him, along with his final words to her. If you cannot trust me with your secret, then you have no business trusting me with the rest of you, he had said. Which meant…

  Which perhaps meant she was trusting him not only with the truth, but also with herself. Fully awake. Completely aware.

  Her body.

  Was she offering him her body?

  Good, sweet God.

  He could not accept, if she was. Did not dare. Instead, he settled upon her admission, what it meant. The hand resting idly above her head could no longer resist the lure of her luscious hair. He stroked her burnished curls gently, thinking upon what she had said. “You, Beatrix Winter, one of the wealthiest women in England, wishes to be a midwife?”

  It was not just astonishing. It was unbelievable. Thanks to their disreputable father, each of the six Winter siblings possessed a massive fortune in their own rights. Though Dev now ran all Winter business interests and managed his sister’s funds, there was no reason for Bea to ever dirty her hands in such a fashion. Merrick himself had seen the figures—vast sums, the sort which would make even Prinny blush.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “I do not care about my father’s fortune. I never have. All I have ever wanted is to follow my heart and live my life as I wish.”

  An admirable desire, to be sure, but mayhap one which also spoke to the overindulgence afforded her as a Winter. “It is easy not to care about a fortune when it is in one’s possession,” he said carefully.

  “You sound like Dev,” she said quietly. “My brother will hear nothing of it, naturally. I am to marry into noble blood as he did.”

  The thought of her marrying someone—some nameless, faceless lord—sent a pang of fury lashing through him. He continued stroking her hair, studying her profile. Soon, this moment would pass. They would rise and continue on their journey. But for now, the supple curves of her body still melted into his.

  “You are young,” he observed. “You will change your mind.”

  “I am old enough to know what I want, Merrick,” she countered. “And now that I have told you my secret, you must tell me yours in return. What was it that you wanted but could not have?”

  Hell. He ought to have known she would ask.

  He shifted, withdrawing from her at last, needing to sever the contact lest he did something momentously foolish. “It matters not, for I cannot have it. That is where we are different, you see. I have accepted the path given me in life. I do not chase after what can never be.”

  But he could not keep the bitterness from his voice as he spoke. He rose to a sitting position, knowing he must get out of the bed. Dawn had come. The carriage and horses would soon be readied. They had a long journey yet looming ahead of them, and the day was once more unseasonably cold.

  Before he could make good his escape, she turned to face him, catching his arm with a staying hand. “What if we do not have to accept the paths we are given in life, Merrick? What if we dare to go after what we want?”

  He could not keep his gaze from roaming hungrily over her face, committing it to memory. Her bright-blue eyes like a summer sky, her elegant cheekbones, the stubborn chin and wide pink lips he longed to taste once more…she was perfection. The counterpane had fallen to her waist, and beneath her virginal white nightdress, her breasts were full, the stiff peaks calling for his mouth.

  “You,” he admitted at last. One word. A confession that was torn from him.

  One he never should have made.

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, lips parted. For once, the hoyden had been rendered speechless.

  His lips twisted in a harsh smile. “But that is the difference between us. You have been born to great wealth and privilege, and I was born to great disappointment. I understand the hopelessness of going after what I want. I know I can never have it.”

  Merrick shrugged away from her touch. In the next moment, he was going to leave the bed, and she could not bear to let him go. He wanted her, and the knowledge lit a fire which refused to dim.

  “Wait,” she called out, desperate to stop him. “Do not go, Merrick. What if…what if I want you too?”

  He stilled, his back to her. The silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the wind battering the inn and the sounds of their fellow travelers slowly coming to life around them. Part of her was afraid he would reject her. The other part of her was afraid of what would happen if he did not.

  He raked a hand through his golden mane of hair, leaving the too-long, wavy locks disheveled as a breath hissed from him. “You do not know what you are saying, Bea. You are young and reckless, and you cannot—”

  “Stop,” she interrupted him, rising on her knees and crawling toward him, closing the distance separating them. On impulse, she threw her arms around him from behind, bringing her breasts into contact with the fine lawn of his shirt and the hewn planes of his back. “Stop saying I am young as if I am a child who cannot think for herself. I am a woman grown, and I know that regardless of what is to happen, you are what I want here and now.”

  He shook his head. “You are not thinking about the consequences.”

  How wrong he was, for she could think of nothing but them. She knew how unlikely it was that Dev would permit her to work as a midwife, and it was why she
had resorted to sneaking out of Dudley House without his knowledge. The fortune she stood to gain from her father was in her brother’s control thanks to the stipulations from their father’s will. He had not trusted his daughters to make decisions, and he had left Dev ultimately in charge of their respective inheritances. Her life was not her own, but that did not mean she was going to give up fighting for what she wanted.

  “I am thinking about the consequences,” she told him fervently. “If I must marry someone of my brother’s choosing rather than pursue my dreams, at least I will have known I did my utmost. Surrendering is not the answer.”

  He turned back to her, and the smolder in his gaze stole her breath. For once, he was bereft of the rigid control he so oft exhibited. He looked like a man at war with himself. “I cannot dishonor you, Bea. No matter how much I want you, and regardless of what you think you feel for me.”

  There he went again, implying she was too young to know what she wanted. She grew weary of his condescension. There was one sure way to win this battle.

  “I know what I feel,” she told him, and then she leaned forward, ending the space between them once and for all, and pressed her lips to his.

  Chapter Eight

  Merrick was lost.

  One moment, he had been about to do the honorable thing.

  The next, Bea was beneath him in the bed they had just chastely spent the night in. Her nightgown was rucked up to her waist, his hand had connected with the paradise of lush, bare thigh, and his rigid cock was aligned perfectly with her center. She had kissed him first, but he was kissing her now as if his life depended upon it. As if she were his life source. His mouth moved over hers, open and voracious, his tongue plundering.

  And with each kiss, she became more responsive, more eager. Her body writhed beneath his, her arms twined around his neck, and Lord God, there it was again, that lusty, breathy sound she made that left him intoxicated.

  There were reasons why he should not be atop her in this bed, but he forgot every last one of them in favor of claiming her as he had longed to do ever since she had matured into womanhood. Though he had derided her as a girl, there was nothing girlish about the lithe curves beneath him. There was nothing girlish about her full breasts, her hard nipples, her tongue in his mouth, in the way her legs parted in natural invitation.

  Just as there was nothing gentlemanly in his reaction. He was wild with lust. She had unleashed the worst within him, and he could only withstand so much temptation before his inner beast snapped. Until he lost control.

  He kissed down her throat, his hand leaving her thigh to pluck the buttons on her high-necked gown from their moorings one by one. His lips followed each glimpse of skin he exposed. Her breasts sprang free, the sweet pink tips already hard and begging for his mouth. He flicked his tongue over one of the turgid peaks, teasing her until she cried out.

  She was so responsive.

  So hungry in the way she touched him—her hands over his shoulders, finding the knot of his cravat he had loosened to sleep, undoing it and casting it away, seeking the buttons of his shirt…

  Now that he had begun, he could not get enough. He sucked, drawing hard, then used his teeth to gently nip her flesh. First one breast, then the other, until her nipples were distended and darkened to a rosy hue, glistening and pointing erotically upward. But still he wanted more.

  He wanted to taste her everywhere.

  Down he went, settling himself more firmly between her thighs as he grasped the hem of her nightgown and slid it higher. He caressed her hip, dipped his head to press a kiss there. Then another. Then a whole chain of them, for he could not seem to stop. Her skin was so soft, so supple and smooth.

  “Merrick.” Her fingers were in his hair, sifting, nails raking his scalp as she moved against him, pleading, seeking. “What are you doing?”

  For a beat, he recalled she was an innocent. If he had a shred of decency left, he would flip her nightgown back down and tear himself from the bed.

  But he was not strong enough to turn his back on the only woman who had ever stirred him to such an extreme need. Not when he was betwixt her thighs, about to unveil her cunny.

  “Do you trust me, Bea?” he asked, his fingers stroking over her knee, dipping into the sensitive hollow beneath it.

  He kissed his way down, not wanting to rush her, not wanting to frighten her.

  “Yes, of course I do,” she said, breathless, stirring. “But what are you about?”

  “Hush,” he whispered against her skin. “If we are going to do this, we are going to do it my way. Either you trust me, or you do not. If you trust me, no more questions. You must only feel, let yourself go. Place yourself fully at my command.” He kissed her again, this time the inside of her knee. “How would you have it, Bea? Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, the painful pleasure sending a shocking arrow of need straight to his cock. “Do not stop. Please. Continue.”

  Her words almost undid him. With great effort, he controlled himself, tamped down the raging beast. He would proceed slowly, with caution, with every concern for her before himself. Always, only, her. What a dream it was to have her like this, stripped of every boundary that had been keeping them apart.

  Nothing left but the two distinctions which mattered most: their mutual desire and their inability to contain it a moment longer. He dragged the hem of her nightgown higher, to her waist, and took a moment to drink in the sight of her, nightgown parted to reveal her breasts, her body his for the taking, her cunny glistening, the same pink as her sweet nipples.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Bea,” he rasped, and it was the truth, ripped from a place deep within him.

  She was so glorious, he could not wait another moment. He spread her thighs, his palms absorbing the smooth strength of her muscles, the delicate shudder that rocked through her. How he wanted to prolong the moment, to heighten the anticipation and the desire for the both of them. But if he waited much longer, he would explode.

  What he was about to do was wrong, and it would jeopardize everything he had worked to gain over the last decade. But none of that mattered now. All that did matter was Bea. Beatrix Winter. Forbidden. Delicious. She was brave and reckless and stubborn and foolish and wanton and wild, and she was everything he had never imagined could be his.

  Even if it was only for the next minute, the next hour. He would take whatever he could get. He was greedy when it came to her. He could never have enough.

  Without hesitating another second, he lowered his head. The scent of her—the perfume of her desire, musky and sweet—washed over him as he licked up her seam. And then the taste of her was on his tongue. She jerked against him, crying out, her hands tightening in his hair. She was sweet and salty, life and lust and love, a divine elixir.

  More. He needed more.

  Starved for her, he licked deeper, his tongue parting her folds, until he found the prize he sought. His lips closed over the bud of her sex, and just as he had her hungry nipples, he sucked. Sucked long and hard, then played his tongue over her, alternating between firm thrusts and fast, light flicks. He used his teeth, gently applying them to the sensitive underside of the bundle of nerves he tortured.

  He wanted her to come on his tongue. To lose herself. He wanted to taste her release, to lick her until she was shaking and spending and utterly at his mercy. And then he wanted to do it all over again.

  But he would not take her maidenhead. This, he promised himself. He would go far enough, but maintain her innocence. Give her pleasure but make certain there would be no further consequences to what they shared here, in this chamber. No one ever need discover the truth…

  The solid sound of a fist connecting with the door interrupted both his thoughts and his ardor. Beneath him, Bea stiffened. The rapping began anew, along with a familiar—and clearly irate—voice.

  “Hart! Open this door before I break it down.”

  All the heat th
undering through him vanished. He rose, flipping Bea’s nightgown down to cover her. His gaze met hers. “I fear your brother has arrived.”

  “What the devil is the meaning of this?”

  Bea winced at the barely leashed violence in her brother’s tone. After all but battering down the door and ordering Merrick from her chamber, he had scarcely given her enough time to dress and complete some cursory morning ablutions before he had demanded an audience with her.

  She stared at him, wondering where to begin, wondering what Merrick had told him, if anything. Would he keep her secret?

  “Beatrix, I demand an answer,” Dev growled when she failed to respond. “At once.”

  “Merrick was kind enough to escort me to Abingdon Hall after I was left behind in London,” she tried, doing her best not to wilt beneath the force of her brother’s glare.

  Dev’s eyes narrowed. “That does not explain why Mr. Hart shared a chamber with you last night.”

  Oh dear. She had called Merrick by his Christian name, and her brother had taken note. “This was the only room, and given the nature of the establishment, he deemed it best to stay near. He slept on the floor.”

  She had never before lied to her brother. She had misled him. Had slipped in and out of Dudley House without his permission, but she had never lied to him outright. Her cheeks felt hot now as she thought of how Merrick had warmed her through the cold night, how she had awoke to him enshrouding her with his strength, of how wonderful being in such proximity to him had been.

  Of the pleasure he had shown her.

  Her cheeks burned even more at the last thought, and she hoped Dev could not tell from her expression just how guilty she truly was.

  “Beatrix,” he all but bellowed, his expression thunderous as a storm cloud, “do you think me stupid?”