What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 15

  One long light lick dragged a moan from her lips.

  Good. At least she’d not jumped off the bed in disgust. Indeed, when he increased the pressure and speed, her breathless pants confirmed he was doing something right. The side-to-side motion proved to be a favourite though she was taking longer to reach her peak than he’d expected.

  There was no rush, he told himself, although he was about ready to burst. The best lovers were the selfless ones. And he would rather an honest reaction than one feigned purely to serve his ego.

  “Oh, God.” The two promising words left her lips as she bucked against his tongue. She was close. “Please, Matthew, I need you. I need you now.”

  Patience was a virtue neither of them possessed.

  “Please, I beg you.”

  In his dreams, she begged to be fucked. Only this was nothing like he imagined. There was nothing base, nothing crude or vulgar about his need to bury himself inside her. It meant so much more than that. The pleasurable sensation as he surrendered to the will of their bodies and thrust into her core hit him somewhere deep in his chest.

  She was so warm, so wet, so utterly divine.

  He filled her full, withdrew slowly — repeated the exquisite motion again and again. The moist sound fuelled his desire.

  An overwhelming sense of euphoria enveloped him, growing in intensity as the muscles in her core hugged him tighter with each delicious slide. The foreign feeling disturbed his rhythm, to the point he scarcely knew what was happening.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped, gripping him with cushioned thighs. She dug her fingers into his buttocks and forced him to move faster. Harder. Deeper.

  Understanding her demand, he angled his hips to stimulate her better. Thank the lord his efforts had the desired effect. A few rapid movements left her panting and writhing beneath him, clawing at his back, begging for more.

  Bloody hell!

  He’d be lucky to last another minute. They continued to rock in exquisite harmony until she cried out.

  “Matthew!” His name had never sounded so good. “Oh, God.”

  The need to join her in ecstasy drove him harder. The final stroke dragged a guttural groan from his throat. Before logical thought invaded the heavenly moment, his seed burst from him, pumping into his wife’s willing body. Still, he continued to move inside her.

  There was no going back now.

  When he was done and spent, the realisation of what this meant forced him to roll onto his back and sigh.

  Lord, never in his life had he felt so satisfied, so fulfilled. Such a level of peace banished his fears of fathering a child, of their future, Still, struggling to catch her breath, Priscilla lay at his side. Without thought, he placed a hand on her stomach. For some reason unbeknown, the image of her swollen with his child was not as terrifying as he imagined.

  “Well, that was certainly worth the wait.” Priscilla curled up against him, buried her face against his throat, draped her leg over his.

  Matthew chuckled. Trust his wife to offer an honest appraisal. “While I have to agree, don’t think we’re to wait another week before trying it again. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready to continue.”

  “Ten minutes?” she purred. “Why so long?”

  “Who would have thought an innocent would have the appetite of a seasoned seducer.”

  She looked up at him. “It has nothing to do with the act and everything to do with being close to you.” She came up to rest on her elbow, her other hand tracing a line over the hair on his chest. “I agreed to be honest with you—”

  “Is this where you tell me I need to work on my technique?” Matthew snorted. “That you expected the moment to last a damn sight longer.” As did he.

  “No. It’s where I tell you that I, too, am looking for the unique quality that speaks to my soul. And I think I’ve found it.”

  Intrigued as to what she found exceptional about his character, he probed further. “Is it loyalty? For I would never betray you, Priscilla.”

  “I know.” The corners of her mouth curled up into a sweet smile. “It is many things, yet equally it is one perfect thing.”

  “Then it is trust and honesty, faith in general?”

  “It is all of those and more.” She pursed her lips, shrugged one shoulder and said, “It is love, Matthew. I have fallen in love with you.”

  He shouldn’t have been shocked, but hearing the words aloud made them all the more real.

  Panic flared.

  He needed more time.

  Showing not the slightest disappointment at his silent response, she placed a hand on his cheek. “Don’t be afraid. It can’t be helped. But it shouldn’t change anything between us. I don’t expect a declaration in return.”

  Still startled, it took a moment to speak. “Priscilla, I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding emotion.” And for good reason. “I don’t want to be the one to break your heart.”

  “You won’t.” Despite sounding confident, her hand slipped from his cheek. “Why would you when you’ve sworn to keep your promise? You’ll always be loyal, honest and true. I ask no more of you than that.”

  A hundred questions flittered through his mind.

  How was she able to give so freely? Why did she not feel the need to guard her delicate sensibilities? How was it she could love him when he’d given nothing in return?

  One thing was certain. This lady deserved so much more than he could give.

  Feeling a sudden desire to offer a small gesture in return, he said, “Come. I want to show you something.” He climbed out of bed and dragged on his breeches, aware of her gaze scanning his naked body.

  “Where are we going?”

  “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip. “Will you come back here afterwards or are you to return to your own room?”

  It took but a second to decide. “I think I might find something to entertain me in here.”

  “Then I am more than happy to oblige.” She sat up but flopped back down. “Oh, I feel exhausted.”

  “And yet I did most of the work.” The playful banter distracted his mind.

  “Work? Was it such a chore?”

  “You know damn well it wasn’t.” Being intimate with her required little effort. “Now get dressed. It’s cold in the attic, so you’ll need a wrapper as well as your nightgown.”

  “The attic?” Curious, she sat up again and gave him her full attention. “Why do we need to go up there? Mrs Jacobs said there’s nothing but old chests and broken furniture, that you keep the door locked.”

  “That’s because I don’t want anyone snooping around in there.”

  “If you’re implying that I might—”

  “I’m not talking about you. I don’t want drunken lords rummaging through my belongings while trying to find a secluded place to do their business.”

  The thought of their house packed with a horde of brandy-swigging degenerates filled him with loathing. A few weeks ago he’d been happy to play host, had even boasted to Tristan of his ability to organise the best parties.

  Now, it didn’t matter how many times he bathed. Their dirt clung to his skin, seeped into his pores.

  “Shall I bring a candle?” Priscilla’s soft voice disturbed his reverie.

  Matthew glanced up, noted she was already tying the belt on her wrapper and inwardly groaned for missing the pleasure of watching her dress.

  “I’ll carry the candle.” The one in the lamp on the night stand nearest still had another hour or two before burning out. He took the lamp, opened the door and held out his hand to her. “It will be dark and dusty up there. We may even find a mouse or two.”

  They wouldn’t find anything untoward. Mrs Jacobs inspected the room daily. But he liked the way Priscilla's small hand gripped his when nervous. Being master and protector gave him purpose. A job far more worthwhile than playing entertainer.

  After entering his bedchamber to get the key, they worked their
way up the stairs, mounting the narrow flight leading up to the fourth floor.

  “Have you not thought to let the maids have their rooms up here?” she said. “It would be far warmer than the basement.”

  “When one hosts events for men with no morals, it is best that the servants remain together. Should there ever be a problem, a burly footman is never far away. Besides, where would I keep my work?”

  “Your work?”

  “My paintings.” Matthew used the iron key to unlock the door at the top of the stairs. “It’s dry up here, and the lack of light is an advantage.” A studio would be preferable, somewhere to display his art. To exhibit at the Royal Academy would be better, but he was a practical man, not a dreamer.

  “I didn’t realise you kept your paintings in the attic.” She entered the room, her narrow gaze flitting left and right in the darkness. “It’s hard to see anything.”

  “Hold the lamp for a moment.”

  No sooner had she took the lamp than he ripped the sheets from the easels dotted about the room. Excitement, mixed with apprehension, made his heart beat faster.

  Priscilla stepped closer and raised the lamp to study one landscape. Matthew watched her facial expressions intently. Surprise was the first emotion he noticed. The upward curl of her lips suggested she found the scene pleasant.

  “I … I don’t know what to say.” Hesitant fingers reached out stopping but an inch from the canvas. Wide eyes scanned the mountain range, the lake, the lush green trees in the foreground. “If heaven were on earth, it is how I imagine it would look. Is that a tower?” She pointed to the stone structure without doors or windows.

  “It is,” he said curtly for he had no desire to speak of the symbolic meaning behind his work. “Well?” His confidence faltered. Other than Priscilla, his work was the only thing he cared about. “Would you be happy to hang them on the wall in the drawing room?”

  “Happy? I’d be ecstatic.”

  “Does that mean you approve?” If she thought he lacked skill, she would say so.

  “Your talent leaves me speechless.” She moved to the moonlit scene of a solitary man walking through a dark forest. “The figure looks so insignificant amidst the vast landscape, so alone, so sad.” The sidelong glance she cast his way reflected the melancholic mood of his art. “Creative work often reflects a person’s inner thoughts. Is that true in this case?”

  A lump formed in Matthew’s throat. “To an extent.” The pictures were a gateway to his soul. He gestured to the lake painting. “Sometimes it is easy to lock oneself away in a tower and pretend that nothing beautiful exists beyond.”

  “Many people hide from their emotions. The darkness is their sanctuary.” She nodded to the other canvas. “And what of the man in the forest?”

  “Perhaps he is searching for a way out of the dark.”

  Now was not the time to discuss the past. To his mind, there was never a right time. Dragging the sheets off the floor, he draped them over the paintings, aware of her intense gaze boring into his back. But she said nothing.

  When he’d finished the task, she came to stand at his side and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Do you paint anything other than landscapes?”

  The question was a means to distract him; he knew that. Was she so attuned to his moods that she knew what he was thinking?

  “I paint the things that rouse passion in my chest.”

  “Would you paint me?”

  Sinful thoughts returned upon hearing the lascivious edge to her tone. “While you would be a subject I long to see staring back at me, any likeness of you would be for my own personal pleasure.”

  She sniggered. “You mean I would be stretched out naked on a bed of red silk, dangling a bunch of grapes over my mouth.”

  “Something like that.” She knew him so well.

  “Don’t you need to get a picture in your mind’s eye before you begin?”

  From the way she touched her fingers to her collarbone, he could interpret her train of thought.

  “A clear picture would be helpful. Perhaps you might spare some time to act as model and muse.”

  A soft hum left her lips. “I have time now.” She reached for his hand and pulled him towards the door. “And I do so want to help you with your work.”

  Chapter 18

  A rapturous melody filled the air. On the dance floor, joy graced the faces of the couples as they twirled about the candlelit ballroom. Gentlemen huddled in groups, partook in rowdy banter, cheered and raised their glasses in salute. Feminine giggles and shrieks indicated the amorous activities were well underway.

  As always, the mood was one of fun and frivolity.

  Matthew stood near the doors to the terrace, jaw clenched, and watched Lord Boden descend the steps into the crowded room. With a raised chin and disdainful pout, the man possessed Satan’s arrogant air. Mr Parker-Brown scurried behind like an obedient disciple, inclining his head to those people Boden refused to acknowledge.

  Since the fateful night at Lord Holbrook’s card game, Mr Justin Travant was nowhere to be seen. Rumour was he’d taken a trip abroad. Either the man was overcome with remorse for his deceitful ways and sought to escape with his reputation intact, or Boden feared Travant’s loose tongue and had forced him out of the country.

  The rustling of silk behind him was accompanied by a soft, feminine sigh. Matthew swallowed a groan as he glanced over his shoulder.

  “All alone and no one to play with?” Lucinda Pearce cast a sultry smile as she came to stand in front of him. One did not need to glance down to know that the bodice of her emerald-green gown barely covered her nipples.

  “All alone and bored with your game.” He hoped his blunt manner conveyed his indifference. But Lucinda was a woman used to cutting remarks, and so she moistened her lips as a sign she welcomed the challenge.

  “Then perhaps it’s time to change the rules. Perhaps you’ll find I’m a partner willing to adapt.” Miss Pearce breathed deeply and arched her back to better present her fleshy wares. “Or is your new toy still providing a modicum of entertainment.”

  There was little point chastising her for her derogatory comment. She was immune to whip-like lashes of the tongue.

  “New toys often become firm favourites, to where one couldn’t bear to play with anything else. In that regard, they’re irreplaceable, utterly unique, loved beyond measure.”

  Had he said loved? He’d meant to say cherished.

  Lucinda’s confident gaze faltered, but she quickly recovered. “There’s no need to pretend. I hear the croak in your voice when you speak of love. A man with your voracious appetite couldn’t possibly settle with one woman.”

  A few weeks ago he might have agreed. But things were different now. Priscilla had penetrated his protective shield. If he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, he could feel her essence burning bright inside. It never left him.

  “You assume I still hunger for meaningless conquests.” Lord, how had he found pleasure in such vacuous pursuits? “Perhaps I have found something more substantial to sate my craving. Perhaps such depth of fulfilment means I shall never feel famished again.”

  Lucinda snorted. “I don’t believe a word of it.” The tip of her tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she placed her palm flat on his chest. “Why trot on a pony when you can gallop bareback on a stallion? We all know you like to ride hard.”

  Matthew stepped back. “If you knew me at all, you would not have used that analogy. I hate horses and only use them when the need arises. And so I shall turn your question on its head. Why would a man want to ride a filthy, sweaty beast when he can ride in a clean, exquisitely made carriage?”

  Miss Pearce found the decency to gasp.

  “Now,” Matthew continued, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of trading quips and avoiding direct answers. So, let me give it to you plainly. I am not interested in a liaison. The only woman I will ever bed is my wife.”

  “You can’t be serious. What, you’
d not even be open to oral favours?”

  Damn. Did the woman not understand the word no!

  “Despite the reckless antics of many reprobates, I’ve yet to revoke a guest’s membership. Yours could well be the first. Find another gentleman to please. Your efforts are wasted on me. Are we clear?”

  Lucinda sucked in her cheeks. “Crystal.”

  Despite her nod of agreement, there was a look of determination about her countenance that suggested otherwise. Indeed, her exaggerated pout was that of a woman who always got her own way.

  Equally intent on ruining his evening, Lord Boden sidled up beside them. “Ah, Chandler. I hate to spoil your little tête-à-tête, but I was wondering where I might find your wife.” A sly smirk was followed by a flash of disdain as he glanced briefly at Miss Pearce. “I can see you’re occupied, and as we have an hour until the card game begins, I thought Mrs Chandler might like to dance.”

  Like a flame to a barn full of straw, anger sparked to life in Matthew’s chest. “My wife dances with no one but me.” He didn’t care if the whole world thought him controlling and possessive.

  Boden sneered. “Thankfully, the lady appears to have a mind of her own. When she discovers you cavorting with one of your guests, perhaps she might seek a distraction. As a man who appreciates the finer things in life, I would happily oblige.”

  A growl rumbled in the back of Matthew’s throat. One more word from the smug bastard and fists would be flying. “Lay a finger on my wife, and I’ll call you out. If I were you, I’d have a care. I’m at my most nimble at dawn.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Miss Pearce added.

  “You might have a different view once I’ve taken your wager and left you penniless.” Boden tugged at his fancy cuffs and brushed a hand through his mop of dark hair. “And when I call in your vowels, what will you do then? Desperate men often have no choice but to sell the things most precious to them.”

  What the blazes was Boden suggesting? “You mean there is something I possess that you wish to buy?”