Sweet as the Devil (39 page)

“Maybe I can’t wait,” she shakily replied.

“Try.” He smiled, a brilliant, mischievous smile. “It can be your wedding gift to me.”

Her hands were trembling so violently as she unbuttoned her bodice that he began speaking to her of his vineyard, describing how it had been planted by the Romans, telling her he’d show it to her when he was better, when he could walk again—quietly distracting her, calming her. It was not unexpected that his stratagem worked. He was skilled at comforting women, at charming and beguiling them, and he selfishly wanted this for himself.

Her gown came off, then her chemise, at which point he almost changed his mind about waiting. “Your breasts are bigger,” he murmured, his erection surging at the sight. “So soon?”

She looked up, her fingers on the tie at the waistband of her drawers. “I don’t know. Is it soon?”

“I’d think so, but perhaps not.” He had no experience with enceinte women.

“My breasts are more sensitive, but then my whole body is more susceptible to touch, sensation”—she met his heated gaze and shivered—“everything.”

“Come, let me feel them.” He’d disciplined his voice to a mild equanimity. “We’ll see how sensitive they are.”

She let her drawers slip to the floor, and the sight of her lush and voluptuous and nude was almost too much for his self-control. But his voice was pleasant and undisturbed a second later when he said, “Sit here by me,” and indicated his left side where he had the use of his arm.

He watched her walk around the foot of the bed, contemplating the subtle changes in her body: the new ripeness in her breasts, the slight lengthening of her nipples evident only to a discriminating eye, the deepening rosy hue of her aureoles. He wasn’t a doctor or a midwife, but perhaps she was right.

“Don’t make me wait too long,” she whispered as she climbed up beside him. “You know I can’t—here . . . like this.”

He smiled. “Otherwise you could.”

“Dressed and halfway across the room I might be able to.”

“I won’t make you wait long.” But he didn’t immediately touch her breasts; he lifted a pale coil of her hair lying on her shoulder, rubbed it gently between his fingers, and quietly inhaling, said, “You smell the same. I would have known you in the dark. What’s that scent?”

“Honeysuckle.” Her throat closed at the low timbre of his voice, at the warmth she could feel radiating from his body; the smoldering green of his eyes beneath his long lashes touched her to the quick. “Please, Jamie.” She went still, then shuddered. “I’m more ravenous—with the changes in my body,” she whispered. “Desire’s like an out of control wildfire at times . . .”

“And no one’s helped you put out those fires?” He tried to keep the growl from his voice but didn’t quite succeed.

“Don’t you
dare
,” she said, frowning. “When I turned down countless men because of you. When you didn’t so much as write. When I’ve been miserable since you left.”

His mistrust assuaged by her bluntness, having missed her as much if not more, he gently said, “I most humbly beg your pardon. I deeply regret my comment.”

“A favor perhaps will restore your credit,” she softly said.

He grinned, her abrupt volte-face charmingly predictable. “I need not ask what.”

“I should hope not. But I warn you, once you’re well, I shall expect you to perform your husbandly duties assiduously. I’ve become quite insatiable.”

“Is that new?” he teased.

“It is.”

“Then I consider myself extremely fortunate. Come now, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. And nothing hurts, I guarantee, so don’t be shy.”

Everything hurt of course; he wasn’t at his best. But strong willed and capable of withstanding considerable pain, he didn’t even wince as Sofia straddled his thighs and lowered herself down his erection. Nor did he cry out when she accidently grabbed his injured arm to steady herself.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, ignoring the racking pain, the explicitly carnal sensations convulsing his cock more than adequate compensation. “But go slowly, darling. I wouldn’t want to faint midway.” He didn’t wish to faint at all. But a moment later, he said, “Stop for a second,” and once his dizziness cleared and he could see her again, he smiled. “There. I’m good.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” It was the most charitable statement she’d ever uttered, with his magnificent erection gorging her, with her burning desires trembling on the brink, with nirvana almost within reach.

“Yes, we should.” He drew in a small breath. “Just don’t move too quickly.”

Eminently grateful and obliging, Sofia rode him languorously and gently, with the vigilance and care accorded those walking on thin ice. His eyes half-shut, Jamie delicately fondled the billowing fullness of her breasts—his fingertips passing and repassing over her soft flesh. Over and across, up and down in a lazy, soothing rhythm, as she slowly ascended and as slowly descended, the sleek skin to skin friction overpowering his pain, glorious reality obliterating former dream fantasies, lust advancing by predacious, triumphant degrees.

Despite Sofia’s unfrenzied pace, the physical act itself, the trembling need and exquisite pleasure, was profoundly alien to two novices in the tender passions. A kind of lunatic joy infused their souls, love took on a corporeal form, and they breathed in scented magic. The woman who’d traveled so far on hope and the damaged man restored by her coming discovered that day new degrees of rapture, a glowing celebration of life, and at her first breathy cry he recognized so well, he said, “I’m always with you now . . .”

And glorious ecstasy engulfed their senses.

And the earth moved as it always did for them.

Afterward, Jamie said, panting, “Stay, stay—don’t move. You’re not hurting me.” Everything ached, his limbs belonged to someone else, his strength was ravaged.

“If I’m not pregnant, I might be now,” Sofia said with a happy sigh.

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

His heartbreaking smile brought tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry, I seem extremely vulnerable to tears lately. But thank you. Some men wouldn’t wish to hear such news.”

His eyelids lowered faintly, and he gazed up at her from under his lashes. “No more talk of some men or other men if you please. Ever.”

“Yes, sir,” she demurely said, looking every inch the docile maid.

“Oh, God, don’t make me laugh.”

At his comment, she quickly glanced at his bandaged shoulder. “Heavens, you’re bleeding!” she cried. “I’ll get help!”

“Hush, it’s nothing.” He had every intention of climaxing again; his cock at least still worked.

“I wouldn’t want to make you worse.”

“Not likely that. I feel very much better.” At some expense in terms of pain, he shifted his hips to better feel her slick, encompassing warmth. “How about you?”

She smiled. “I am cocooned in bliss and contentment.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t write.” He paused. “I suppose it was because I’d always dealt with things differently.”

“With women you mean.”

“No, everything.” His business was managing people, and making plans and more plans to keep everyone alive; women had never been part of his plans.

“But I’m different from”—she grinned—“your everythings.” She was at base a confident woman.

“Yes, unmistakably.” His smile was warm with affection. “I would have come for you. I know that now.”

“I’m just more impatient.”

He grinned. “A blessing in more ways than one—your impatience.”

“Speaking of which”—she wiggled her bottom faintly, cautiously—“you seem to be fully revived.”

“I think he’s happy about getting married.”

“But only to me.”

“Of course. That goes without saying.” He glanced at the clock. “I think we might have another hour before Douglas begins to worry.”

“And?”

“I’m afraid he’ll take the door down.”

“Then I’d better do my wifely duty quickly.”

“We’re well matched,” he said, his gaze amused. “We were from the beginning. I don’t know why I didn’t notice.”

She smiled. “You had a few other things on your mind.”

“True. Unlike now when I have but one thing on my mind,” he said, stealing her breath away with his beautiful, lazy smile. “My sweet darling.”

And with no sign of effort, because there were things more important than pain, in the next hour, he dispensed with seeming ease that boundless comfort and joy so familiar to his sweet darling.

T
HEY WERE MARRIED that evening with Oz as best man and a young girl from Jamie’s staff as Sofia’s maid of honor. The brief ceremony took place in Jamie’s drawing room, the bridegroom having been carried down on a litter, a new warmth and color to his skin. Afterward, a celebration took place with Oz, the entire staff, Douglas and company in attendance and the bride and groom beaming at one and all.

Jamie’s recovery continued apace, although he had every incentive to regain his strength with carnal desire a constant in his life. When his convalescence was complete in September, the young couple returned to London where they received a warm reception from family and friends. Heartfelt congratulations were extended not only on their marriage but also for their coming child.

Sofia and Rosalind happily compared the various physical changes of blossoming motherhood while their husbands agreed that pregnancy put increasing and gratifying demands on their libidos. Both marriages were the stuff of dreams—affectionate, loving, passion filled.

After a busy week of socializing, Sofia and Jamie left London and traveled to Blackwood Glen where they planned to spend a month or so before returning to Dalmia when the weather turned cold.

But the night before they were to leave, Sofia woke to find herself alone in bed. She immediately experienced a strange, incipient fear—needless perhaps, but vivid nonetheless. Perhaps it was because Jamie had been subdued of late, thinking about things he wouldn’t talk about, setting up small boundaries again that she couldn’t cross. Worried about his recent moodiness, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe.

She found him downstairs, standing before a window in his study, watching the sun begin to color the horizon. He’d pulled on his trousers but was otherwise unclothed, his tall, broad form silhouetted against the dim light of predawn. Even from the doorway, she could see the tension in his body.

“I missed you,” she said.

Startled, he swung around, and for a second, under his right shoulder, the two white star-shaped scars of his bullet wounds glinted in the half light. “I was coming back up.”

She caught her breath as she often did at the sight of his scars; she knew how close she’d come to losing him. “Have you been here long?” she asked, forcing herself to speak calmly, reminding herself he was alive and safe.

“A while.”

She noticed the half-empty bottle on the sill and wasn’t sure what to say. “Would you like breakfast?”

He smiled. “You’re turning into a dutiful wife.”

“As you are a husband,” she replied, her own smile tantalizing.

His smile widened. “Is that why you came down?” His duties as stud were persistent and unfailingly delightful.

She shook her head. “I was worried. You’ve been more quiet lately.”

“I don’t think I’m going back,” he abruptly said.

“To Dalmia, you mean?”

He nodded. “I’ve been weary of it all for a long time—the oppression and knavery of the government, the evil that men do, the senselessness of it all. Ernst has others who can guard him, Antonella’s troops for one. I thought I’d write to Douglas and the men and tell them to stay if they wish or come here. It’s their choice.”

“I’d love for us to stay here of course, but are you sure?”

“I think I’d like to see my child grow up. I’d like to live with you in peace and”—he shrugged—“there’s no guarantee of that if we go back.” Or any guarantee that he could protect them from the coming violence in the empire. “I’m being selfish.”

“There’s no crime in that. You don’t have to take care of everyone all the time. You’ve served Ernst loyally. And speaking of selfish, no one’s more selfish than Ernst.”

He grinned. “So we’re agreed?” Although, he’d been sure since yesterday when the baby first kicked.

“Aren’t we always?”

“So long as I let you have your way.”

“That’s what I meant. Now, if you have the time, I could use your services in bed.”

“Why else am I here?”

Her smile was playful. “Why else indeed?”

She held out her hand, and he came to her with that easy stride that always reminded her of latent male power and animal grace. Reaching her, he placed his palms lightly on the rising curve of her stomach. “You bring me great joy—you and this gift of a child you give me,” he whispered, his green gaze full of love, and he held his hands on her stomach one moment longer before he raised them and slid his slender, bronzed fingers through the pale froth of her hair. Bending his head, he sought her mouth like a man too long alone seeks comfort and attachment. He kissed her slowly, deeply, with disarming affection and passion, with pleasure and delight and in the end with a mounting faith in the future. Lifting his mouth from hers at last, he whispered, “You’ve carried me out of the darkness and into the light. I thank you.”