Miss Foster’s Folly (28 page)

“Oh, God,” he gritted. “You remembered that.”

“I plan to use it to get what I want,” she answered. “For the rest of my life.”

“I submit,” he answered. “But I hope what you want right now is to be royally frigged.”

She sighed. “More than anything.”

“Then, I’d better make you ready.”

His fingers parted her pussy lips and stroked them. She lay there and let him rub back and forth, each time collecting moisture from her sheath. She’d already grown so ready that she coated his fingers with her wet heat.

He found her pearl again, and each time he touched it, she slipped farther and farther from reality. All that mattered in her world was his heat beside her, the sound of his breathing, and the passage of his fingers. Back to her pussy, then forward to her pearl. A lingering touch on that scrap of flesh—just enough to stoke the fire in her belly. And then, the whole process began again.

“David, make love to me.”

“In a moment. It’s been too long since I’ve petted your pretty puss.”

She still held his cock. But, with her mind overwhelmed by the pressure against her pearl, she couldn’t concentrate on doing anything more than pumping her fist along his shaft. It seemed to work though, because his breathing went faster and he groaned louder as she worked him.

As he became more aroused, his fingers pressed harder and faster against her clitoris. Liquid fire pooled inside her. Soon, it would burst free to claim her in orgasm.

“David, I’m ready. Take me now.”

“Thank God. I thought you’d never ask.”

She spread her legs, making a place for him between them.

“No, my darling,” he said. “You on top.”

“To protect the baby?” she asked.

“And so I can watch you riding me.”

She got to her knees and then straddled him. With one hand, she parted the lips of her sex, while with the other, she took a firm grasp of his shaft. He helped her onto him, circling her waist with his hands as he lowered her slowly. She sucked in a breath as she took more and more of him, finally settling herself against his pelvis. No matter how long they’d spend their lives together, no matter how many times they made love, the miracle of how their bodies fit together would never grow old. Nature had made them to complete each other, and now that she’d finally accepted the truth of their love, she could put past hurts behind her and find true happiness.

He began to move, slowly thrusting up into her while guiding her with his big hands. The male animal with his mate—bigger, stronger, fiercer—cherishing and protecting his female and their young.

Their child. His child. Her child. As her lover continued pushing into her as if he couldn’t get deep enough, she let go of the last fear of truly giving herself. This man wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t find her too tall and ungainly, wouldn’t think her unfeminine, wouldn’t want another woman. He loved her alone. The knowledge made her heart sing even as her body rose toward the pinnacle.

She watched his face, savoring the play of emotions there. Reverence, love, and the light of passion in his eyes.

“I’m yours, Juliet,” he whispered.

“And I’m yours.”

“Love me,” he gasped. “Love me.”

“Always.”

He closed his eyes as a wave of hunger strong enough to resemble pain passed over his feature. “Ah, God.”

“Now, David. Now.”

He moved his hand to her sex and stroked her pearl with the pad of his thumb. Darts of pleasure shot through her, traveling along each nerve to every part of her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her vision reddened at the edges, but she kept staring at the man who’d been her lover and would soon be her husband. His muscles bunched as he strained for their mutual pleasure. Each thrust harder and deeper. He rubbed her nubbin faster, and finally, she had to surrender. Her head tipped back, and she closed her eyes.

They were alone and together now, their bodies joined in the most carnal way possible while their spirits twined together. Separate identities merged into one. Each would reach a separate climax, but each would feel the other’s, too. She’d feel the moment he released his seed inside her. He’d feel the tightening of her womb the moment she did.

He’d reached the very end of his endurance, and yet, the friction of his thumb never lessened. She caught his fever as her lust rose to claim her. And yet, he drove her past even that boundary. Breath escaped her, and her voice failed her. She could only continue taking him into her body while the two of them reached the edge and flew past.

A powerful current caught her up and squeezed her. Her pussy exploded in orgasm, gripping him and then bursting into eruptions around his cock. His climax followed hers, merging the two into something greater. This instant in time contained their beginning and their end and the eternity between. No matter how long they lived, this moment would exist forever.

After it ended and she could breathe again, she lowered herself onto his chest, basking in their shared joy and listening to the thumping of his heart beneath her ear. They rocked together in a sea of completion, her sex still clutching his in the aftermath of their passion.

“I don’t believe it,” he murmured as his hands stroked her back. “How is it possible to feel more each time?”

“It must be your doing. I’m just a virgin, remember?”

“You were better as a virgin than the most practiced courtesan.”

“And you’ve had some of them, I gather.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Does it bother you that I’ve been with other women?”

“Not as long as they don’t stare at me in hat shops.”

“Hat shops.” He chuckled. “You’ll have to explain that to me someday.”

She sighed and stretched. “Someday.”

She lay in his embrace, warm and secure in his love now that she’d finally accepted the reality of it. No matter how many times he’d declared himself, she’d always doubted him because she’d doubted herself. She’d protected herself from hurt—or, so she’d thought—but, in the process, she’d hurt him. Not fair. Not fair at all, but she’d been too wrapped up in what she needed and wanted to see that.

She stroked his chest. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

He rubbed her back, his palms like velvet against her skin. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, if I understand the curse correctly.”

“It’s not really a curse, is it?”

“Not for our generation of Winslows, but I imagine our children will see it differently.”

She lifted her head and gazed into his face. “We’ll be a burden to them?”

“Not a burden, exactly,” he answered. “More of an annoyance.”

“You could be right. I’ve always annoyed my brother and sister and the people they married,” she said.

He chuckled. “And took pride in doing it, I imagine.”

“You’ve met them. Wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

His arms went around her, hugging her to his chest. “So, you’re resigned to your fate—living with me and driving our children to distraction?”

“Someone has to do it, I guess.”

“Then back to England we go,” he said. “And we’ll never be separated again.”

“Never.”

***

Juliet refused to wear a corset under her wedding gown, and Lady Derrington stood behind her in that choice, despite the subtly raised eyebrows of the fashionable dressmaker from London. The woman may have noticed the slight thickening of her waist and the lump of her belly. They’d paid her enough to remain silent, though, and she could keep her judgments to herself.

Who knew or cared whether the guests would notice, either? The same went for any mention of the pristine white of the fabric. Huge numbers of noble first births came “early,” so no one had any business questioning this one. Queen Victoria, herself, could attend and disapprove, and it wouldn’t sour Juliet’s mood. Today, she’d married the sweetest and the sexiest man on Earth, and once they’d seen the guests off and settled in for the night, she’d prove yet again how much she adored him.

The weather blessed their union with sun and warm breezes, so they held the reception in the garden among the nudes. Lord and Lady Mitford loved the statues, of course, as did Lord Blandings. His wife seemed less enthusiastic, but she managed to keep the siblings from New York occupied in faint disapproval, so she served a very useful purpose, indeed.

Instead of tossing the bouquet, Juliet handed it off to Millie quietly. Millie
would
be the next bride, so there was no point in having a competition. Millie gave her a quick hug and smiled, fingering the petal of a white orchid.

“You look even more beautiful than I’d expected,” Millie said.

“Happiness will do that for a woman,” Juliet answered. “You’ll be even more lovely.”

“As long as Mr. Wently thinks so, I’ll be satisfied.”

Juliet glanced at the man who’d just performed the wedding. His gaze had hardly strayed from her maid of honor during the entire ceremony, and now, he stared at Millie with so much love in his eyes, Juliet would have been jealous if her husband didn’t look at her exactly the same way.

“At least, you won’t have to rush your wedding,” Juliet said.

Millie didn’t answer, but her cheeks colored.

“Will you?” Juliet prompted.

“I think not,” Millie answered softly. “Most likely.”

“But, you’re not sure,” Juliet said.

In answer, Millie simply shook her head.

“Why, you little scamp,” Juliet said. “You and the vicar have done the deed.”

Millie’s color deepened. “We couldn’t resist.”

“Was it good?”

“Ah, Juliet, you have no idea.” For a moment, her friend looked as if she’d swoon. Then, she recovered and straightened. “But then, you do, don’t you?”

“I’m so happy for you.” Juliet put her arm around Millie’s shoulders. “When will the wedding be?”

“As soon as we can arrange things and Richard’s family can all get here.”

“You’ll wear my dress.”

“I couldn’t,” Millie said. “All that expensive fabric Lady Derrington brought, the lace…”

“What a waste to use it only once,” Juliet replied. “We’ll get that silly dressmaker from London to take the waist in and change some things to make it your own.”

“You’ll be my matron of honor?”

“Of course. And Derrington will give you away.”

Millie’s eyes misted over. “I can’t believe I’m so happy.”

“I can. Now, go and find your husband-to-be and tell him just how happy he’s made you.”

“I will.” Millie pecked Juliet on the cheek and went in search of her intended.

Juliet wandered to a bench and sat down. So many people had attended that she didn’t know, she hadn’t even tried to memorize the names. Her husband was a marquis, after all, and this wedding—her wedding at the advanced age of thirty-two—had society all a-twitter. At least, it felt that way when she’d looked out over the sea of unfamiliar faces crowded into the family chapel. One face wasn’t there, thank heaven—the blonde woman from the hat shop. In fact, everyone seemed delighted with the proceedings, so if any of her husband’s former lovers had had news of the marriage, most likely they had all stayed away.

Now, all the strangers milled around in their finery, sipping champagne in anticipation of the feast that would follow. One figure she knew and loved separated himself from the crowd and approached. Jack, her safe haven in any storm.

He sat beside her. “Well, I guess I won’t have to pound the man to a pulp, after all.”

What a picture. Dear, gentle Jack in a fistfight with the Marquis of Derrington. She had to laugh. “I don’t think you’d do very well against him.”

“Maybe not, but I’d try,” he answered. “If I ever find out he’s made you unhappy, I’ll return with reinforcements if I have to.”

“Return? Where are you going?”

“Lady Derrington’s taking me to Italy with her,” he answered. “It turns out we have a friend in common, a certain comte.”

“Really?”

“Ah, Pietro. A darling soul. I haven’t seen him for years. Since Milan. He can’t have forgotten Milan.”

She put her hand over Jack’s. “If you were there, I’m sure he remembered.”

“The three of us will wander like gypsies, following our noses wherever they point.”

“I almost wish I could go with you.”

“Oh, no. You need to stay here. Play house with the marquis.” He patted her tummy. “Take good care of my godchild.”

She pushed his hand away. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

“But we make our own rules, don’t we, love?”

She linked her arm in his and rested against him. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Harry and I will be back for the birth.”

“You call her Harry now?”

“You wouldn’t call a gypsy Lady Derrington, would you?”

“Whatever was I thinking?”

A small commotion started up with the arrival in the garden of some new guests. It soon grew to a healthy hubbub, all of it in Italian. A dozen or more people spilled onto the lawn, all of them dressed in the latest fashions. In the middle of it all stood Juliet’s husband, kissing the cheeks of the ladies and slapping the men on the back. And chattering on in Italian as if he’d been born to the language.

They swarmed toward the bench where she sat like a flock of colorful birds. She’d hardly had a chance to rise before they clustered around her, still talking up a storm.

She’d learned some Italian at Sedgewick and had studied more in anticipation of her trip, but with this group, she could only catch a word here and there. Even those needed some deciphering before she understood them.

“
Che bella figlia
,
” one man said.

“
Brava. Bravissima.
” A woman’s voice this time.

She did her best to answer in her own simple Italian, and she smiled, smiled, smiled. That seemed to please them all. One stout woman clapped her hands together in delight. And an older man grasped her by the shoulders and went up on his toes to plant a kiss on one cheek and then the other. “
Cara mia.
”

He released her and continued on in a long stream of words. Something about his heart and eternity. Still smiling, she glanced at Derrington out of the corner of her eye. “What’s all this about?”