Nicole Jordan (30 page)

Antonia’s heart started racing the moment she read his missive. She had never before contrived a seduction, but in this instance, she knew she would have to plan one if she hoped to convince Deverill that an affair was what she wanted.

She sent the inn’s servant back with her reply, telling Deverill that she would meet him at the cove at two rather than waiting for him to call for her. Then she left the castle an hour beforehand in order to set the stage.

When he arrived at precisely two o’clock, she sat at the mouth of the rock cave, wearing a yellow muslin gown instead of her shapeless sailor’s apparel. She had also pinned her auburn hair up in loose curls in an attempt to look more feminine.

Deverill’s green eyes narrowed the moment he saw her, but he was evidently more concerned with her safety than her attire. “You came here alone?” he demanded.

Antonia rose to her feet, offering him a smile she hoped was seductive. “Fletcher accompanied me to the cliff, but I sent him away, since we needed privacy for my lesson.”

Deverill’s eyes narrowed even further when he suddenly noted the way she was dressed and that she had spread a blanket nearby on the sunlit beach. “I thought you wanted to learn how to swim.”

“I do . . . afterward.”

“After what?”

In answer, Antonia reached up to grasp the neckline of her gown. “After another kind of lesson.”

She had already unfastened the hooks of her gown, so it was a simple matter to draw the bodice down and let the garment slide over her hips and sink to the sand.

She stood there in her cambric shift and nothing else.

The summer day was warm with the sun beating down from a cloudless blue sky, but the heat that flared in Deverill’s eyes was far hotter.

“Antonia . . .” he said slowly in warning. “What the devil are you about?”

She took a step closer, deliberately staring up into his bright eyes. “I realized that this could be my last chance to truly know passion. I want you to teach me, Deverill.”

He stared at her for several ragged moments before finally saying, “You must have been touched by too much sun.”

“No.” She was absurdly nervous, however, despite the fact that she had expected exactly this reaction from Deverill. Antonia licked her dry lips and swallowed to calm her racing heartbeat. “I am entirely serious. I want you to make love to me, to teach me about passion, so I will have a memory to cherish in the years ahead.”

His eyes sparked with fire, but his expression remained suspicious. “Is this some sort of revenge, princess? Are you taunting me as punishment for abducting you?”

“No, in truth I should thank you for what you did. You gave me the kind of freedom I have never known before and will likely never know again.” Antonia forced a smile. “Once I return to London, I must start behaving with complete circumspection again. And eventually I will have to set about finding a husband. I will never again enjoy the freedom I have now at this moment, and I want to make the very most of it. Please, Deverill, won’t you teach me?”

When he still didn’t answer, she took another step toward him. “Lessons in pleasure, Deverill. That is all I want.” She searched his face, taking heart from the indecision she saw warring there. “I know from experience that you make an excellent tutor. And there is no other man I can ask . . . unless you know of someone else who would oblige me?”

He frowned sharply, as if in jealousy.

“But I don’t want any other man,” Antonia hurriedly assured him. “I want you, Deverill. And I think you want me.” She glanced down at the thick bulge in his breeches. “In fact, I am certain of it.”

“Blast it, yes, I want you.”

“Then what is stopping you?”

“A little thing called honor, perhaps?” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “My conscience is already flaying me for taking your virginity. Your father would draw and quarter me if he knew—”

“I don’t seem to recall you considering my father’s wishes then,” Antonia pointed out sweetly.

“Because I didn’t. . . .
Hell.
” His expression grew irritable. “I offered to marry you to remedy my mistake.”

“You know why I refused. I don’t wish to marry you, Deverill. I only want to know about passion. No obligations, no ties, just simple pleasure.”

“Dammit, Antonia, I’m not a bloody saint.”

She dimpled, feeling encouraged. “I know that entirely too well. And I consider it fortunate for my purposes.”

Taking a steadying breath, Antonia removed her shift, slipping the straps off her shoulders and letting it drop to join her discarded gown on the sand. Deverill’s own breath rushed out at the sight of her nudity; she heard the sharp rasp above the rhythmic murmur of the waves breaking onshore.

He was staring at her bare breasts, Antonia realized, her confidence rising. She could feel her nipples draw taut and begin to tingle. Yet their situations were highly unequal. Deverill was still fully dressed in shirt and breeches and boots, while she was completely naked.

She moved to stand before him and reached for his shirt. To her relief, he didn’t stop her when she pulled the hem from the waistband of his breeches and pushed the shirt over his head.

He tensed visibly when she suggestively trailed her fingers down the muscles of his chest, over the wealed flesh that marred his beautiful, bronzed skin.

Wanting swelled inside her. Longing knotted her stomach and coiled between her thighs as she closed the final distance until their bodies touched, breast to chest, skin to burning skin.

Fire arced between them at the contact. Even so, Deverill remained rigid, obviously waging a war with himself. Yet she could feel the heat and strength and growing desire of him.

The same searing desire that was sweeping through her.

He would not deny her, she wouldn’t allow it. She
needed
him. Needed surcease for the unbearable tightness that welled in her chest. For the relentless ache in her body that had sharpened to a delicious, agonizing point. For her quivering woman’s flesh that throbbed and wept for him.

“Show me pleasure, Deverill,” she implored, her voice a sensual plea.

His eyes blazed. And in that moment she knew the torment of waiting was finally over.

Reaching up, Antonia pulled his mouth down to hers, desperately needing to taste him, to assuage the fierce hunger that burned deep within them both.

Thirteen

Her soft moan was his undoing.

Deverill braced himself against the surge of white-hot desire flooding him, knowing damned well that for Antonia’s sake, he should say no to her irresistible request. He needed to protect her from himself, needed to summon some vestige of common sense. Yet he was tired of fighting his need, couldn’t force himself to refuse.

Surrendering, he returned her kiss ardently, his mouth devouring hers, feeding the fire between them. When Antonia moaned, his hands plunged into her loose topknot, scattering the pins so that her flaming hair spilled free around her shoulders.

Another hoarse whimper sounded in her throat. She clung weakly to him, yet at the same time he felt her easing backward, urging him with her. Deverill suddenly understood why she had spread a blanket out on the sand. It was to be the scene of his seduction.

Their mouths still fused, Antonia sank down on the blanket and drew him with her.

Deverill’s muscles clenched, fighting for control as he covered her nude body. Urgency was sweeping in a tidal rush, hurting and hard and hammering his blood.

He had to slow down or he would burn them both to cinders. He wanted to give her pleasure this time, incredible pleasure, just as she had asked for. Taking a shuddering breath, he forced himself to end the kiss, then sat back to pull off his boots.

Antonia’s shimmering blue eyes followed him as he stood to undress. In only a moment he had shed his breeches and stockings.

When his drawers finally followed, she gasped. He stood over her with shafts of golden summer sunlight bathing him, gloriously naked and gloriously masculine. He was so sinfully beautiful, he took her breath away.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Deverill said as if he already knew her answer.

“Yes. I hoped . . .” The words came out a mere rasp. It was difficult to speak with the sweet, scalding liquid of desire churning inside her.

She was captivated by the splendor of his body—his wide shoulders, his deep chest, his lean waist and hips, his fully aroused loins, his powerful thighs. She actually ached to touch him, to run her palms all over him.

Deverill was watching her in turn, staring down at her unabashedly, his gaze riveted on her bare body.

Dazed, Antonia pushed herself up on her elbows as she stared up at him. Dancing motes of sunlight surrounded them in the secluded cove, drenching them with warmth. It was like being caught in a dream.

No, it was her cherished fantasy come to life. Yet nothing in her imagination had ever been this sharp, this intense, this hot. She was filled with potent sensations, her nerves twisting and knotting in near painful anticipation.

Transfixed, she watched the lithe, athletic motion of Deverill’s body as he knelt beside her. Helpless to resist her craving, she sat up fully and reached out to touch him. His skin glowed beneath her fingers, as feverish as her own, burning with a need the ocean’s breeze could never cool.

Purposely avoiding the scars, she trailed her fingertips over his chest, feeling the smooth, hard, shifting pattern of his muscles. When her hand settled over his breast, she could feel the vibrant rhythm of his heartbeat.

The pleasure that rippled over her was so keen, she shuddered.

“You are beautiful,” she said on a choked sigh.

His slow smile was dazzling. “Not as beautiful as you are, siren.”

Her gaze dropping to his loins, she reached down to caress the jut of his erection—but Deverill abruptly drew back as if burned.

“If you arouse me any further, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“So?” Antonia asked with an unconsciously sensual taunt.

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “So, I intend to go slowly this time.”

“That might be difficult for me.”

“For me as well.”

The silky raspiness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

He pressed her back on the blanket and held her arms away, so he could view her nudity. Antonia fought the urge to cover herself. She had no secrets from him; with Deverill she could be as wild and free as she wished, as vibrantly passionate, as sexual, as wanton.

And she knew she would be wildly wanton. He would see to it. Already she was nearly writhing beneath his brazen scrutiny. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her belly, his breath sun-warm on her skin. Antonia arched in frantic need, but Deverill was clearly determined to take his time, using his mouth to heighten her hunger.

And the searing magic of his light, stirring kisses was only enhanced by the deft, knowing movements of his hands. His fingers slid up her thighs, gliding over her in a delicious rhythm, stroking her hips, her rib cage, the swell of her breasts, stopping at the firm, aching tips to circle and probe.

“Your nipples are ravishing,” he murmured before his warm breath was replaced by the blaze of his mouth.

He suckled her, his tongue caressing her dusky flesh, teasing the aching peaks, before his tormenting kisses trailed lower once more, grazing her abdomen, then the soft mound guarding her woman’s secrets. His tongue probed the tangle of silken curls to find the slick folds of flesh between her thighs. “And so is the rest of you.”

With a whimper, she opened her legs, allowing him fuller access. Deverill groaned at the hot, rich scent of her female pleasure. He wanted to sample all the tastes and textures of her fragrant body. Wanted to fill his mouth and hands with the essence of her.

Antonia gasped once when his tongue slid slowly over the outer rim of her cleft, then again when he laved the already wet bud of her sex. In only moments, she was panting.

In a vague corner of his mind he heard her breathless murmur as she clutched his hair. “Deverill . . . you needn’t use only your mouth this time. You can come inside me. Isabella told me how to stop a man’s seed.”

Stilling suddenly, he lifted his head to stare up at Antonia. “Isabella told you
what
?”

“How to . . . prevent a man’s seed from taking root. She gave me some sponges and brandy. . . .”

His eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t surprised that Bella was abetting her. It was Antonia herself who constantly kept him off guard with her unexpected actions.

“You are wearing a sponge now?”

A faint blush of shyness rose to kiss her skin. “Well, yes.”

“You seem to have thought of everything.”

“I only hoped . . .”

When she faltered, he couldn’t help provoking her. “What did you hope, vixen?”

Her gaze remained somber. “I want you to fill me, Deverill. I want you to ease the fire inside me. I want—”

“Exactly what I want,” he said huskily.

She took his hand and placed it over her breast. “Touch me,” she whispered.

His expression softened with tenderness. “Gladly.”

When his palm curled lovingly over the swollen crest, Antonia closed her eyes and exhaled in a sigh. This was no dream, she knew. She had never had a dream so delicious, so awash in sensation. One that made her shimmer and melt. She was melting between her legs, her shivering thighs clenched tight around a pool of liquid heat.