Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen
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looked up into his faintly smiling face and the love she’d tried to avoid and ignore caught her full in the throat, strangling her voice. How could she bear to let him walk away?
She cursed the tears that welled up, brushing them away with an impatient hand. She would not spoil the wonder of this night by regretting what could not be.
She wanted to pour out her love, tell him she’d never known such closeness nor tasted such pleasure, that she would treasure these moments the rest of her life. But nothing beyond tonight was possible, and so she swallowed the ardent vows she must not make and searched for something permissible. “How can I thank you?” she whispered at last.
With the gentleness that so captured her heart he rubbed his knuckle against her cheek. “How can I thank you?”
She struggled to lift herself on one elbow. He would leave now, as he must, but resigned though she was to the inevitability of it, still she sought some way to delay.
“Can I get you something? Do anything before you … go?”
“Some wine, if you have it. But, Sparrow—” his voice deepened “—I’m nowhere close to being ready to leave.”
The teasing promise in his tone stopped her breath. Surely he couldn’t mean … what she thought? Her experience argued against the possibility of any further coupling—but then, everything else tonight had been far beyond any previous experience. At the mere hint of it, nerves she’d thought too exhausted to function were beginning to stir and spark. “I’ll g-get you wine,” she said hurriedly.
“Wait a moment,” he said, catching her hand as she reached for her wrapper. “Let me look at you.”
She’d never been naked in front of a man before. But as he held her at arm’s length, his ardent plea echoing in her ears, her self-consciousness faded. She nodded, dropped the wrapper, and stood fully unveiled before him.
Slowly he examined her, from her bare toes up her calves, her thighs, across her belly to taut, tight peaks of her breasts, her shoulders, her neck, her chin, cheeks, hair. “You are so lovely, Sparrow,” he murmured. “Now, wine please, and hurry before you catch a chill.”
Any tendency to chill evaporated as, before he released her hand, he leaned forward to capture one erect nipple and tease it with his teeth. She gasped, delight at this new sensation coursing through her, and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.
With leisurely slowness he moved his mouth to tantalize the aching peak of her other breast. She was melting, nearly boneless when he at last stopped.
“Wine,” he said, skimming his hand over her belly to touch the tight curls beneath. “We’ve not much time, and there’s so much more—” he moved his finger to stroke within the warm folds “—to experience.”
Somehow she managed to totter to the kitchen and bring back wine without spilling it all over. He greeted her with a kiss, pulled her close under the bedclothes to warm her, and fed her wine. And then, after they’d sipped, and talked, the earl proceeded to demonstrate just how ignorant this long-married wife had been.
He taught her, a voraciously greedy and willing pupil, how he could set off the same incredible explosion with his fingers, his tongue. How she could ready him again for joining with the urging of her hips, the goad of her mouth. Through the swift and shimmering hours of that short, matchless night he showed her how pleasure could be stimulated and conveyed, rapture a current flowing from him to her, from her to him, until it swept them together over the precipice in a timeless, sense-stunning cascade to completion.
Sometime in the quiet dimness near dawn Laura woke to find him still beside her. Joy that he had not crept away while she slept swelled in her, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek.
“Sparrow,” he murmured, angling his head to take her kiss on his lips as he pulled her into a rib-bruising embrace.
She clung to him, knowing the time to delay had passed. “You must go now,” she said when at last he released her.
“Yes. I’d best get back to Everett Hall before first light, lest I encounter some farm boy on the way to market who might carry tales. I’ll be off for London an hour or so after.” He paused, looking down at her. “Let me stop here for you on my way.”
Quit Merriville. Part of her yearned to silence her mind’s automatic clamor about the danger, respond only to the leap of gladness that urged her to go with him. But once again, fear and caution won out.
“I cannot. Please, I’m sorry, but—”
He stopped her apology with another kiss. “I know, Sparrow. Though I leave you here alone under protest, I’ll not take you with me by force. But when I return—and I will return, soon—you will agree to depart with me.”
She said nothing, the bittersweet agony of his impending loss thickening her throat and preventing reply. While he dressed she threw on her wrapper and poured him more wine, then walked with him to the porch door.
He bent to kiss her, then lifted her into his arms and hugged her close. “Keep yourself safe, Sparrow. And dream of me until I return.”
“I will,” she said as he set her back on her feet. The whole of my life, she added silently.
Heart already aching, she watched him mount his horse, and with a final wave, ride off into the waning night.
After an exhausting journey that finally saw him installed back in London several days later, Beau sat at the desk in his study, reviewing the latest evidence in the embezzlement investigation. All the reports confirmed his suspicions. Now he must anticipate the perpetrator’s mood and movements in order to construct the most foolproof trap to bring him down.
Sighing, he put the dossiers aside. Having done all he could at the moment to move the case forward, he might now turn his attention to the personal concern that had haunted him all through his long voyage south.
Though Laura seemed to feel she was safe in Merriville, every instinct had rebelled at leaving her there alone and unprotected. And he’d been bitterly disappointed that he’d not succeeded in winning her confidence. Though she’d confirmed the basic facts after he guessed them, she’d not let slip the smallest detail that would make the search for her real name—and thus the path to protecting her—easier or swifter.
That placed him at a disadvantage, but not an insurmountable one. After all, there were but a limited number of men wealthy and influential enough to necessitate a fugitive wife’s going into hiding. Amassing a list of potential names and checking them would be a tedious process, but he would have it done. Armed with all the possibilities, he had every confidence he would eventually deduce the identity of the man he sought.
But how much time would that require?
He begrudged every day he would have to wait while the necessary information was assembled. Each one he spent apart from her heightened the urgency of his desire to claim her, tightened the spiral of anxiety about her safety. Grimly he vowed that he’d give the search no more than a month. Regardless of whether the investigation was complete by then or not, he would return for her.
Now to set the search in motion. He rang a bell to summon his secretary.
The slender, sandy-haired man entered, smiling in welcome. “My lord, good to see you back! I trust this means Kit is recovering?”
“Good to be back, James, and yes, Kit is doing much better. Thank you for doing your usual excellent job to keep the dispatches coming. I believe I’ve perused all the latest. I see our sailor songbird is still chirping.”
The young man smiled grimly. “It appears he participated in bringing in several more cargoes on which the duty charged on the manifests exceeded the legal amounts owed, the excess being siphoned off into coffers other than those of the government. As you will have read, by covertly following the boasting sailor we’ve been able to definitely establish three other links in the chain. I assume, as usual, you intend to leave apprehension of