Still he didn’t relent. Almost roughly, he reached down to stroke the swollen folds between her legs and this time she did scream. She arched up to kiss him using teeth and tongue. Her touch held no tenderness. Although in her heart, she felt an endless lake of tenderness for this man she loved so dearly.
Another wave hit her and she shuddered, blind with the violent onslaught of sensation. Time itself was suspended as she lost herself in ultimate pleasure.
Matthew groaned from deep in his throat as he at last gave himself up. While liquid heat spilled into her womb, she clutched his shaking body.
Slowly, inevitably, she made the dazzling descent from heaven. She closed her eyes and let pleasure ebb through velvety, electric darkness. He lay on top of her, heavy, beloved, welcome.
For a long breathless time, they stayed linked in the aftermath. Then through her boneless exhaustion, she felt him shift and withdraw.
He lifted himself until he sat with his back against the wall. Painted Chinese bridges and gardens framed the pure male beauty of his face. He dragged her up to rest against him. Under her cheek, his heart pounded wildly and his chest heaved as he struggled for breath.
He’d taken her as if the world ended today. She’d loved every moment of it. She raised her head and studied him. His mobile mouth was curled in a smile. He looked calm, satisfied. His frantic need was banked, although bright embers still glowed in his eyes.
She lay back and waited for her heart to steady. She felt as though he’d wrung every ounce of passion from her. Her womb quivered with the force of his volcanic possession. She felt stretched, well used, replete.
She might have dozed. Matthew did, propped up against the wall with his legs stretched out along the bench.
Gradually she became aware of the outside world. The faint creak of the elaborately carved shutters in the breeze. The warmth of sunlight. The distant honk of a graylag goose on the lake. Her mind slowly returned from its dazed journey to ecstasy.
Just what was Matthew doing here? Why had he left London for the wilds of Yorkshire?
Not just for a quick rut with a willing wench, surely. There must be women aplenty in the capital happy to oblige the great Marquess of Sheene. He’d become a sensation, the darling of society.
He’d been through so much in the last year. First there had been the scandal of Lord John’s death and the revelations of his crimes. The public validation of Matthew’s health and sanity. The trial and hanging of Filey and the venal doctors. Matthew’s unstinting support for his aunt and cousins who had faced destitution and disgrace. The triumphant return from New South Wales of the family servants who had risked so much for their master.
So what now? Had Matthew made this arduous journey to tell her he’d selected another woman as his bride?
Something in the frenzied anguish of his touch told her he’d hungered for her as she’d hungered for him.
Perhaps she was a fool. But she couldn’t help believing that for now, Matthew was still hers.
Goodness, he’d just flung her on her back and taken her as though he’d combust to ashes if he delayed another second. What more evidence of need could she have?
She smiled as he sighed sleepily and slid his arm around her waist to hold her closer. Incredibly, he was here. That was all the favor she begged from fortune for the present.
“I flatter myself you missed me,” Matthew said in a rusty voice above her head.
Grace stirred from her blissful inertia. Her back still pressed into his chest and her head tilted against the broad security of his shoulder. She must have slept again.
Speech seemed almost strange after the perfect communion of their bodies. How long had they rested in radiant peace? Long enough for the sun to move below the hill behind the summerhouse.
“Flatter yourself indeed.” She gave an exhausted laugh and ran her hand along the strong forearm that circled her waist. She’d presented him with all the resistance melted butter offered the knife and they both knew it. “I let you tumble me like the most round-heeled wanton.”
“You’re my wanton. Come here,” he said rawly and tugged her around and up for a long kiss.
Hungrily, their mouths met and clung. He tasted like sex and yearning. He tasted as though he still loved her.
Oh, let it be so, her aching heart cried.
She drew away slightly and pushed her skirts down. They frothed around her thighs in wicked abandon. Almost as much wicked abandon as she’d shown in his arms, she thought with a blush. What would the world think if they saw the usually subdued and decorous Lady Grace Marlow now?
“I’ve brought you something,” he said huskily. He disentangled himself and rose to collect the box he’d left beside the doorway. He fastened his breeches but left the rest of his clothing lying where he’d thrown it.
With a reverence she couldn’t help but notice, he lifted the box and carried it across. He sat beside her, his untucked shirt settling loosely around his lean hips. Sheer cambric gaped at the neck, offering glimpses of the firm planes of his chest. She licked her lips as she remembered tasting him there.
He groaned and tore his gaze from her mouth. “Stop it, Grace. We can do that later. First we have to talk.”
“Later?” she said breathlessly. It was the f