Vane set his teeth. His head whirled as, again and again, she closed, scalding hot, about him. When it was that the truth dawned and he realized she was loving him, knowingly pleasuring him, lavishing the most intimate of caresses upon him, he never knew. But it was suddenly crystal-clear.
He'd never been loved like this-had a woman set herself to lavish pleasure so determinedly upon him-to ravish him.
The slick caresses continued; he was sure he'd lose his mind. Fire rose, flame upon flame within him. He was burning, ana she was the source of the heat.
He buried himself in the wet furnace she offered him, and felt her boldly embrace him. With a half-smothered groan, he sank to his knees on the rug before the hearth.
She adjusted instantly, eagerly using her new purchase on the floor to ride him more hungrily.
He couldn't take much more. Vane locked his hands about her hips and held her to him, trying to catch his breath, desperate to prolong the glorious congress. Patience squirmed, fighting to regain control. Vane set his teeth on an agonized hiss. Sliding both hands up, along her back, he tipped her back and away, arching her so her breasts, swollen and ripe, were his to feast on.
He feasted.
Patience heard her own gasp as his mouth fastened hungrily over one engorged nipple. A sobbing moan followed moments later. Hot and ravenous, he laved her breasts, then suckled the hypersensitized peaks until she was sure she would die. Within her, his heavy hardness filled her, completed her; pressed deeply into her, he rocked deeper still, claiming her-body, mind, and senses.
Trapped in his hold, she gasped and writhed; unable to rise on him, but refusing to be gainsaid, she changed direction, and rolled her hips against him.
It was Vane's turn to gasp. He felt the coiled tension inside him
tighten, then tighten again, invested with a force he had no hope of controlling. Of holding back.
Reaching between them, he slid his fingers through her damp curls, and found her. Just a touch was all it took, and she shattered, fragmented, her senses exploding in a fractured cry as she tumbled over that invisible precipice and into sated oblivion.
He followed a heartbeat later.
The fire had burned to embers before they stirred. Their bodies, locked together, felt too deeply enmeshed to part. Both roused, but neither shifted, both too content with their closeness, their intimacy.
Time stretched, and still they clung, their heartbeats slowing, their bodies cooling, their souls still locked in flight.
Eventually, Vane bent his head and brushed his lips across Patience's temple. She glanced up. He studied her eyes, then kissed her gently, lingeringly. As their lips parted, he asked, "Have you changed your mind yet?"
He sensed her confusion, then she understood. She didn't pull away, but shook her head. "No."
Vane didn't argue. He held her, and felt her warmth surround him, felt her heart beating in time with his. Uncounted minutes later, he lifted her from him and carried her to her bed.
Chapter 16
Why wouldn't she marry him?
What did she have against marriage?
Those questions revolved in Vane's brain as he headed his horses down the London road. It was the second morning after Gerrard's accident. Pronounced fit to travel, Gerrard sat on the box seat beside him, idly studying the scenery.
Vane didn't even see his leader's ears. He was too engrossed with thoughts of Patience, and the situation he now found himself in. The lady herself, with Minnie and Timms, was traveling in the carriage following his curricle; behind that, a pageant of hired coaches bore the rest of the Bellamy Hall household away from Bellamy Hall.
Sudden pressure on his left ankle made Vane glance down; he watched as Myst recurled herself against his left boot. Instead of joining Patience in the closed carriage, Myst had surprised her mistress and elected to ride with him. While he had nothing against cats, or youthful sprigs, Vane would readily have traded both his companions for Patience.
So he could interrogate her over her inexplicable stance.
She loved him, but refused to marry him. Given her circumstances, and his, that decision more than qualified as inexplicable. His jaw setting, Vane looked ahead, staring fixedly between his leader's ears.
His original plan-to break down Patience's barriers with passion, to so addict her to his loving that she would come to view marrying him as very much in her best interests, and so admit to him what was worrying her-had developed a major hitch. He hadn't reckoned with becoming addicted himself, possessed by a desire more powerful than any he'd known. Addicted to the extent that that desire-and his demons-were no longer subject to his will.
His demons-and that mindless need-had broken free that first time in the barn. He'd excused that as understandable, given the circumstances and his pent-up frustrations. On the night he'd invaded her bedchamber, he'd had all the reins firmly in his grasp; he'd coolly and successfully retained control, even under the full force of her fire. That success had left him complacent, confidently assured.
Their third interlude, two nights ago, had shattered his complacency.
He'd come within a whisker of losing control again.