“I love it.” His response was gruff with emotion. With an effortless grace, he carried her down the hall and into his chambers, kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot.
When he set her on the floor, her body slid down his. The flame of desire raged like a fire within. In moments, he’d divested her of her gown and undergarments. She stood shivering beneath his gaze, not from cold but with heated anticipation.
Adam shrugged his jacket off and tossed it to the floor. His shirt followed suit, and then his hands went to his breeches.
Her mouth went dry. She brushed his fingers away with bold insistence. “Let me.” Dropping to her knees, she urged his black breeches down around his ankles and then he was naked before her.
Adam stood there, stiff and unbending as a marble statue. His proudly erect manhood earned her notice. How could it not? The magnificent member was at eye level and so incredibly close to her mouth. An urge to taste him overcame her. She leaned forward to kiss his shaft.
He groaned. “What are you doing?”
She hesitated, a wave of uncertainty hitting her. Mayhap her wanton thoughts and actions were better suited to a harlot than the wife of a peer. Still…she said nothing. Instead, she took the plum tip of him between her lips, drawing the length deeper and deeper until he was buried in her mouth.
He cried out. Any and all doubts died a swift death when he wound his fingers in her hair, urging her to continue.
Georgina’s reservations were replaced by hedonistic yearning. She became bolder, flicking her tongue up and down his length. His guttural groan of approval filled her with desire. She’d never imagined that giving her husband pleasure could so consume her with longing.
Adam flexed his hips.
Georgina continued to draw him in and out until he was groaning.
Adam jerked his hips away.
Georgina’s eyes fluttered open.
He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Adam set her down like she was a treasure more precious than gold.
“What are you doing?” she asked when he pulled her atop him.
“Shh,” he whispered, guiding her down onto his length.
Her body widened to accept every inch of his enormous shaft. Georgina cried out when he sheathed himself within her center.
Adam rested his hands on her hips and guided her, urging her up. And down. Up. And down. Georgina closed her eyes. Arching her back, she found the rhythm and rode him like a master horsewoman.
“That’s it,” he cried.
Her hips undulated, taking on a frenzied speed. The inner muscles at the center of her womanhood began to spasm. She ground herself against him, taking him even deeper, and then she was coming on a great, gasping cry and he was joining her, pouring his seed inside her.
He continued to throb, and she accepted all of him, ringing out every last bit he could give. When her body could no longer bear weight, she collapsed atop him. Her long curls fanned out atop his rapidly heaving chest, their breath mingling in a jagged symphony of sated desire.
Adam rested a hand atop her buttocks, caressing the plump flesh, but Georgina couldn’t muster any hint of humility.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Adam stilled his movements and then resumed his soft massage.
He did not respond.
And Jamie’s taunting accusation reared in her mind, intruding on this otherwise perfect moment.
This is the last note I can write. Fox plans to kill Mr. Markham. Please send help.
Signed,
A Loyal British Subject
Chapter 18
Lying on his side, head propped on his hand, Adam studied his sleeping wife. A little snore escaped her slightly parted lips, her breath caressed his chest hair. Her riot of chocolate waves fanned out along the pillow and over his forearm.
He captured a strand of hair. Leaning down, he placed a kiss along her temple. She stirred and burrowed close to him, but did not wake. After their energetic round of lovemaking, he should have been sleeping soundly beside her.
Yet tumultuous thoughts kept rest at bay.
She loved him. The quiet whisper had not been the stuff of his imaginings. Nor was it the first time she’d uttered those words, though Adam had not allowed himself to contemplate the significance or sincerity of her declaration. It was easier to ascribe her feelings to those of gratitude.
Or it had been.
Now he was a man conflicted.
He’d thought he’d loved Grace. Following his captivity, he’d had to weather the truth of her betrayal and it had forced him to confront his feelings for her.
Now he could acknowledge that he’d never truly loved Grace. He’d been enamored of her beauty. Appreciated her wit and intellect. He had cared for her, and her happiness, and he would always think of her with more than mere fondness. She represented a tie to a less complicated past.
But he’d not been consumed by this swell of emotion that threatened to drag him under and never let him go.
Adam had attributed their close bond to what they had endured. To the courage and power they’d lent each other to survive.
He’d told himself the paltry emotion of love was fleeting and as easy to grasp as a wisp of London fog. He’d told himself he’d not loved Grace because, as Georgina once said to him, “it simply didn’t exist.” Which, of course, by extension meant he did not love his lovely young wife.
How wrong he’d been.
She whimpered in her sleep, tossing her head on the pillow. A pathetic little moan escaped her and, even in sleep, the muscles in her body tightened as if she were bracing for a blow.
Rage nearly blinded him. He’d battled Fox and Hunter in his own dreams enough to know what tortured his wife’s slumber. He pulled Georgina into his arms, willing her to absorb his warmth and strength, and rubbed a circle over her back.
She stilled as though his body’s closeness penetrated the haze of her nightmare.
What had Georgina done before they’d married when the nightmares came? He saw her alone, shaking, crying out…and his eyes slid closed in pain. She’d never be alone again. She made him want to slay dragons for her.
He’d cared very deeply for Grace Blakely.
But he loved his wife.
The silent acknowledgement gave him pause.
I love her. I love my wife.
Adam waited for the whisper of panic that such an admission of weakness should cost him. For years, he had erected a wall around his heart. It had been a deliberate effort on his part. He’d known that to care too deeply could only prove fatal if anyone were to learn of his role with The Brethren which is why, even though Grace had meant a good deal to him, he’d never let her inside.
His months in captivity had made him realize that he wanted more than a life devoid of warmth.
“I love you,” he whispered against her ear.
He waited for the wave of panic to sweep over him.
His exhausted wife slept on, oblivious to his declaration.
A faint scratch at the door drew his attention. He frowned when the sound increased. “Mr. Markham?”
Silence.