Julia London - Regency Vows - A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight

“Only the feeblest man would fit that specification.” The moment the words were out, he narrowed his eyes. “Good God. That’s precisely what you’re thinking, isn’t it. This ‘solution’ William objects to—you’re planning to marry someone too old to care about your reputation or your fortune, who will soon leave you safely widowed. Good God.” He stared hard now. “You’re going to marry Deal.”

She hadn’t wanted him to find out until after she’d left for Scotland. “You make it sound so mercenary.”

“It’s nothing if not that. Bloody hell.” His eyes turned that familiar stormy green. “No wonder William renewed his offer. I would offer for you myself to keep you from such a disgusting plan.”

A horrible pain caught her in the chest even though his cruel words only confirmed what she already knew. “And I would refuse you as I refused him.” And wouldn’t he be relieved.

It was impossible to look at him without an assault of memories: his mouth on fire against hers, his hands burning her flesh, his words giving her strength when she’d had none. The keening inside her broke into a silent wail.

He leaned across the coach, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll not allow you to throw yourself like a bone to some old limpstaff who doesn’t deserve you.” A simmering fury in his eyes told her he was imagining Lord Deal in her marriage bed. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see the flecks of brown in his green eyes. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. She wanted to taste them, just one more time. Just once, she would have liked to give everything to a man she chose.

“If I intend to have a legitimate heir, I can’t afford to waste my time with a limpstaff,” she scoffed, goading him. “Rest assured I will make sure of Lord Deal’s virility before the marriage takes place.”

“Bloody hell.” It was the last thing he said before he pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth was brutal, punishing, and the taste of him poured across her tongue like heaven. “Half of London lays awake at night thinking about how to get between your thighs,” he said against her lips. “I want to kill every last one of them.”

His possessiveness made her shudder. “There’s no need, Captain. None of them will succeed.”

* * *

THEY MIGHT NOT, but James would succeed, and he was through waiting.

He half stood and leaned across the coach, pulling her to him more forcefully than he meant to, crushing his mouth down on hers again to drink the heady taste of her. She responded instantly, and his body surged. Her lips were soft, and her tongue slid across his like velvet, stoking the fire inside him. A small voice whispered no, this wasn’t the place, but then her hands touched his face and the rush of blood in his veins silenced the warning.

He had the preservative in his pocket, and this torment would end here. Now.

The coach jolted and he fell back to his seat, taking her with him in a mass of skirts that drowned his legs. The cold sheath of the cutlass hidden inside all that fabric tapped his leg, but she would have no desire to use it. He would see to that.

He invaded her mouth more and more deeply, trying to get enough of her, but it was impossible. Her scent drove him mad. He kissed her throat and neck, ran his tongue along her jaw. “I want you at my command, Katherine,” he breathed against her ear, knowing full well the effect it would have, and she did not disappoint.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “I will be at no man’s command ever again—” he nipped the base of her neck and she gasped “—Captain.”

That was up for debate, but one thing was sure: he was through being “Captain” to her. He pushed her gown off her shoulders and slipped his hands inside her stays, freeing her breasts. Christ, the sight of their creamy perfection nearly pushed him over the edge. They were proud like she was, sitting high over the top of the stays, and their round softness filled his hands. Puckered, dusky areolas bewitched him and he took one in his mouth, sucking hard, satisfied when her head fell back on a ragged gasp. He pulled with his lips, nipped with his teeth, rolled her between his fingers until she was clinging to him, breathless and crying out with need.

He was so hard he could barely think. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him to her breasts one moment, sliding down and gripping his shoulders the next. She was half-crazed, fire in his arms, and he had to touch her. Madly he yanked at her skirts until he freed her legs and had her seated open-thighed across his lap. He reached behind her, fighting yards of fabric to find her skin. His hands skimmed across silky buttocks, and he found home between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. He pushed one finger inside her, then two. Her opening constricted around him.

“Touch me, Katherine,” he rasped, but she was already there. Her hands moved over the front of his breeches—too slow, too soft. His breeches were so tight it hurt. Ah, God—he undid the fastening and his erection sprang into her hands and he groaned. Her fingers tightened around him and he fought for control, gasping into her mouth on a kiss deeper than the ocean. Faster, deeper he stroked her. It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed to be inside her. When her hands slid down his shaft and cupped his sac, he snapped.

He withdrew his fingers and grasped her buttocks, kissing her hard as he lifted her over him. He felt his erection breach her opening. Felt her tight heat swallow the rest of him in one, hard stroke when he pushed inside her. Ah, God—God—

He couldn’t go slow. She cried out against his lips, but he devoured the sound with his kiss and thrust into her hard and then harder, fast and then faster. Finally she was his. His. And still it wasn’t enough. Her hips matched his savage rhythm, taking him to the hilt with every thrust, but he wanted more. He wanted every bloody thing she had.

She panted against his mouth, clinging to him. He looked at her lips, wet and swollen from his kiss. Fixed his gaze on those half-closed topaz eyes, drunk now with desire. And then he felt her begin to tighten around him and knew he was about to make her come to her peak.

He drove into her even harder. “Katherine,” he rasped. Ah, God—he watched her face as the pleasure took her and she tightened around him harder, harder, convulsing in waves around his shaft.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders. “James!”

And that was all it took. The sound of his name on her lips drove him over the edge. He dug his hands into her buttocks and surrendered, buried deep inside her. The release ripped through his body and into hers and left him mindless. Voiceless.

And still—still—it wasn’t enough to satisfy him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

KATHERINE SHUDDERED, GRIPPED by waves of pleasure so intense they entirely controlled her. She tried to think, tried to regain her senses, but they’d been lost—stolen, along with her breath.

She’d never known.

She closed her eyes and felt herself pulse around him tightly. Intimately. Felt him throb in reaction.

“Never known what?” he asked in a rough, throaty voice, and she realized with dismay she’d breathed the words out loud.

Another shudder, this one less intense. She opened her eyes, only to have her gaze land in the space between them where her bare breasts jutted out above her stays.

“Nothing,” she said, unwilling to let him know how much of what they had just done had been new. He expected her to be experienced—assumed she was, and there was no reason to let him suspect how little she really knew.

His hands closed possessively over her breasts, and his thumbs circled her nipples. The touch sent pure pleasure shooting down through her belly, straight to the place where their bodies were joined. His eyes were dark and on fire as he watched his hands move against her flesh. “Never known what?” he asked again.