Everything and the Moon (The Lyndon Sisters #1)(86)

He pushed down the bodice of her gown. She was still wearing the blue nightdress as a chemise. Too impatient to unfasten that as well, he instead captured her breast with his mouth, dampening the fabric around her peaking nipple with his tongue.

Victoria was thrashing beneath him, incoherent mumblings escaping her lips. He lifted his head for a moment to look at her. Her sable hair was wild and free on the bench cushions, and her dark blue eyes were nearly black with desire. Robert's throat filled with an incomprehensible choking sensation, and he was overcome by a feeling so strong that he couldn't possibly contain it. “I love you,” he whispered. “I will always love you.”

He saw her inner struggle and knew she wanted to say it, too. But whatever was holding her back still had a grip on her heart, and she couldn't. He didn't care; he knew she'd eventually come to understand her love for him. But he couldn't bear to see her so torn, so he pressed a gentle finger against her lips. “Don't speak,” he whispered. “We don't need words right now.”

He kissed her anew, his mouth hungry and wild. His hands found her drawers and within seconds the garment was on the floor of the carriage. He touched her intimately, his knowing fingers teasing the folds of her womanhood.

“Oh, Robert!” she gasped. “What—Last time you didn't—”

“There's more than one way to love you,” he murmured. He felt her more deeply, marveling at how responsive she was beneath his touch. Her body moved against him, drawing his finger in more deeply. She was whipping him deeper and deeper into his desire, and he felt himself straining against his breeches. He pressed his lips roughly against the pulse point in her temple and whispered, “Do you want me?”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“I want to hear you say it,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Gasping for air, she nodded.

Robert decided that that was good enough, and he fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches. He was too hot, too ready to get the damned garment off his legs. Instead, he just pulled himself out and nudged his way between her things, where his fingers were still tickling their way to heaven.

One of Victoria's legs slid off the bench, giving him more room to probe her womanhood. He pressed forward, sheathing just his tip within her. Her muscles turned hot and convulsed around him, and his entire body shuddered in reaction. “I want more, Torie,” he rasped. “More.”

He felt her nod, then he pushed farther, moving closer and closer to the very center of her being, until finally he was fully embedded within her. Robert pulled her tightly against him, silently savoring their union. His lips trailed across her cheek to her ear, and he whispered, “I'm home now.” Then he felt her tears on his face, tasted the salt as they rolled to his lips, and he was undone. Animal desire overtook him, and his mind and body separated. He pumped into her relentlessly, somehow managing to hold back his release until he felt her stiffen and cry out beneath him.

With a loud groan he thrust one last time, pouring himself into her. He collapsed almost instantly, every muscle exquisitely weary. A thousand thoughts collided in his mind in that instant—was he too heavy for her? Did she have any regrets? Had they made a baby?—but his mouth was so busy gasping for air that he couldn't have spoken if his life depended on it.

Finally, when he was able to hear something other than their hearts thudding in unison, he lifted himself onto his elbow, unable to believe what he'd done. He'd taken Victoria in a cramped, moving carriage. They were half dressed, rumpled—hell, he hadn't even managed to remove his boots. He supposed he should say he was sorry, but he wasn't. How could he be sorry when Victoria—no, Torie—was lying beneath him, her breathing still uneven with the last vestiges of her climax, her cheeks hot and flushed with pleasure.

Still, he felt he should say something, so he offered her a lopsided smile and said, “That was certainly interesting.”

Her mouth opened, her jaw moved slowly forward as if she was trying to say something. But no sound emerged.

“Victoria?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Two times,” she said, blinking dazedly. “Two times before the ceremony.” She closed her eyes and nodded. “Two times is quite all right.”

Robert threw back his head and laughed.





As it happened, “two times” was not quite accurate. By the time Robert managed to slide a gold band onto the fourth finger of Victoria's left hand, she had been thoroughly made love to not twice but four times. They had had to stop at an inn on the way to London, and he didn't even bother to consult her before informing the innkeeper that they were man and wife, and requesting a chamber with a large and comfortable bed. And then he'd pointed out that it would be a sin to let such a nice big bed go to waste.

They were married almost immediately on their arrival in London. Much to Victoria's amusement, Robert left her waiting in the carriage as he ran into his house to retrieve the special license. He returned in under five minutes, and then they made their way to the residence of the Reverend Lord Stuart Pallister, the youngest son of the marquess of Chipping-worth, and an old school chum of Robert's. Lord Pallister married them in a trice, completing the ceremony in less than half the time Victoria's father had usually taken to do the job.

Victoria was terribly self-conscious when they finally arrived at Robert's home. It wasn't that it was imposingly grand; with his father still living, Robert had adopted one of the family's smaller holdings. Still, his stately town house was impeccably elegant, and Victoria had a feeling that living in the family quarters of such a residence would be much different than a governess's topfloor cubbyhole.