The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(25)
Liquid fire burst through his veins. Dangerously hot. Wickedly sensual. His pulse galloped. His desire spiralled. Their passion ignited like a blinding fury: wild, intense, uniquely satisfying.
With his large hands settling on her buttocks, he shuffled forward until she had no choice but to collapse on the bed. He followed her, covering her body as he’d always planned to do.
They were lost in their heady kisses, panting as their bodies writhed to an ancient rhythm.
Years of practised skill in the steps of bringing a lover to a bone-shattering climax abandoned him. While his fingers fumbled with the hem of her dress, dragging it up past her thigh, his mind rushed to the denouement. They were fully clothed, but he imagined them naked, pictured the moment of bliss when he entered her body.
Good God, he was liable to spend himself long before then. The thought was sobering as was the sudden banging and moaning again from the occupants next door.
Was this what he wanted?
To take his dream and turn it into something soiled and sordid. Eight years of pining, of heartache, reduced to a quick fuck in a coaching inn. Everything he touched bore the Devil’s mark. Would he ruin the one thing he’d always held sacred? The only truth in his life: his feelings for Estelle.
He tore his mouth away and scrambled to his feet. His hard cock throbbed against the material of his breeches, the ache for satisfaction muddling his thoughts. The need to dominate surfaced, too. He could kneel between her legs, taste her arousal with his tongue. Suck and lick her into submission. Give everything, take nothing. Show her the pleasure she had denied herself long ago.
Vane looked down at her — the angel of his dreams, the devil of his nightmares. During all the solitary moments when he had played out this scene, he was strong, commanding, knew his mind. But in reality, he did not know what the hell he wanted anymore.
“We should leave,” he heard himself saying, “before we both do something we may well regret.”
He turned to the window, desperate to look at anything other than her swollen lips and bed-tousled hair.
The people outside were busy going about their business oblivious to his inner torment. All except one woman who stared up at him intently. She stood too far away for him to distinguish her features. Perhaps it was a coincidence or a consequence of his strained nerves. Suspicion flared when she turned and hurried away from the courtyard.
A creak and a weary sigh drew his attention back to the room and led him to conclude Estelle had stood too.
The tension in the air was palpable.
“Emotions are running high,” he continued. “We still have much to discuss, but we shall leave it until another day.” Did he want to know what prompted her to leave Prescott Hall, to leave him? He wasn’t sure.
“You’re right,” she said weakly. “No doubt Mr Erstwhile will wonder what happened to me, and he has enough worries at the moment.”
Vane turned to face her and wished he hadn’t. Sadness filled those dark brown eyes. He preferred seeing the fire of passion alight there.
“You speak of the theft at the shop.”
Estelle patted down a few stray locks of hair and gathered her bonnet. “The intruder stole nothing. He left the money box full of sovereigns and only sought to cause unnecessary damage.”
“Then it is not the mark of a thief but of someone with a point to prove,” Vane said, grateful that someone else’s problem distracted him from his own. “Has Mr Erstwhile upset anyone?”
“I highly doubt it.” She brushed her hand down her dress to remove the creases. “There is not a kinder more honest man than Mr Erstwhile.”
“How did you come to work for him?”
“We spoke on the crossing to Dover. He has a way of seeing what other people cannot, of understanding a person’s secrets without a word passing from their lips.”
“Like a seer? Like a man renowned for his moral and spiritual insights?”
A brief smile brightened her face. “Yes, exactly like that. I owe him a debt of gratitude.”
“Then I shall escort you on your errand to gather provisions.” Part of him wanted to return to Berkeley Square, to put this woman from his mind and concentrate all efforts on ruining Lord Cornell. Part of him needed to remain at her side, to know she was safe, to discover more about this Mr Hungerford. “It’s the least I can do after dragging you away from your errant knight.”
She frowned. “Errant knight?”
“Mr Hungerford. Clearly, the gentleman has designs on securing more than your company.” The thought roused Vane’s ire.
“He is just a lonely man who cannot function without a wife.”
The cryptic comment proved intriguing. “And you believe he has marked you for the role?”
Estelle shrugged. “When it comes to understanding the motives of men, I am often left baffled.”
“Likewise, I gave up trying to understand a lady’s motives eight years ago.” He spoke of the way Estelle had professed her love only to flee on a ship heading to France.
A howl of satisfaction from the adjoining room brought another blush to her cheeks. “Now I know why the landlord insisted I visit him before leaving. The sounds of pleasure and pain are often the same.”
Never had truer words been spoken.
“Then I shall meet you downstairs in a moment.”
She looked at him with some confusion.