The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(42)

She gasped, shuddered, came apart on a pleasurable sigh.

Vane could no longer keep his passion contained. “Ride me, love.”

As her tremors subsided, Estelle did as he asked, taking him deep inside her, raising up, and sheathing him again and again. Her wicked mouth covered his, hot and demanding, every stroke of her tongue sending him wild.

“I need to withdraw,” he somehow managed to say. But he wished he could push her onto her back, cover her body and drive long and hard. “When I do, I need you to touch me.”

She raised herself high enough for him to disengage. “What now?” she said, still straddling his thighs.

“Now,” he breathed.

Estelle gripped his shaft and he covered her hand with his own and showed her how to stroke him. Every muscle in his body tensed. Vane jerked his hips, pushing his cock through her dainty fingers. He came over the soft skin of her palm — so damn hard he almost choked.

His guttural groan drowned out the patter of rain on the carriage roof. He reached into his coat and gave her his handkerchief, watched in awe as she cleaned herself and then looked at him.

The ripples of pleasure still coursed through his body. Their ragged pants filled the air. Estelle leant forward and touched her forehead to his. A deep sense of satisfaction enveloped him, coupled with a feeling of peace he had never known. This was the only place in the world he wanted to be.

A place he was destined to visit.

A place he was determined to remain.





Chapter Twelve





Estelle closed her eyes and relished the closeness of Ross’ body. They sat touching foreheads until their breathing settled. Never had she felt so sated, so blissfully happy. During the moment of intense pleasure, she had almost professed her love, but she knew that her eagerness stemmed from her heightened senses.

Ross sighed contentedly, and his breath breezed over her cheek. At some point, she would have to move. But in the intimacy of the moment, the rest of the world no longer existed. Like this, it was easy to forget they had spent any time apart.

Estelle raised her head and kissed him once on the lips. Oh, his taste was so addictive. “I should straighten my clothes before we reach Whitecombe Street, though I have no idea where we are.”

During the wildly passionate encounter, she had been so lost in loving Ross she hadn’t considered that they were rattling along in his carriage.

A sinful smile touched his lips. “We were to stop in Whitechapel.” He looked so calm, so sated, not at all like the devil who stormed into Mr Erstwhile’s shop to demand answers.

She climbed off Ross’ muscular thighs and fell into the seat opposite. Embarrassment pushed to the fore, replaced by a flutter of desire when she watched him tuck his impressive manhood back into his breeches and fasten the buttons.

Ross shuffled forward and raised the blind nearest to her. He studied the passing houses for a moment.

“It seems Wickett has run his errand and we are on our way home.”

Estelle heard him speak, but her mind was engaged in an internal conversation. After surrendering to her craving for this man, her body felt different. A little sore and tender in places, and blissfully in tune with the universe. But this state of euphoria would fade. And then she would have to face the stark reality that she loved a man she could never have. The intense longing would never leave her and would only be compounded now, having sampled the true magnificence of this man.

Despite his comment to the contrary, Ross would marry eventually. They were both intelligent enough to know that any children born from their alliance would always bear the mark of her shame. And Ross could not beat every member of the ton into submission.

Estelle brushed her skirt and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears.

Silence ensued.

Ross’ intense gaze settled on her face. “What are we to do now?” he said in a rich drawl.

“Do?” Her pulse rose a notch. “Why must we do anything?”

“Then allow me to rephrase the question. Are you still intent on leaving London after what has just occurred?”

How could she answer when she didn’t know what to do anymore?

“By your own admission you have had relations with other women,” she said, choosing to be aloof as a means of self-preservation. “How is this any different?”

“How is it different!” he repeated, seemingly unimpressed with her answer. “Please tell me you’re joking. Eight years may have passed, but the same raging need flows through our veins.”

“What happened brought us both comfort at a time—”

“Trust me. Comfort was not what I tasted on your lips. Comfort is not what I felt when thrusting inside you, nor when you panted my name and shuddered in my arms.”

She shivered at the delicious memory, wishing she could go back to the beginning and relive it all over again. “You’re right. It meant more than that.” The perfect moment would live forever in her heart. She would embrace it during long, lonely nights. “What do you propose we do?”

For the first time, she witnessed a look of panic mar his handsome features. “Do?” It passed quickly, replaced by a wicked glint in his eyes. “I propose we return to Hanover Square. I propose we spend the next week in bed and take matters from there.”

So it was lust, not love, then.