Who Will Take This Man?

Eighteen

Her words shot fire through his veins and robbed him of speech. I don’t recall asking you to stop…

“You said I was almost lost to you today,” she said, her eyes serious and intent upon his. “Well, I almost lost you as well. You said that we never know what the future holds, that every minute is a gift, and should not be squandered. I don’t want to waste so much as another second, Philip.”

Without hesitation, he bent his knees and scooped her up. Holding her tightly against his chest, he moved swiftly toward the door. “Have I mentioned how much I love the way you not only listen to me, but can repeat my own brilliant words back to me, almost verbatim?”

A smile curved her lips. “No, I don’t believe you’ve mentioned that.”

“Very remiss of me. Of course, there are so many things I love about you, it will take me an enormous amount of time to tell you all of them. Years. Decades. Especially as I am continually discovering new things.”

Leaving the study, he strode down the corridor, forcing himself not to break into an undignified gallop. As they entered the foyer, James asked anxiously, “Is Miss Chilton-Grizedale all right, my lord?”

Philip halted and beamed at the young man. “Actually, James, Miss Chilton-Grizedale is extraordinary. And what’s more, she shall not remain Miss Chilton-Grizedale much longer. She is soon to be Viscountess Greybourne. As she just accepted my proposal only minutes ago, you may be the first to congratulate us.”

“I… I’m honored, my lord,” James stammered, clearly dumfounded at being the first to hear such a momentous announcement. “Best wishes to both of you.”

“Thank you.” Without further ado, Philip climbed the stairs, two at a time, then headed swiftly down the corridor toward his bedchamber.

Crimson stained her cheeks. “Good heavens, whatever must that young man think, with you carrying me upstairs like this?”

“He thinks you are going to make good use of the bath set up in my chamber, which you are. And he thinks I am the luckiest man in the world, which I am.”

“Your announcement of our betrothal quite shocked him. One normally shares such news with one’s family before telling the servants. And certainly not while carrying one’s betrothed. And most certainly not while carrying one’s betrothed toward the bedchamber where a bath has been prepared.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever am I going to do about your stunning lack of propriety?”

“Hmmm. I can think of half a dozen things without even setting my mind to it. And do you really believe that was shock in his eyes? Odd, I thought it was envy. Still, how fortunate am I that my future bride is well versed in such etiquette-related details, the likes of which I’ve clearly forgotten over the years.” Arriving in his bedchamber, he crossed to the oversized brass tub set before the fire and gently lowered her to her feet. He then returned to the door to close and lock it. The click reverberated through the quiet room.

Rejoining her, he lifted her hands to press a kiss against each of her palms. The delicious scent of freshly buttered scones teased his senses, mingling with the heated steam rising from the bath.

He slipped the pins from her hair, allowing the fasteners to fall silently onto the Axminster rug. Midnight tresses spilled over his hands and down her back. Gently sifting his fingers through the strands, he loosened the tangles and the dust, until only smooth, shiny curls fell over his fingers.

Slowly. He had to go slowly with her. But bloody hell, he wasn’t certain he would be able to, especially if she continued to look at him with eyes that reflected love and trust and desire, shadowed with just a shade of trepidation.

“Nervous?” he asked.

A short breath pushed from her lungs. “Yes.”

“I imagine you witnessed a great deal more than a child should. And I would guess that most of it was of a crude nature.”

She swallowed audibly. “True.”

He tucked a silky stray curl behind her ear. “You know I would never hurt you.”

“Of course.”

“We will be beautiful together, Meredith.”

“I know, Philip. I’m not afraid.”

“I’m glad.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous as well.”

There was no mistaking her surprise. “Surely not for the same reason I am?”

Heat crept up his neck. “No. At least not exactly, as I am not a virgin. But nothing in my experience has prepared me for this. For making love to a woman I love. To a woman I desire so much I can barely think properly. To a woman I want, more than anything, to please. That, coupled with the fact that it has been many months since I was last with anyone… well, suffice it to say that I am nervous as well.”

He felt some of the tension ease from her body. “In that case,” she said, a smile trembling on her lips, “I shall do my utmost to be gentle with you.”

He smiled in return. “My darling Meredith, you have no idea how much I anticipate you doing so.”

Without taking his gaze off her, he unbuttoned her bodice, then slowly slipped her gown from her shoulders, revealing her delicate clavicle, and porcelain skin stained with a faint blush. “The first time I kissed you, at Vauxhall, my only regret was that it was so dark. I wanted to see you. Your skin. Your body. Your eyes. Your reactions. And now I have you in the light…” He eased her gown downward, over her arms, past her hips, then let it go to spill into a forest-green puddle at her feet.

Meredith drew in a quick breath and all the tension she’d only just pushed aside roared back at standing before him wearing only her undergarments. Taking her hand, he helped her step from the center of her fallen gown. He then picked up the garment and draped it over the back of a leather chair. Returning to her, he dropped to one knee. “Hold on to my shoulders.”

She did as he bade, and he gently lifted one foot, then the other, sliding off her shoes. He smoothed his hands up her calves, then the backs of her thighs, shooting shivers of delight up her spine. When his fingers skimmed near the edges of her garters, he looked up at her.

“The first time we met, after you’d swooned in St. Paul’s-”

“I prefer to call it an uncharacteristic moment of lightheadedness.”

“I’m certain you do. After you swooned, I told you I would not dream of touching your garters without your express permission.”

“Actually, you said you probably would not dream of touching them without my express permission. I thought you were incorrigible.”

“lam.”

“I also recall assuring you that you would never receive such permission.”

“You did. May I touch your garters, Meredith?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please do.”

He untied the ribbons and slipped off her stockings, leaving her to curl her bare toes into the fire-warmed rug.

Then he rose, and her breath stalled when he edged his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise and slowly drew the garment down her body, letting it fall at her feet.

His gaze tracked slowly downward, touching her everywhere like a heated caress, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Her nipples hardened into aching points, and her breathing turned shallow.

Reaching out, he took her hands, entwining their fingers. “Meredith…” Her name passed his lips in a rough whisper. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” Lifting her hands to his lips, he pressed a fervent kiss against the sensitive inside of her wrist. Tingles raced up her arm, shooting liquid heat through her, which settled low in her belly. Surely she should feel some embarrassment at standing naked before him, yet all she felt was breathless exhilaration. Heady anticipation. And an overwhelming impatience to remove his clothing so she could see him as well, feel him against her, skin to skin.

Disentangling one of her hands from his, she reached out and skimmed her fingers down the front of his shirt. “One of us is wearing far too many garments.”

His eyes darkened with a combination of heat and amusement. Releasing her hand, he pulled his shirt from his breeches, then settled his arms at his sides. “I am at your disposal, madam.”

Intrigued at the thought of undressing him, she applied herself to the row of buttons down the front of his shirt. When she finished the last one, she slowly parted the material, slipping the fine lawn over his shoulders and down his arms. Her avid gaze took in his wide shoulders, broad chest, and muscled arms. Golden, tanned skin, sprinkled with dark brown hair that narrowed into a fascinating ribbon that bisected his ridged abdomen, before disappearing into the waistband of his breeches.

Encouraged by the desire so evident in his eyes, she placed her hands on his chest, then splayed her fingers, absorbing the warmth of his skin, delighting in the sensation of his hair tickling against her palm, his heartbeat thudding beneath her fingertips. She inhaled deeply, filling her head with the delightful, woodsy-clean scent that belonged to him alone. Captivated, she experimentally glided her hands across the expanse of firm muscles, and was rewarded with a masculine groan. Emboldened by that response, she smoothed her hands over him again, marveling at the firm, smooth texture of his skin, his hard muscles contracting beneath her palms. But when she feathered her fingertips down, over his abdomen, he sucked in a breath and grasped her wrists.

“If you continue to do that, I won’t last very long, and I am not yet finished taking care of you. There is still your bath to see to. Let me help you into the tub. The warm water will relax you, and relieve any soreness from our fall.”

“But what about you? You fell as well.”

“Which is why I intend to join you in the bath.”

His words, coupled by the sensual glitter in his eyes, fired a tingling flame through her. Pulling her gaze from his, she turned to look at the shiny brass tub, noticing for the first time its size. It was wider and considerably longer than any tub she’d ever seen, and did indeed appear large enough to fit two people-provided they sat very close to each other. “I’ve never seen a tub such as this.”

“I had it made in Italy. As I enjoy the healing and relaxation properties of a soak in warm water, and do not care to fold myself up like a paper fan, I required something considerably larger than a hip bath. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it.”

Holding his hand for balance, she climbed upon the small wooden stool, stepped over the edge of the tub, then lowered herself into the heated water.

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Close your eyes and relax. I shall return in a moment.”

“Where are you going?”

His gaze slid down her body. “To fetch my strigil.”

Admiring his broad back, she watched him walk toward a door she assumed led to his dressing room, and recalled their conversation in the warehouse about the strigil… how it was used by ancient Greeks and Romans for scraping moisture off their skin after bathing. And the wealth of sensual images that conversation had inspired. Of him, and her, naked in the bath-never daring to hope that such fantasies could become reality. Was it only an hour ago she’d told herself that he wasn’t hers to touch? Hers to kiss? Yet now he was all that, and so much more. He was hers to love. And marry. And care for. And bathe with…

The curls of steam rising from the water had nothing to do with the heat coursing through her. The door he’d disappeared through opened, and he walked toward her, wearing a dark blue silk robe, the sash loosely knotted about his waist. She noted his bare feet, and her heart sped up at the realization that the robe was all he wore. In one hand he carried a folded towel, in the other hand he carried a strigil, identical to the one she’d cataloged at the warehouse, except this one was made of highly polished brass and looked considerably newer.

After setting down the towel and strigil next to the towel whoever had prepared the bath had already left, he crouched down alongside the tub. Dipping his hand into the water, he trailed his fingers along her thigh. “How does the water feel?”

“Nice. Warm.” Summoning her courage, she added, “Lonely.”

Heat flickered in his eyes, and without a word, he rose, untied the sash securing his robe, then shrugged the garment from his body. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, from his shoulders and chest, following that captivating silky line of hair down his abdomen to his…

Oh, my.

Lower, that silky ribbon spread to cradle his fully erect manhood. Fascination and trepidation collided in her, and her gaze flew up to meet his. His ardor was obvious, but judging by the banked fire in his eyes, it was also clear that he was holding himself in tight control.

He stepped to the edge of the tub. “Move forward a bit,” he said softly.

Entranced, she did as he bade her, watching over her shoulder as he stepped over the edge, then lowered himself to sit behind her.

The water rose, coming within inches of sloshing over onto the carpet. He slipped his long legs on either side of her, then, grasping her shoulders, eased her backward until her entire back reclined against his chest, warm water lapping at her shoulders. He fitted his arms beneath hers, wrapping them lightly around her waist.

Sensations bombarded her from every direction. The incredible feel of his naked body surrounding hers, their skin slippery and sleek from the water. The gentle tickle of his chest hair against her shoulders. His heartbeat thumping against her back. His arousal nestled snugly against the base of her spine. Her temple resting against his smoothly shaven cheek. The sight of his strong, golden brown arms and legs enveloping her, her skin so pale in comparison. One of his large hands cupping the underside of her breast beneath the water, her nipple erect, as if begging for his touch. She drew in a deep breath and her eyes slid closed as his unique scent rose on the steam, surrounding her in a heated, sensual cocoon from which she never wished to emerge.

Yet just when she thought it impossible to be steeped in further sensations, his hands began to move beneath the water. Her eyelids fluttered open and she watched his hands glide slowly upward, over her breasts. His palms skimmed over her taut nipples, but he did not linger, instead continuing his upward journey to her shoulders, where his fingers lightly massaged. A low moan of pleasure purred in her throat.

After his hands wrought their limb-weakening magic upon her shoulders for several moments, he whispered against her cheek, “Raise your arms and wrap them around my neck.”

Languid from his ministrations, she did as he bade, linking her upraised hands together at his nape. With his lips bestowing lingering kisses along her temple, his hands slowly smoothed down the undersides of her arms, slipped under the water to continue over her breasts. Each of his fingers teased over her nipples, quickening her breath. Before she could recover, he continued downward, over her rib cage and abdomen, then along her inner thighs. When he reached her knees, he reversed direction and slowly stroked his way back up her body to her elbows.

“Do you like that?” His question tickled by her ear.

“Yes.” Her response came out in a long sigh of pleasure.

He repeated the long, drugging stroke, kindling an inferno in her that quickly threatened to consume her from the inside out. With each passing of his hands over her body, she experienced an insistent, heavy pull between her thighs. Moans she could not suppress accompanied her every exhale. How was it possible that his touch both soothed and aroused her unbearably at the same time?

Each time his fingers brushed over her nipples, she lifted her breasts, craving more of his touch. When his palms meandered along her thighs, she spread her legs wider, increasingly desperate for him to put out this relentless fire he’d ignited. Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his throat, squirming against him when he lingered over her breasts and teased her aching nipples between his fingers.

Philip sucked in a sharp breath as she moved against him, the curve of her buttocks rubbing against his erection. He gritted his teeth against the pleasure, fighting to remain in control, but the feel of her all but vibrating beneath his hands, the sight of her taut nipples seeking his touch, her straining to splay her legs wider, offering him the sensual wonders hidden by the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs, the erotic scent of feminine arousal rising from her skin, her increasingly uninhibited response, all conspired to rob him of his command over himself.

“Philip…”

His name, whispered against his neck in a smoky, need-filled moan, stripped him of another layer of restraint. Shifting slightly to have better access to her lips, his mouth came down on hers in a hot, demanding, open-mouthed kiss. While one hand continued to play over her breasts, his other hand wandered downward, his fingers cruising over her belly and those entrancing curls, then slid lower, between her thighs, to glide over her sleek, swollen flesh. She gasped against his mouth, and he deepened their kiss, his tongue rubbing against hers in a blatant imitation of the act his body desperately ached to share with her.

He slowly caressed her folds, then eased a finger inside her. A long groan vibrated in her throat. Unlocking her hands at the back of his neck, she ran her palms down his thighs. She broke off their kiss, and whispered against his throat, “Touch you… want to touch you.”

Slipping his finger from her velvety heat, he grasped her waist and helped her turn over. Rising to her knees between his spread legs, she settled her backside on her heels. A groan escaped him at the sight of her, azure eyes glittering, dark hair mussed, the lower part wet and clinging to her shoulders, color high, lips swollen and reddened from their kisses, full breasts topped with coral-tipped, aroused nipples, water streaming down her body. Before he could regain the wits just looking at her had robbed, she said, “Put your hands behind your head.”

Their eyes met, and his heart thudded at her unmistakable meaning. She meant to stroke him just as he’d stroked her. Lifting his arms, he locked his fingers at his nape. And prayed for strength.

Starting at his elbows, she slowly dragged her hands down his arms and over his chest, igniting a trail of flame under his skin. Watching her touching him, her eyes bright with avid curiosity, wonder, and desire, he knew he’d never seen a more arousing sight. Her hands skimmed over his hips, then down his thighs to his knees, where she changed direction and started her upward stroke.

“Do you like that, Philip?”

“God, yes.”

By gritting his teeth and clenching his fingers until they turned numb, he endured another slow pass of her hands along his body. On her third downward journey, her fingertips brushed over the head of his erection. He sucked in a sharp breath, then groaned.

Clearly encouraged by his response, she touched him again, this time trailing her fingers down the length of his rigid flesh. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, engulfed in raw sensations as her hands caressed and stroked him. When she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and gently squeezed him, a growl of need ripped from him, and he could no longer deny the demands of his body. He needed her, wanted her. Now.

Lifting his head, he reached for her, commanding in a raw voice, “Straddle me.”

Without hesitation, she rested her hands on his shoulders, then shifted her legs to the outside of his thighs. Grasping her hips, he settled her over the tip of his erection and gently urged her downward until her maidenhead impeded their progress. Their gazes locked, he simultaneously surged up and pressed her down, and buried himself deep within her silky heat.

Her eyes widened and his heart clenched. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head slowly, and he forced himself to remain perfectly still, to give her a chance to become accustomed to the feel of him, while he absorbed the exquisite sensation of her tight, velvety heat wrapped around him. Nearly a minute passed before she experimentally moved against him, dragging a groan from him.

Releasing her hips, he skimmed his hands up to her breasts, determined to allow her to set the pace. Watching every nuance of her wonder-filled arousal, he filled his hands with her breasts, while she slowly rocked against him. The effort to hold off his rapidly approaching orgasm beaded sweat on his forehead. Her tempo increased, and the last shreds of his control evaporated, leaving him lost, mindless with need. Gripping her hips, he thrust upward, hard and fast. Her eyes slid closed, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. The instant he felt her tighten around him, he let himself go, his own release pounding through him.

When his tremors finally subsided, he opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed, and her head hung limply forward, as if too heavy for her neck to bear. Heart still thudding against his ribs, he said the one word he could manage.

“Meredith.”

She slowly lifted her head. Her eyelids fluttered open, and their gazes locked. A long, silent look passed between them. He wanted to say something, but damn it, words were beyond him. And even if they weren’t, what words could possibly describe what they’d just shared?

“I had no idea…” she finally said quietly. “Thank you. For showing me how beautiful that act can be.”

The area around his heart went hollow, then filled with such love for her, he ached with it. “Then I must thank you as well, because I never knew it could be that beautiful.”

She said nothing for several heartbeats, then a smile pulled up one corner of her lips, and a hint of mischief flickered in her eyes. “Do you think it’s possible that it could get even more beautiful?”

Smiling, he fisted his hand in her hair and dragged her mouth down to his. “A very intriguing hypothesis, one which I believe requires immediate experimentation,” he said, punctuating each word with a nipping kiss. “But as the water is growing cool, I suggest we remand to the comfort of my bed to conduct our research.”

They shared one final lush kiss, after which he helped her to rise. Then he stood and helped her step over the edge of the tub, onto the wooden stool, and down to the carpet. Following her out, he snatched up the strigil. He skimmed the instrument down each of her arms and legs, removing the water from her skin, then wrapped her in a thick towel, warmed from its spot near the fire. He was about to apply the strigil to his own arm when she asked, “May I?”

He set the instrument in her outstretched hand, then enjoyed her gentle ministrations. When she finished, he shrugged into his robe, then led her to stand in front of the fire, where he used the other warmed towel to dry her hair. When he finished, he stood in front of her, sifting his fingers through the long, dark, still slightly damp strands. She smiled up at him, a smile so filled with love and happiness, she dazzled him. “Would you mind terribly if I told you again that I love you?” she asked.

He frowned and pretended to give the question great thought. “Well, I suppose if you feel that you must…”

“Oh, I must.” Rising up on her toes, she looped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Philip.”

Pulling her tighter against him, he said, “I love you, too.”

Something flickered in her eyes, prompting him to ask, “What is it?”

“I was just thinking, do you think perhaps we might have… made a baby?”

The question stilled him. An image of her, large with their child, flashed in his mind. “I don’t know. But I do know the thought of you bearing our child…” His voice trailed off and he lowered his head to touch his forehead to hers. “The mere thought leaves me speechless with joy.”

She leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dancing. “I can picture our son now. Strong and intelligent, with your kind eyes behind his spectacles, and your thick, dark hair.”

“And I can picture our daughter now,” he countered with a grin, “with your vivid coloring, determination, and generous spirit.” Taking her hand, he led her toward the bed. “What sort of wedding would you like? Something grand in St. Paul’s?”

“Actually, I’d prefer something simple. Perhaps here, in your home.”

“Then that is precisely what we shall have. I will arrange for a special license as soon as-”

His words cut off as she stumbled. Her hand slipped from his, and before he could catch her, she fell forward, landing on her knees, and breaking her fall with her palms. He dropped to his knees beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, helping her to sit back on her heels.

“Are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I must have tripped on something.”

He glanced around, but no stray objects littered the floor, nor were there any bumps in the carpet. He was about to ask her if she felt able to stand when she groaned and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed by her sudden pallor.

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath. “My head. It hurts. Severely.”

He stared at her, a kernel of uneasiness knotting his stomach. A fall… then a headache… The words from the Stone of Tears reverberated through his mind.

For true love’s very breath

Is destined for death.

Grace will fall, a stumble she’ll take,

Then suffer the pain of hell’s headache.

If ye have the gift of wedded bliss,

She will die before you kiss.

Or two days after the vows are said,

Your bride, so cursed, shall be found dead.

Once your intended has been lo

Nothing can save her from

Bloody hell, what were the missing words to the curse? Could it be ‘Once your intended has been loved?’ His uneasiness turned into dawning, stunned horror. She’d fallen. And now was suffering a terrible headache. By proposing to Meredith, telling her he loved her, then making love to her, had he brought the wrath of the curse upon her? If not, then the fall and the headache immediately following were odd coincidences-and by God, he didn’t believe in coincidence. Especially when his gut tightened in this foreboding way.

She groaned again and everything inside him froze. No, this was no odd coincidence. Stark fear iced his veins at the horrible realization that he’d done exactly that- brought the wrath of the curse upon her-and had thereby sealed her fate.

Unless he found a way to break the curse-

She would die in two days.