Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion

There was no need to bring up what had gone wrong between them ten years ago. Not as far as she was concerned.

He blenched when he thought how close he’d come to quizzing her about the little girl he’d seen her with—the one he’d assumed was hers. And the man he’d thought had fathered it on her. The man he’d thought of as a vile seducer.

But it was him. He was the only seducer of innocence she knew. He was the man who’d callously, clumsily, ripped her virginity from her. As if shattering her hopes ten years ago hadn’t been bad enough. What effect had it had on her? He hadn’t stopped to consider that, not before. But she’d fled London at the height of the Season. And she hadn’t ever married...

‘I will never let you down, or bring you pain again,’ he vowed.

‘No, you will not,’ she said firmly, grabbing the corner of the quilt to cover her breasts as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Because I won’t let you.’

‘Hold hard!’ He gripped her shoulders and, when she wouldn’t look at him, spoke to her rigidly averted profile. ‘Do not leave, not as you are. Let me get you...a drink. Yes, a drink. I should have hot water to bathe you and soothe you, really, but it would take too long to fetch it and heat it.’

He winced as the words came tumbling out of his mouth. He was practically gibbering. But then what kind of man would be able to stay calm after discovering that, ten years earlier, he’d spurned the only woman he’d ever loved, because he hadn’t had the guts to question a pack of the most dastardly lies about her? And only finally learned the truth of her complete innocence of any kind of wrongdoing because he’d treated her like the veriest lightskirt?

He darted from the bed, out of the room and over to the table where he kept a decanter of good brandy. For a moment or two he could see the attraction of becoming a Papist. It must feel wonderful to be able to go to a priest, confess, and have your guilt absolved through the muttering of a few prayers.

Sloshing a generous measure into a glass, he hurried back to the bedroom, to find, to his relief, that she was still sitting hunched up on the edge of the bed, clutching the quilt round her shoulders and not, as he had feared, hunting round the room for her discarded clothing.

He handed her the glass, which she took from him with a scowl.

‘I...I’m sorry it hurt.’ Mea culpa. ‘The first time often does, I believe...’

‘I’m amazed anybody ever does it a second,’ she said, screwing up her face as she took a gulp of the brandy.

‘Perhaps...other men are not as clumsy about it as I just was,’ he admitted, running his fingers through his hair. ‘If I’d known...’ No, he couldn’t tell her that, could he? Or he would then have to explain why he’d made such an assumption. ‘I misunderstood. That is...I thought you seemed impatient.’

No, that wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t try shifting one iota of the blame on her. His was the fault. And it was up to him to make amends.

And there was only one sure way of doing that. He took a deep breath.

‘We must marry, of course,’ he said. It was the appropriate penalty to pay for all he’d done to her. The ultimate sacrifice to atone for his sin.

But her scowl only grew deeper.

‘We will do no such thing!’

‘We have to, Amy, don’t you see?’ He sat down on the bed next to her. ‘I have taken your virginity, ruined you...’

‘You didn’t take anything. We were sharing a moment of what I’d hoped would be pleasure. What a stupid mistake to make,’ she said bitterly.

He flinched. Had he asked her the same question ten years ago, she would have been overjoyed. She’d loved him, back then, just as he was.

Now he’d become as big a disappointment to her as he’d always been to everyone else.

‘It is a mistake, however,’ he persisted, ‘that can soon be rectified.’ He wouldn’t be a disappointment to her as a husband. He would cherish her. Stay loyal to her. Make up for all the hurts she’d ever suffered on his account and defend her from anyone who ever attempted to do anything similar in future.

‘Not by marrying,’ she retorted. ‘I agreed to your proposition because I believed you were the one man I could trust not to want to go all...respectable. You made it quite clear that you had no intention of marrying me, not ten years ago, and not now. You made me,’ she said, jabbing him on his arm with her forefinger, ‘believe it would be safe to take up with you. Oh, why do I never learn? I should have known you would be nothing but a disappointment. To think I hoped that because you had the reputation for being a rake, that you would be able to make this...’ she waved the hand holding the brandy glass wildly, indicating the rumpled bedding ‘...enjoyable! And not only was that the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made where you are concerned, but now you are talking about trapping me into matrimony.’

She slammed the brandy glass down on his nightstand and got to her feet.

He had to think of something fast. He couldn’t let it end like this. If she left now, he would never get her back. Never be free from the guilt. He went cold inside.

Think, man, think!

Firstly, he got the impression that the tighter he clung to her, the harder she would struggle to break free.

And she’d just said she’d wanted to feel safe with him—which meant free to come and go as she pleased.

And finally, she’d said she wanted pleasure.

Summoning every last ounce of his ability to dissemble, he leaned back into the pillows and folded his hands behind his head as she struggled to get off the bed with her dignity intact, which wasn’t easy given all she had to preserve it was a rather moth-eaten quilt that revealed as much as it covered whenever she made an injudicious movement.

‘Very well,’ he said with feigned insouciance, ‘you don’t want to marry me. I can understand that. For as long as I can remember, there has been somebody telling me I’m no good.’ Except for a few heady weeks ten years ago, when a young girl, fresh from the country, had hung on his every word. Her face had lit up whenever she saw him. Nobody had ever made him feel as though he could be enough for them, just as she was, until he’d met Amethyst.

His calm voice, his apparent nonchalance, had an instant, and highly satisfactory, effect on her. Just as a skilled groom would gentle a skittish, badly broken mare, his retreat roused her curiosity. She stopped scrabbling round on the floor for any item of clothing she could find and looked at him fully for the first time since he’d withdrawn from her body.

Though there was still wariness mingled in with the curiosity.

‘What do you mean, no good? You are the son of Lord Finchingfield.’

‘He was always my sternest critic. I’ve never had any ambition, you see, which in his eyes is the greatest sin a member of the Harcourt family can commit.’

It was some consolation that he’d taken a stand and broken free of his father before tonight. Otherwise, he’d have had to go and tell him that he’d never forgive him for what he’d done to Amethyst. For what he’d made him do to Amethyst. For making him an accomplice in her heartbreak.

Meanwhile, Amethyst had found a shoe, sat down on the edge of the bed with it and was sliding it on to her foot.

He pulled himself together, sat up, slithered closer and slid his arms round her waist.

‘You don’t really want to leave, do you?’ he murmured the words into her ear. She shivered, but didn’t pull away. ‘I won’t mention marriage again,’ he breathed, before nibbling his way down her neck, ‘if the prospect of being legshackled to a man of my calibre is really so offensive to you.’

‘It isn’t you,’ she huffed, arching, probably involuntarily, to grant him better access. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone. Ever.’

He wondered why not. It was generally the height of every woman’s ambition.

His mouth flattened into a grim line. He had a sneaking suspicion that might be his fault too.

‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Having gone through the misery of being chained in a bond of mutual antipathy, I would not lightly enter into the state again.’

‘But you said...’

‘It was the shock, my sweet,’ he said, sliding one hand inside the quilt, to cup a breast, ‘of finding you a virgin.’ Well, it was true, up to a point. ‘But if you really don’t want to get married, we can forget all about it.’

‘There is no if about it,’ she said vehemently. ‘I did not get into your bed in an attempt to extract a marriage proposal from you.’

‘Oh?’ He nibbled round the outer edge of her ear. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what you did want to achieve, then. Because you aren’t the kind of woman who routinely has affairs, are you?’

‘Well, obviously not. You’ve just discovered that! I...’ She faltered into a sigh as he slid the quilt from her shoulders and started kneading at both breasts at once.

‘Then tell me,’ he urged her. ‘Tell me what you want from me.’

‘I don’t know, exactly,’ she protested. ‘I just...wanted to know what it would be like.’

‘Curiosity? Is that all that drove you here? I don’t believe that,’ he reproved her by nipping hard at her earlobe.

‘Well, no, that wasn’t all,’ she confessed, her eyes drooping half-shut. ‘It is...it has all been building up for some time now.’

‘Building up, yes,’ he agreed, sliding his hand down her torso until it rested just above the soft downy hair at the juncture of her thighs.

‘I’m so sick of people telling me how I ought to behave,’ she said, her head lolling back into the crook of his arm. ‘Of how to think. And never ever being...happy. I wanted...’ She ended on a whimper as he stroked lower.

‘You wanted to break free. To be yourself. Even if you’re not sure who that is, just yet.’

‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘Ooh, yes...but how did you...?’

‘How did I know? What do you think I’m doing in Paris?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing. But...’

‘But it feels good, doesn’t it. No pain now. Only pleasure, I promise.’

He pulled her back down on to the bed and shifted so that he was beside her. And kissed her.

She kissed him back for a while, but then stiffened and pulled her mouth away, and said, ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m giving you what you want. I’m going to be your lover. For as long as you’re in Paris, we are going to keep on coming back to this bed—’

‘You must be joking!’

He lifted one leg over hers when it looked as though she was going to struggle out of his arms, pinning her down while he kissed her again. Until she stopped struggling and kissed him back.

‘This is too important to joke about,’ he said grimly. ‘I hurt you. And made you want to run away when I should have given you the greatest pleasure you have ever known.’

‘It wasn’t all your fault,’ she conceded. ‘I knew you’d assumed I was being kept by Monsieur Le Brun, and even though I did tell you he wasn’t, I did nothing to discourage you from thinking I was the kind of woman who might. And then, when I agreed to your proposition and came straight round here, just as though I was used to doing this sort of thing...’

‘Even if you were an experienced woman, I should have been more considerate. But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was...’ His arms tightened round her convulsively. He’d never, ever, been so insensitive to a bed-partner’s needs. He hadn’t cared whether she enjoyed the coupling or not, that was the sordid truth. He had been angry with her when he’d carried her to this bed. He had still been blaming her for everything. ‘I wasn’t thinking about much of anything at all. Only counting the seconds until I could make you mine,’ he finished lamely. He couldn’t tell her the truth, or anything that might hint at it, because it would only hurt her more. And she didn’t deserve more hurt.

She hadn’t deserved any of it, ever. Her only crime had been winning his heart and thereby falling foul of his powerful, manipulative, cold-hearted father.

Well, this was where the hurting would stop. From now on, he would only bring her pleasure.

‘I may not be good for much,’ he said, ‘but one thing I am most proficient at is making love.’

She didn’t look as though she believed him. He couldn’t blame her, considering the way things had gone so far tonight.

‘Give me another chance, Amethyst,’ he said, sliding his fingers between the legs she’d clamped shut. ‘Just see how it goes, hmm?’ She was already damp down there. Her body was responding to his kisses and caresses. It was only her mind that was still resisting. ‘You can stop me any time you want to. But I don’t think, this time, you will want me to stop.’

He nuzzled her neck as he slid one finger inside her. She gasped and tensed. His heart lurched. But as he continued to caress her and nibble at her neck, she slowly relaxed, until he was able to slide another finger inside her.

‘Nathan,’ she moaned, half-plea, half-protest. ‘I really don’t think I want to do this...’

‘Hush,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘You don’t know what you want. You cannot, because you have never experienced any of this before, have you?’

He groaned into her neck as another wave of anguish assailed him. They’d been on the brink of something, ten years before, which would have resulted in them both becoming very different people. He wouldn’t have become the cynic, or the rake he was, if he’d married her. And she... Well, he didn’t know what she’d become since they’d last met. But she didn’t look any happier than he was. She had that mean, pinched look about her mouth common to impoverished spinsters. She dressed dowdily, as though she had no pride in her appearance.

Well, that was all going to change. While she was in Paris he would show her a new world. A world of sensuality. She’d said she wanted to break free and find out who she really was, who she was meant to be. And he’d be the man to show her. He’d peel back the layers of hurt and caution that shrouded the girl who’d once made his heart dance, as surely as he’d peeled away her clothes tonight. He’d kiss the meanness from her mouth and teach her to love what her body could make her feel.

Starting right now. She might not want to marry him any longer, but she did want him to show her the kind of pleasure most spinsters could only dream of. And...he wanted to give her the wedding night they should have had ten years ago.

For once he was glad he’d had so much experience. In gaining his reputation as a rake, he’d learned a lot about what brought a woman pleasure. Now he could apply it all to Amethyst.

Her neck had proved to be particularly sensitive, so he kept on kissing her there, while toying with the damp folds between her thighs. He dipped and teased, nipped and nuzzled, until her hips began to squirm in a rhythmical response.

And then, when he was sure she’d got to the point where she wasn’t going to tell him to stop, he began a leisurely exploration of the rest of her body, paying close attention to anywhere that provoked a gasp, or a shiver, or made her fingers curl a little more tightly round his neck.

She shivered with pleasure when he lapped at the indentation of her waist, moaned when he nipped at the soft flesh on the outside of her hips and squirmed when he trailed his tongue further down, and inward, to the insides of her thighs.

Since she was a total innocent, he hesitated before bestowing the most intimate kiss of all. But had this been their wedding night, he would have made sure she came to orgasm before he made any attempt to enter her. And this was the most reliable way, he’d discovered, of pleasuring a woman.

And he wanted to give her pleasure. Such unimaginable pleasure that she would want to come back to him again and again. He couldn’t make amends for every single hurt he’d caused her, but by God, while she was in Paris he could give her pleasure unlike anything she’d known before. Or would ever experience again.

It would be no penance, no penance at all. It wouldn’t wash away his guilt. That would stay with him to his dying day.

But at least she wouldn’t think of him as the biggest disappointment in her life.

Chapter Eight

Amethyst could not believe the things he was prepared to do with his tongue. Part of her wondered whether she ought to stop him. But it was making her feel so...blissful. And she’d got the idea he wanted to do penance, in some way, so who was she to demur? Besides, when he slipped first one finger, then two inside her, she lost the ability to think anything at all. It was all melting heat, and rivers of delight, and then a kind of starburst that shattered her, yet made her feel completely whole for the first time in her life, all at the same time.

And then he was above her and sliding into her before she’d even recovered her wits enough to tense, or make a protest that she really didn’t want him to try again.

And this time it didn’t hurt a bit. In fact, it brought another wave of pulsating pleasure shivering through her, making her flex her hips upwards in an instinctively welcoming gesture.

He kissed her on the mouth. Gently, tenderly. A different kiss from any he’d bestowed on her before. He encouraged her to open her mouth, so he could drive his tongue inside. It was almost more shocking than having that other part of him driving into her, though equally as delicious. After a bit, she wondered if he was trying to distract her from the gentle, yet insistent rhythm he’d set up with his body, by teaching her lips to part, her tongue to duel with his.

If so, it was rather...sweet of him.

And then he broke away from her mouth, to pay attention to that sweet spot just beneath her ear, which sent shivers skittering all the way down her spine. And his movements became more insistent, demanding a response from her. And her body gave it, of its own volition. She’d just discovered that touching and kissing a certain spot between her legs resulted in almost unimaginable pleasure. Now, awakened, that place was clamouring for more sensation, more pressure. And the only way to get it was to grind upwards against his pelvis as he thrust down.

She wouldn’t have believed that after the pain she would ever permit a man inside her again, let alone want him to go deeper, and harder, but she did. She wouldn’t have believed he would be so sensitive to her needs, after the clumsy way he’d started, but he was. It was as though he was completely in tune with her body now, giving it exactly what it needed, a split second before she knew it herself.

So there was no reason for her to thrash about under him, or claw at his back, or wind her legs about his. Not that he seemed to mind. Not to judge by the way he kept on saying, ‘Yes, oh God, yes.’ Or the way he moaned and shuddered, and showered kisses all over her face and neck.

But then, once again, her mind took leave of her body as delight broke over them both in a great wave.

‘Amy,’ he cried as she splintered apart. And there was something in his voice that sounded almost as though...

No. It wasn’t tenderness. It was just...passion.

And yet the tone of it had plucked at some long-suppressed emotion deep inside her, which made her want to weep.

Which was ridiculous, she panted, as she drifted back to shore. She’d cried enough tears over this man in the past. His purpose in her life now was to teach her about pleasure.

And he had. Once he’d realized just how inexperienced she was, he’d applied his considerable skill with gentleness.

She should have told him, before they got started, that she hadn’t a clue about what went on between a man and woman in the bedroom.

So why hadn’t she?

It wasn’t just that she’d been flattered he thought her so attractive she could make her living in this way.

No. The truth was much more muddied. He’d accused her of tempting him to marry unwisely in his youth. If he’d known she was a virgin, she’d feared he might have thought this was a renewed attempt on his freedom. And she’d wanted him too badly to allow anything to make him reconsider.

All of a sudden, panic clawed its way to the surface. She wanted him, yes, but not enough to sacrifice her own freedom. Any more than she expected, or wanted, him to sacrifice his.

‘I really didn’t expect you to propose to me,’ she bit out, ‘just because I was a virgin. That is not why I chose you to become my first lover.’

‘Your first?’ He rolled off her and raised himself up on one elbow to glare down at her. ‘Do you mean to tell me you now plan to make a habit of taking lovers?’

No, she hadn’t meant that at all, but she could see why her words might have made him think so. But he had an infernal cheek to look so disapproving, with the reputation he had!

‘I don’t know. I might one day, I suppose. After all, I’m not going to stay in Paris for ever. And I most certainly am not going to marry you.’

‘You’ve already made that crystal clear.’

He was positively glaring at her now.

‘There’s no need to look at me like that, for heaven’s sake. You don’t want to marry me either! Don’t let’s spoil this by quarrelling. I was only trying to reassure you that I have no designs on you, just because you happened to be the man to whom I gave my virginity.’

‘No, I...no, I see that.’ He pursed his lips in a way that, had he been a woman, she would have described as a pout. ‘But I cannot help wondering why you did choose me for this singular honour.’

Irritating man! She was trying to reassure him that his precious freedom was not in jeopardy and he was twisting her words to make it sound as though...as though...well, into an insult, anyway.

‘There is no need to be sarcastic,’ she huffed, reaching down blindly for the quilt. Or a sheet. Or anything to cover herself up with.

He shifted, releasing a swathe of quilt which he tucked up over her breasts.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said drily. ‘But for your information, I was not being sarcastic. I do feel that you paid me a great compliment in coming here tonight and permitting me to initiate you into the joys of lovemaking.’ He looked troubled when he added, ‘I only wish I had done better...’

Her immediate reaction was to try to console him.

‘Oh, no, you were very good. Really.’ What was the matter with her? Trying to make him feel better? He was a man, for heaven’s sake. A fully grown man. Just because he’d pouted like a sulky boy, then looked a bit hurt, that was no reason to pander to his vanity.

‘Except to start with,’ she therefore reminded him and, feeling a twinge of conscience, hastily added, ‘And that was partly my own fault.’

He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Thistle,’ he said, and kissed her shoulder. The one bit of her that was peeping out from under the quilt. ‘You really are prickly, aren’t you? Most women would be purring like a contented kitten after that.’ But she wasn’t most women. And he’d hurt her so badly before, of course she was going to throw up a shield of sarcasm, from behind which she could jab at him with her sharp little tongue. It was all the protection she had.

‘Well, if that’s going to be your attitude...’

He held her tight when she would have rolled away from him and clucked his tongue.

‘I am not criticising you, not at all. It was merely an observation. And a note to myself that I need to do better next time.’

‘Next time?’ Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her knuckles white as they clutched the quilt to her chin.

‘But you will have to give me a little respite,’ he said, rolling on to his back and tucking her into his side.

‘Respite? What do you...oh! Well, I didn’t think we’d be doing that again. Not now.’

‘No, not now,’ he said amicably. ‘In just a little while.’

‘No, really, I...’

‘Don’t be so demanding, woman,’ he said. ‘I have told you I need a little rest before the next round.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant! I...oh...’ she glanced up at him when he started to chuckle ‘...you’re teasing me.’