His eyes drifted over the swell of her br**sts, so taut against her bodice from the strain of her anxious breathing that the faint outline of her n**ples became clearly visible beneath the muslin. He immediately felt his groin tighten at the thought of what he wanted to do to her and consequently drew a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. Lifting his hand carefully to her cheek so as not to startle her, he waited quietly for her to relax against him, the soft contours of her cheek pressed against his palm, while her eyes drifted shut and a blissful smile played upon her lips.
How curious it was that when he’d first seen her, she’d struck him as ordinary and plain. Yet looking at her now—her hair slightly tussled beneath her bonnet, her long black eyelashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks, and her full, crimson lips—he realized that she was anything but that. In fact, she was absolutely perfect in every way: a diamond of the first water, in his eyes.
“I have no desire to do anything that you might not wish for me to do,” he told her softly as he stroked his thumb against her cheek. “So I would like to ask for your permission first. May I kiss you?”
She caught her breath the moment he asked her, her gaze meeting his in one of puzzlement, as if she couldn’t quite fathom what he had just asked her, and it dawned on him, with a massive amount of regrettable sadness, that this remarkable woman did not think herself worthy. She hesitated, studying him as if to ascertain his reasons behind such a request, and for a long unbearable moment, he thought she might decline. But he held her gaze, and somehow, as if by some miracle, he watched as her misgivings subsided and were replaced by longing. On a quivering breath, she managed a small nod of approval.
Ryan didn’t need a second telling. Unwilling to give her the chance to reconsider the implications of what she’d just agreed to, he leaned toward her and brushed his lips ever so slightly against hers. It was a feathery soft kiss that lasted no more than a few seconds, gentle and tender in every way. Even so, he could have sworn that his heart stopped beating, while glowing embers ignited in the pit of his belly, a slow blaze that grew in strength until it became a roaring fire.
When he pulled away to gauge her reaction, he saw that same fire reflected in her eyes, her yearning written plainly upon her face, and just like that, he lost what little restraint he’d had. Taking her firmly by the waist, he pulled her onto his lap in one easy sweep. A swift pull on the bow beneath her chin sent her bonnet toppling backward onto the carriage floor only seconds before he crushed his lips against hers.
She quivered against him when he traced his tongue along her lower lip, her posture stiff, as if she might protest at any moment. And though she surely must have considered doing so, she made no attempt to push him away. But Ryan sensed her uncertainty and knew that he must force himself to proceed at a slower pace. Pulling back a little, he placed soft kisses upon her eyelids, and then her cheeks, while his fingers worked their way through her hair, toying with the pins until her dark brown locks tumbled over her shoulders.
He kissed her chin and then her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her lilac perfume while his hand moved up her side to rest beside her breast. He paused there, inhaling her, then exhaling her, while her pulse drummed beneath his lips, her breathing low and ragged. But then she shifted. It was ever so slight, and quite subtle, so subtle, in fact, that a less experienced man might not have noticed. But Ryan was no fledgling, and he certainly had no intention of denying either one of them when an invitation had just been offered.
With slow deliberation, his fingers crept over one breast and then over the other in soft strokes. Again she stiffened, her breath caught in her throat until a small groan of pleasure squeezed its way between her lips. So exquisite was the sound that it almost had him spending himself right then and there like a callow youth who’d never lain with a woman before. Taking courage in her response, he took one breast in his hand, squeezing it gently and testing the feel of it. She bowed her head against his, kissing his brow, then his temple, his cheek, until her lips finally found his in a deep and scorching kiss.
Once again, he ran his tongue against her lips, but this time it lasted only a moment. On a soft sigh, she parted her lips and pressed herself closer against his embrace. A low growl rose from Ryan’s throat as this first hurdle was overcome. Tightening his grip to keep her steady as the carriage lurched sideways, he eased his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her warmth before coaxing her to follow his lead.
It didn’t take long to discover that she was a nimble student, her passion matching his own as she raked her fingers through his hair and tugged him closer in obvious desperation. Nothing could have pleased him more, yet it wasn’t enough; he wanted more. With trembling fingers, he eased her sleeves from her shoulders and lowered his head to place soft kisses against the dip of her shoulder blade. Emboldened by her quiet murmur, he allowed himself to go a step further. Hooking his thumbs on the neckline of her bodice, he ran them slowly against her smooth flesh, brushing her gently aroused n**ples. Her back arched on a loud groan, and he tugged the fine fabric away, baring her to his greedy gaze. He eased back a little so he could take a better look at her lovely delights: each breast so plump and full, and with a dark, perky nipple at its crest. It was impossible for him to look away. Instead, a devilish grin drew its way across his face. “So beautiful,” he whispered as he slid his fingers across them. She responded with a sharp intake of breath. He looked her straight in the eye as he took one tender nipple between his fingers and gently squeezed. She gasped and closed her eyes. “Do you like that?” he asked, knowing full well that she did.
Still, he waited for her response: a small nod, followed by a soft “yes.”
“Then I am quite certain that you will like this too.” He leaned forward and licked the hardened flesh with a slowness that would have driven any warm-blooded woman half mad. “Oh God,” she whimpered, pulling him against her with a fierceness that caught him completely unaware. It excited him to no end. There was a passion within her that he’d just unleashed, an urgent need as desperate as his own. Yes, Lady Steepleton would make an ardent lover; of that he was now completely certain.
He wanted her. There was no longer any inkling of doubt in his mind. Not now, he reminded himself, forcing back the desire that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d made a vow, not only to her, but to himself, that he would not take her innocence—not now, at least—not in a lurching carriage. No, he would have to wait for his own release, even if it meant that he’d have to wait for the wedding night. One thing was now quite clear in his mind, however: he would marry her.
Easing away from her, he gently lifted her bodice, returning her to some measure of decency as he did his best to avoid the look of disappointment that shone in her eyes. Moving her off his lap, he bent to pick up her bonnet, then helped her arrange her hair in an orderly fashion. “Thank you,” he muttered, taking her hand in his and pressing a tender kiss against her knuckles, “for allowing me such liberties.”
She blushed deeply in response, then favored him with a dazzling smile. “It was a pleasure.”
Tapping the roof of the carriage to signal the driver that it was time to take her ladyship home, he placed his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close to him, and took courage from the intimacy of the moment. “As I said before, I know that we have scarcely known one another for more than a week, but I do hope that I have just made my intentions quite clear. I plan to marry you, my lady, if you will have me, that is.” Mary couldn’t get a single word out of her mouth; it seemed as if they were all jammed together in her throat all at once. So she just sat there as the idea of marrying Mr. Summersby manifested itself in her mind. He was right, of course; they didn’t know each other well at all, and she still had to tell him about. . .heavens, she’d meant to do it before, but he’d completely led her off track. She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, more horrified now by his potential response than ever before, because the truth of the matter was that becoming his wife didn’t trouble her in the least. In fact, it felt incredibly right.
“And if you will let me,” Mr. Summersby continued, stopping her short once more, “hell, even if you will not, I promise to do whatever I can to keep you safe. Nobody is going to hurt you, not as long as I have anything to say about it.”
Mary stiffened in her seat as the world around her came to a screeching halt. “What do you mean?” she asked numbly as she eased herself away from him.
He let out a heavy sigh and squeezed her hand as if he meant to reassure her. Instead, a slow dread swept over her as she waited to hear what he wished to tell her. “I saw the look on your face the other day when you opened that letter,” he said, turning to her with deep concern in his light blue eyes. “For whatever reason, you were terrified of its contents.”
“That is hardly enough for you to assume that I might be in danger,” she told him cautiously. “You have no idea of what that letter said.” She looked at him imploringly, hoping that he’d merely been jumping to conclusions.
“No,” he agreed, “it is not. But before you and I met, I was approached by a good friend of my family’s, a man whom, it appears, was also a close friend of your father’s. His name is Sir Percy Foxstone.” He was silent for a moment, as if waiting for her to confirm her knowledge of this gentleman, but she’d never heard of this Foxstone fellow, so she just sat there, offering Mr. Summersby a blank stare, her every nerve on sensitized alert. “He asked, on behalf of your father, that I keep an eye on you. Apparently, your father was under the impression that you would be in grave danger if anything were to happen to him; he asked Percy to ensure your protection, as a personal favor to him.”
Mary gazed back at Mr. Summersby, while tears began to prickle behind her eyes. How could she have been such a fool? He hadn’t sought her company because of how attractive he found her, or because he liked her company more than the next woman’s. As it turned out, she was nothing more than an assignment to him—possibly a nuisance even. With startling clarity, she saw that he’d begun calling on her for no other reason than to keep a watchful eye on her at all times and perhaps even to gain access to whatever information he might need.
She should have known that a man like Mr. Summersby would never be drawn to a woman like her. Circumstance had thrown them together, and they’d allowed themselves to get carried away by it. The worst of it was that he was no innocent and that he would very likely have carried on in much the same way with a Covent Garden nun if his need had been great enough. But now, because she was a lady of the ton, he was planning to sacrifice himself on the wedding altar in order to save her reputation. There was no other explanation for it—unless, of course, he was after her money and had just laid a very neat trap. Her heart sank at the very thought of such a possibility.
“Why you?” she asked in a tight voice that conveyed the extent of her growing anger. “Why would this man. . .Sir Percy was it? Why would he ask this of you?”