Surrender (Mockingbird Square 3)

“That’s one thing you should not do,” he whispered, lifting his head to look down at her. “Don’t think. Feel, Lavinia. Just feel.”

She wanted to dispute his words, explain to him all the ways in which he was wrong, but then he was kissing her again and she lost the thought. Now he was lying on top of her, his muscular thighs pressing between hers, stretching her wide, and she felt the prod of his shaft against her entrance, and suddenly it was too late to change her mind and she knew to her dismay that she didn’t want to. That it was possible that she would never want to stop him, that deep inside she craved him like a thirsty woman craves water.

“You’re beautiful,” his voice was a breath against her ear. “I want to take you now. Are you ready for me?”

She managed a jerky nod and he laughed softly, turning his smiling face to hers. Those ocean blue eyes wouldn’t release her gaze, as if he could read everything in her own, and then his mouth was on hers, never stopping, and all the time he was pressing for entry and she felt him slide deep.

Shockingly, her body welcomed him. She was wet and ready and she could feel herself clenching around him. She wanted him with a passionate desire she had not known herself capable of.

He made a sound in his throat, and she clung to his shoulders, her hips moving with his, the heat and the tension winding tighter and tighter. And then suddenly she was crying out and shuddering in his arms, and he groaned long and loud, and fell heavily upon her.

Their chests were rising and falling together as they tried to catch their breath when there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. The pleasure was a warm ache, spreading through her veins like a languid tide, and all her worrying thoughts had stilled. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing in her past and in her belief about her own nature had made her think she would be so susceptible to this man.

She was the Ice Maiden.

And she had melted in Sebastian’s arms.

He rolled off her to the side and lay on his back. And when he turned his head she knew he was looking at her.

I won’t look, she told herself. It’s over, and I can pretend this never happened and we can walk away and . . .

She turned her head and looked at him.

The hard lines of his handsome face had been made softer somehow, and his eyes were hazy, while his lips were reddened from kissing her. Once more she felt her heart begin to pound, as if that bird was on the verge of escaping from inside her chest, and at the same time the ache started again, in her breasts and between her legs, and she knew she wanted him. Again.

And he knew it, too, had read it somehow in her face, and he smiled in a way that should have been arrogant, and instead made her insides turn to liquid.

“We-we should go home now,” she began, her voice shaky, even though she knew it was a lie. “We should end it now.”

He reached out and traced the shape of her lips, as if memorizing them. “But this is just the beginning,” he said, and desire tightened his mouth and made his eyes smoky.

Lavinia let out her breath on a gasping sigh, as he reached for her again, and she turned eagerly into his arms.

Six

Autumn 1816, West End

The memories flooded through Lavinia. Like an unstoppable tide they inundated her body and her mind and her heart. It was as if she was back in the bed they had shared while she waited for the signs she had conceived the baby that was to bear Patrick’s name.

For three months Patrick would ask and for three months she would say no, not yet. Even though she knew after a single month that she was with child. She’d lied to him and herself, pretending she had to be sure, just so that she could spend more time with Sebastian. Because she couldn’t bear for it to be over.

Sebastian was still staring at her across the theatre, their eyes locked, and it was only with an enormous effort of will that she dragged her gaze away. Back to the stage and the play she hadn’t heard a word of.

“Lavinia?” Margaret’s voice, and she sounded concerned, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d spoken. “Are you well?”

Lavinia shook her head a little wildly. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

She stood up and moved to the back of the box, meaning to leave via the door. Appearing concerned, Margaret hurried after her, clutching Lavinia’s reticule and wrap, which she had forgotten in her haste. They’d barely stepped out into the corridor that led to the stairs when the door from the adjacent box also opened.

Sebastian stepped out in front of her. “Lady Richmond?” he sounded wary. “Are you well?”

The woman Lavinia had seen at his side hovered behind him, her beautiful face curious, her hand resting on his arm.

As if he was hers.

“I’m perfectly well. Thank you for your concern, Captain.” Lavinia said it stiffly, feeling her face rigid with embarrassment and the urge to escape this awful situation as soon as possible. She needed to lock herself away and recover. She needed to cloak herself in the Ice Maiden who seemed to have deserted her.

He stepped aside and bowed, his face closing down into an indifferent mask. She may as well have told him to mind his own business but right now she didn’t care. Lavinia hurried toward the stairs, Margaret close behind her, and then they were outside the theatre and waiting for their carriage.