Vicar's Daughter to Viscount's Lady (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 2)

‘It is too wide.’

‘All the better for kissing. Your nose—’

‘Is too long and straight.’

‘All the better for looking down in a provocative manner. Your hair—’

‘Is perfectly straight and mouse-coloured.’

‘A very pretty mouse, for all that. And when I see it loose…’ his hand sifted through the weight of it on her right shoulder ‘…I think of all kinds of things I would like to do with it.’

Bella could not think what Elliott meant, although from the glint in his eyes whatever it was involved sex.

‘Oh, yes, and you blush delightfully.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘Arabella, I would like us to be…open with each other in bed. More relaxed. I want you to feel free to express what you feel and need.’

‘Yes, so do I, Elliott.’ It was a lie. In fact, it was a wonder he did not hear her knees rattling together like castanets, but she could not go on like this. She had made her wedding vows and she must keep them.

‘Good,’ he said, his deep voice huskier than usual as he bent his head. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he held her a little away and brushed his mouth against her throat, nudging gently until she tipped her head to give him better access.

Then his mouth trailed down to the edge of the négligé and his fingers found the ribbons and tugged until it opened. ‘Ah,’ he murmured, the vibration quivering against her skin. Bella swallowed, fighting to stand still as his lips followed the curve of her breast and his hand cupped the weight of it. Then the flickering exploration of his tongue found her nipple through the gauze.

‘Sweet.’ The satisfied sound seemed to come from deep in his chest as Elliott settled her firmly in his arms and began to torment the tight bud with tongue and lips and teeth, tugging and sucking and nipping, saturating the fabric until it might as well not have been there.

Elliott! Waves of sensation, not quite pain, too much for pleasure, pulsed through her. He had not done this before, only kissed her mouth and caressed her body gently with his hands.

Rafe had not touched her like this. He had handled her with what she had thought was the impatience of desire, squeezing her breasts, hurting with a pain that was nothing like this exquisite torment. Elliott moved to the other nipple as Arabella writhed in his arms. The négligé had gone, somehow, and so had the nightgown, slithering down to his imprisoning arms where it caught, the silken folds brushing and teasing around her legs.

‘Elliott.’ She managed to say it out loud this time. A protest, a plea, a gasp of embarrassment? All three, perhaps. Arabella could not understand what he was doing to her body, but it was sending her rapidly past the point where shyness was even an option. ‘Elliott, what are you doing?’

He looked up, his lips curving. ‘Making love, Arabella.’

‘You are making me…I do not know. I want…’

‘This?’ He kissed her on her mouth, one hand still cupping her breast, his thumb fretting hard over the impossibly tight knot of the nipple while his other smoothed down over her hip, pushing the nightgown aside. She became aware again that his hands were hard, as though he worked with them.

His mouth was demanding, his tongue thrusting, insistent that she open to him, insistent that she tangle her own tongue with his. He sucked it into his mouth, holding her when she would have withdrawn, nervous of this intensity and the knowledge of where it was leading, then nipping at her lips with tiny, biting kisses.

In the pit of her belly there was heat and an ache and a pulse that had her pressing against him in a blind search for relief, only to find that she was straining against the blatant jut of his erection through the heavy silk of his robe. But there was no room to withdraw her body, hardly any room in her head for the confusion of thoughts. How could she feel like this for a man she scarcely knew yet and did not love? Was she utterly wanton or was Elliott a warlock, conjuring lust out of her ignorance and shyness? But perhaps, just perhaps, it would be all right…

He moved, scooped her up and laid her on the bed, naked, exposed and quivering with shock. ‘Don’t cover yourself,’ he ordered, his voice almost harsh, as she reached for the covers to drag them across her body. He kicked off his slippers, shrugged out of his robe, then stood, his hands on his lean hips, looking at her. And Arabella stared back, seeing him naked for the first time, breathless with discovery and terrified desire.

Chapter Fourteen

Rafe had taken her virginity in the hayloft of the parish tithe barn. It had been shadowed, the gloom pierced by shafts of sunlight where roof tiles had slipped, the light full of floating dust motes. Bella had hardly been able to see his face, or the details of his body as he stripped her, undid his breeches and pushed her on to his coat spread on the pile of loose hay. He had kissed her, ravished her mouth, handled her breasts with avid hands, pressed her legs apart and taken her with the unsubtle urgency of need.

She had not seen then, not really understood his body, but now, in the warm glow of a dozen candles, she could see very clearly the anatomy of a fully aroused man. It took her breath away with a mixture of fear and desire and shock at just how beautiful Elliott was. How hard and lean, how fit. How did he get those muscles, that flat belly, those calloused hands?

He knelt on the bed beside her, his hands skimming down over her body, making her catch

her breath. Then he placed his hands on her thighs and eased them apart and she shut her eyes, shamed by the heat and dampness that betrayed her arousal.

‘Arabella, look at me.’ She felt his weight coming down over her and shifted her hips instinctively to cradle him. Of their own accord her hands curved over his shoulders, and she made herself open her eyes. She thought she was a little more relaxed this time—did Elliott notice? His face was shadowed as it hung over her, the candle flame sharpening the cheekbones, sending blue sparks from his eyes. The image of Rafe slid over his features like a mask and she closed her eyes again to shut it out. She would not let that spectre ruin this, not now. ‘Bend your knees up to try and relax,’ he urged and she struggled to obey, feeling him nudging closer into her slick, hot folds. ‘We have as much time as you need.’

Now. I must not cry out however much it hurts. I must try to forget that, caress him, discover what he likes, stop being so passive…

‘Arabella!’ Elliott’s voice was so sharp that her eyes flew open. She found his intense gaze locked on her face. ‘Why are you crying? What is it?’

‘I…I’m not.’ He rolled off her and she rubbed her hand across her eyes. It came away smeared with moisture. ‘Oh. I am sorry, I did not mean to. I was trying so hard not to—’