His fingers gently but expertly moved in her, then slowly withdrew to stroke her. Kate felt herself falling away, and she pushed her hands against the side of the boathouse, moaning softly.
“Not yet,” he murmured against her stomach. “No, no, I will not let you go so easily, Kate. Have you any notion of how I have longed for this moment? How I have dreamed of giving you pleasure you have never known?”
The question compelled Kate onto her elbows; with her hand, she cupped his face, made him rise up so that she might kiss him hard and deep. “Then give it to me,” she rasped. “Give me pleasure I’ve never known. Give it to me now,” she whispered.
Darien grinned. “God blind me, Kate Becket, but I’ve never adored a woman as I adore you this very moment.” And with that, he moved his thigh in between her legs, pushed them apart, and lifted himself over her.
He languidly kissed her breast while he laced her fingers with his above her head. With his other hand, he guided her to feel his passion, held her hand firmly there while he brushed the tip against her, and again, only deeper. She was shuddering, astonished by the waves of passion crashing through her. Darien smiled at her gasping and slid inside her, slowly at first, his eyes on hers, watching her closely as he adjusted himself to her body surrounding him, then sliding deeper with small, rhythmic movements.
Her control was at an end; she did not think she could contain the ecstasy that was building in her a second longer. He felt hot and thick inside her; she arched her pelvis against him and instinctively demanded more as she gasped for her breath. Darien moaned, and covering her mouth with his, he thrust powerfully within her. Kate cried out with pleasure against his mouth, then let her head fall back as her body rose to meet him with the next thrust, and the next.
His strokes lengthened within her; her knees came up on either side of him, and she lifted her pelvis to match his rhythm. She felt herself falling swiftly away, falling from this world and everything but Darien’s body. His breath was hot on her shoulder, his grip of her hand almost painful, his body long and deep within her.
“Dear God!” she whispered, wildly anxious as the pleasure began to mount toward its inevitable, explosive end. She gripped his shoulder, lifted herself higher, meeting his hard strokes. “Darien!” she whispered frantically in his ear.
It happened—wave after wave of pleasure erupted within her, carrying her swiftly away from even Darien. She threw her head back and arched her neck as the release flooded from every pore.
“Kate. Dear Kate,” he gasped, and cupped her bottom, drove into her once more, erupting powerfully inside her, filling her completely as the rapture continued to wash over her. She collapsed backward, tightening around him, never wanting the incredible experience to end. Somewhere, above her, Darien called her name on a soft groan.
Kate opened her eyes. He was holding himself above her, his arms muscular and strong, an unfathomable look in his brown eyes. Carefully and tenderly he lowered himself onto his elbows and cupped her face in his hands while his gaze roamed her features. “God, Kate,” he whispered.
Yes. Oh, God.
Chapter Nine
Eventually, and very reluctantly, they left the boathouse behind and returned to Mayfair, wrapped in one another’s embrace as they floated down the Thames.
Darien hadn’t felt so bloody alive or so much a man as he did that afternoon. He had an urgent desire to hold her always, to keep her very near.
Of course he intended to offer for her—he’d reached that conclusion the moment he’d really touched her, in the very same moment he realized she could never belong to any other but him, and he said as much to her. “I shall keep you near me always,” he’d said, but Kate laughed and kissed him, and he was not entirely certain if she truly believed his intentions.
Nevertheless, he was determined to offer, and to do so properly, perhaps after the Southbridge Charity Auction Ball, in which he knew she was rather involved, and after which the season would begin to wind down. There’d be less distractions then . . . less talk, too, for it was not often a man of his social rank took a vicar’s widow to wife.
That gave him a little over a fortnight to prepare his offer and his home for her.
When they reached Kate’s street, Darien signaled for the driver to stop, and gathered up her umbrella and bonnet and handed them to her, then set about straightening her clothing, unbuttoning and buttoning the gown again, as Kate had managed to do it crookedly.
She laughed as he deftly repaired her. “Oh my,” she said, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “I’m so terribly clumsy. One would think I was a girl who’d received her first kiss.”
“One look at you, madam, and one would rather believe that there walks a woman who is true to herself and her passion,” he said with a wink.
Her flushed cheeks turned cherry red, and she playfully slapped his hand away, finished the buttoning herself, as he sought to tame errant wisps of her hair and tuck them behind her ears. “You’re a wicked man, Darien,” she said, but she was smiling. “You’ve led me quite astray with your picnic.”
“I should like to lead you much further than that.”
With a laugh, she smoothed the front of her gown, then looked up, cupped his jaw with her hand. “You’re a scoundrel, my lord. What would my poor father think?” she asked, and impulsively lifted up, kissed him fully before abruptly breaking away and grabbing her things. “I must hurry,” she said, and reached for the coach door. “It’s quite late.”
“Kate!” Darien said sternly after her as she poked her umbrella outside and opened it. “I shall call again.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I must go now.” And with that, she was gone.
Darien pulled the door to, then pushed aside the curtains and watched her striding purposefully through the rain, her head held high, her bonnet hanging down her back. And her chemise, unfortunately, hanging below the hem of her day gown. He couldn’t help but smile, and reluctantly, he let go the small drape, tapped on the ceiling to send the driver on, and leaned back against the squabs, wondering if he could possibly bear it until he saw her again.
William’s
wife, Mary Beth, served leek soup for supper that night. Kate sat across from her father, a bit fearful that he might note the flush in her cheek or inquire as to her whereabouts in the afternoon while he lay napping. But if he noticed any change in her, he said not a word and talked on about a game of cards he had enjoyed in the past week with the vicar.
That evening, after reading to her father as she did every night, Kate at last lay on the small four-poster bed in her room, reliving every moment of this astonishing afternoon. She stared blindly at the peeling wallpaper and faint cracks in the ceiling, giggling at the prospect of being completely and inexorably in love again.