The throbbing necessity of need.
Release…
Every cell in his body screamed for surrender. On a choked curse, he gave up the struggle, bowed toward the ceiling, and spurted his hot seed into her mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Her actions the previous night still occupied Pen’s thoughts the next evening when she accompanied Cam to the Duchess of Matlock’s ball.
Despite the power that had surged through her when Cam had lost control, her victory had been hollow. Yes, he’d acceded to her wishes. Yes, he’d relished what she’d done. But when he’d taken her afterward with unashamed command, she’d recognized her failure. Cam had surrendered physically, but behind his green eyes the barriers still rose. She’d conquered his body, not his soul.
She had to be stalwart. One night, no matter how passionate, couldn’t shatter defenses laid in earliest childhood and shored up ever since. Cam wouldn’t yield without a fight.
She sprang from a long line of warriors. Thornes never lacked for nerve, whatever other qualities were wanting. This quest to bind her husband to her would prove as hazardous as any of the battles littering her family history.
Since they’d entered the ballroom, Pen had felt the reassuring warmth of Cam’s hand at her back. It reminded her that while she hadn’t won the war, Cam had been unusually affectionate today. He’d kissed her at breakfast and he’d spent the day showing her around London. Odd that she knew cities like Paris and Rome like a native, yet the capital of her own country was fresh territory.
The Matlock ball was a highlight of the social calendar, making it the sort of crush that counted as a success. Guests included the Marquess of Leath and his newly returned sister, Lady Sophie Fairbrother.
Pen was surprised at her first sight of James Fairbrother, the man Harry painted as such a villain. Leath was handsome in the saturnine style. He was more heavily muscled than her husband, a prizefighter rather than a swordsman. She didn’t miss how Leath’s eyes narrowed on Harry, who ostentatiously kept his distance. Nor how he watched the golden-haired girl who was in such demand as a dance partner.
Pen hadn’t been sure what to expect of Sophie either. The girl was lovely and clearly the toast of the ball. She paid no regard to Harry. Had she decided that a penniless younger son, however devoted, was beneath her touch? Or was she playing it safe in public?
According to Harry, Leath wanted Sophie to marry Lord Desborough. Pen knew hardly anyone in this glittering world. Several older men danced with Sophie. Perhaps one was Desborough.
Pen couldn’t help feeling that tying such vibrant youth to a man approaching middle age verged on cruelty. Which didn’t mean she disapproved of Leath’s plans for a good match for his sister. Apart from his loyal and loving heart, Harry wasn’t a good match.
But his loyal and loving heart should count. If Sophie loved him, Pen decided, she’d do her utmost to help. Cam had told her not to interfere, but how could she abandon Harry and Sophie if they were genuinely in love?
In this sea of unfamiliar faces, it was almost a relief to see Lord Hillbrook and his wife approaching through the crowd. Neither Jonas nor Sidonie Merrick had been particularly welcoming last night, but they were unfailingly loyal to Cam. And at least they weren’t complete strangers.
“My lord. My lady.” She forced a smile to her face.
“Good evening, Sidonie, Jonas.” Cam sounded pleased. “I thought we might miss you in this brouhaha.”
“Richard and Genevieve are here too. We met them as we arrived, but haven’t seen hide nor hair since.” Lady Hillbrook lazily waved her fan before her face. She turned to Pen. “The Matlock ball is always nearer a riot than a party.”
“You’re probably used to wilder evenings than we are in staid old London,” Jonas said. “I remember public balls in Venice where they brought the army in to restore calm.”
Pen wasn’t sure if this was a dig at her itinerant past, but as Cam’s friend, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. “I attended a masquerade during last year’s Carnevale where I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“I like your dress.” Tonight Lady Hillbrook’s reserve was less overt.
“Thank you.” After Cam’s unflattering description of her clothing, Pen wore her favorite gown from her new wardrobe. Cam’s eyes had lit with approval when she’d come downstairs before the ball. The Nile-green silk was demure in style, but the color suited her and it complimented the Rothermere emeralds.
Cam extended his hand. “Sidonie, may I have this dance?”
Pen stifled an instinctive protest at remaining behind with the terrifying Lord Hillbrook. She desperately tried to catch the eye of Harry or Elias. But Elias danced with, of all people, Lady Marianne Seaton, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. He was probably on the t
errace, sulking because his sweetheart was dancing with another man.
None of which helped Pen. This was her second society event. At the musicale, new acquaintances had clamored for an introduction. Tonight her novelty value had faded. Or perhaps Jonas Merrick’s presence at her side discouraged interruptions.
“Perhaps you’d do me a similar honor, Your Grace,” Lord Hillbrook said with a sardonic smile, as if he guessed Pen’s apprehension.
“Please, call me Penelope.” It seemed ridiculous to stand on ceremony with Cam’s long-standing connections.
“With pleasure. I hope you’ll call me Jonas.”