Marrying His Cinderella Countess

‘Find out,’ Blake invited.

Ellie straddled him cautiously, settled herself with a wriggle that made him groan, and found that although it did make her muscles twinge that was nothing against the delicious feeling of power the realisation of Blake’s arousal was giving her. She leant forward to kiss him, her breasts brushing his chest hair, and liked the sensation so much that she stayed bent over, teasing them both, until Blake grabbed her and pulled her down, opened his mouth under her lips.

It felt strange, upside down, and it took her a moment to learn how to kiss him all over again. Ellie thought that she could do this all day—explore the feel and taste of Blake, his body hard and safe and strong under her. Then he began to shift his hips, pushing up in obvious demand, and she sat again, feeling him hot and imperative against her. She was wet and ready for him, she realised, almost shocked at how quickly that had ceased to embarrass her.

‘Lift up,’ he said, his hands on her hips, so she did. ‘Now, put me where you want me.’

She fumbled, making Blake gasp, and she realised, once she was sure of what she was doing, that this kind of thing could be a delicious tease. Then everything suddenly fitted, and instinctively she sank down, taking him deep into her—so deep that she froze, her gaze locked with Blake’s, seeing his eyes wide and dark and hot.

‘When you are ready,’ he said, sounding like a man at the extremity of pain, ‘move.’

So she did—gasping at the intensity of it, unable to control the speed, the rhythm, the pleasure, lost in a mutual frantic race to completion that caught them both suddenly, fast, obliterating anything and everything.

I love you.

The words echoed in her head as she collapsed onto Blake’s sweat-streaked chest.

I love you.

Somehow she managed not to say it.

*

‘Eleanor, wake up—we are almost there.’

Ellie blinked and looked around. She was curled up in the corner of Blake’s travelling carriage and he was sitting beside her, relaxed in a sprawl that showed off the length of his legs to perfection. If he had been a vain man she would have suspected him of adopting the pose for just that purpose, but her new husband seemed to have no great awareness of his physical beauty beyond paying close attention to the state of his linen and his neckcloths.

‘What makes you smile?’

‘I was thinking that you look as comfortable as a cat.’

And just as certain that you are lord of all you survey.

Which was probably nothing but the truth, given that what he was surveying consisted of his wife, his carriage and, if they were almost at Hainford Hall, his lands.

‘I am—but I am willing to catch mice if there are any around that need chasing.’

The look in his eyes as he watched her brought the heat to her cheeks and he laughed, but not unkindly.

‘I love the way your face reflects your thoughts, Eleanor. You have no sly artifice, no tricks. When you are angry you show it honestly, when you are happy you glow, and when you are in my arms and you find joy there I am scorched by your passion.’

Her breath caught at the frankness of his words, the heat in his gaze, at how husky his voice had become as he leaned towards her, reaching for her. Then the carriage slowed and turned sharply and Blake fell back against the squabs, the moment lost.

I love…

But it was her lack of artifice he loved—not her, she reminded herself. And a niggling little suspicion surfaced that whenever she was in danger of coming close to him, to revealing her feelings for him the man, he treated it as physical affection on both their parts. It was as though it was safe to allow her to see that he desired her body, her lovemaking, but refused to let her see his inner thoughts and desires. His soul.

‘Most women show their feelings,’ she said tartly, almost needing to pinch herself because otherwise she might slip into delusion, into pointless hope, that his lovemaking, his desire for her, meant something else entirely. ‘But with the pretty ones, and certainly the beautiful ones, you look at their beauty, not at their expression. With me there is no perfection to linger on, so you notice my mood instead.’

‘I notice that your eyes change colour with your mood. I notice—’ The carriage stopped and Blake broke off and looked out of the window. ‘We are at the hall—those are the lodge gates.’ He lowered the window and leaned out. ‘Good day to you, Fallowfield. Wife and family well?’

‘My lord. Thank you, my lord. All well. My oldest’s gone to Fareham to apprentice to the farrier there.’

‘He’ll do you proud, I have no doubt. Here’s my countess, coming home f

or the first time, Fallowfield.’

He held out a hand to Ellie, who scooted across the bench seat and looked out of the window at the big man with one arm who touched his forehead to her.