Page 105 of Thief of the Ton
He cupped her face, his lips close to hers, and she surrendered to her need—the need that had tormented her from the moment she’d stepped into his home.
“Peregrine…”
She reached toward him, and he pulled her close, circling his arms around her until she found herself kneeling beside him on the soft rug.
“Will you end my torment, dearest Lavinia, and consent to be my wife?”
Yes—oh yes!
She closed her eyes, willing her head to conquer her heart, but her heart won out, surrendering to the warmth of his arms, the solidity of his body, and the deep, woodsy aroma of his very maleness.
Oh, Papa—forgive me…
She placed her head on his chest and suppressed a sob.
“Hush, my darling,” he whispered. “All will be well. I promise, I’ll not do, or say, anything to distress your father. We can make our pledge in secret, and only declare our love to the world at such a time when…when your father no longer objects to our union.”
A sob escaped her lips as she caught his meaning.
“I’ll say nothing to disturb your father’s peace of mind,” he said. “But I declare myself as yours—and yours I shall remain. When you have need of me, I’ll be there.”
She lifted her head, blinking through the tears, to see him gazing down at her, his own eyes glistening with moisture. He smiled.
“Did I not declare myself to you once before, when we were children? I, King Arthur, pledged my love to Guinevere, that I would serve and protect her for all my days.”
“A childish game,” she said.
“Childish it may have been at the time,” he replied, “but perhaps we were destined for each other.”
He traced the outline of her face with his fingertips, then followed a path along her throat until he reached her neckline. His fingertips brushed across the swell of her breasts, causing her nipples to stiffen to painful, needy points that ached for his touch. She arched her back against him, willing those expert fingertips to ease the ache.
“Lavinia,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “I fear I’m in danger of compromising you, and I made a promise to Lady Betty that I would do no such thing.”
“If I recall,” she said, “you promised not to harm me.” She caught his hand, then guided it toward her breast. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he cupped her breast with the eagerness of possession, flicking his thumb over the distended nipple through the muslin of her gown. “I feel no harm, sir,” she whispered, “only pleasure.”
“Sweet Lord, you tempt a man so!”
“I am no temptress, Lord Marlow,” she said, leaning into his touch. “The temptress heightens a man’s desire while refraining from delivering that which she has promised. I assure you, sir, that I am more than willing to fulfil any obligation on my part to deliver that which you see before you.”
He leaned over her. “I find myself completely at your mercy,” he whispered, “a situation that I intend to reverse.”
“What can you… Oh!”
She drew in a sharp breath as he slipped his hand inside her gown. He flicked her nipple again, sending a jolt of desire through her body, a brief spike of pain followed by a deeper pulse of pleasure, and she clung to him.
A deep yearning swelled in her center, and she tilted her hips, seeking his touch, in an instinctive quest for release. Pleasure flared as she felt his hardness against her belly, and she parted her thighs to shift closer to him.
He let out a low growl in response—a primal beast voicing his approval. “So good,” he whispered. “So responsive…”
Sweet heaven—since when had she turned into such a wanton? She opened her eyes. Skin flushed with need, he had tipped his face to the heavens—eyes closed, a smile of pure pleasure on his lips. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his throat, and he shuddered. His hardness swelled, and she drew in a sharp breath at the delicious heat of him against her belly. She peppered his chin with kisses while he murmured soft words of praise. The heat intensified. She only need ride the wave to reach the moment of dissolution.
With a soft, undulating motion, she rocked against him. Her instincts took over, as they had done when she touched herself at night. She gripped his arms and thrust her hips against him, riding the wave, nearing the crest, and he mirrored the motion, shifting his hips against hers.
One more thrust, and she would find the pleasure she sought…
“Lavinia—stop!” he cried.
Two hands gripped her arms and pushed her back, and she let out a cry of frustration as the wave receded.
