Page 88 of A Kiss Of Lies

“Making love to you always feels like the first time.” And he surged into her, his hips lifting and withdrawing, careful not to jostle her shoulder. His powerful strokes, moving in and out of her tight sheath, sent pulses of pleasure to every corner of his body. Egged on by her moans of pleasure, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

He reached down to where their bodies joined and found her hardened nub. She ground down onto his fingers and threw back her head, her mouth open in a silent scream.

As her climax rose, he felt her tighten around him, milking him, and he gave a roar as his own release powered through them both, filling her womb with his life-giving essence.

She collapsed limp against his chest, small sighs of contentment escaping from her half-open mouth.

They lay there, thoroughly sated, staring at each other and stroking each other’s bare skin. He kissed her occasionally on her forehead, her eyelids, her nose and cheeks.

“I love you, Christian.” She gave a small sob. “More than words can ever say. Thank you for your patience and understanding. But most of all thank you for loving me.”

“I’m the lucky one. I have you.” He enfolded her in his arms. “My fiancée . . .” He loved saying the word. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Christian whispered a quote from Marcus Aurelius, the Roman leader and his favorite philosopher. “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.”

Serena had all his heart and always would. Nothing else mattered.

ChapterTwenty-Two

The next morning, after they’d slept late, Christian helped Serena bathe. It took much longer than the three men waiting downstairs would have liked, but then they’d never seen Serena naked. She was a goddess; her beauty would tempt any man, and Christian had no willpower where she was concerned. When Serena invited him to join her in the tub, who was he to decline?

Over an hour late, and leaving the bedchamber floor soaking wet, the couple finally arrived downstairs with Christian carrying Serena in his arms. They entered the drawing room and he placed her gently on the settee.

Serena was pleased to discover the men had held breakfast back for them. Hadley gathered some bread and eggs for her, along with a cup of strong tea. “Do you need help in eating?” he asked.

“If you could put some marmalade on the toast, I’ll manage.”

Over a jovial breakfast, the men teased Christian about becoming a mother hen, laughing at the way he fussed over her, ensuring she was comfortable and that she had enough to eat.

The moment she’d finished her meal, and as she sat comfortably sipping her tea, the mood in the room turned somber.

“I’ve thought about this all night and I hate to say it, but this mystery starts with you.” Maitland’s words sent a chill through her. “If you know something, we have to work out what that may mean for us and our safety.”

Serena set her cup down with a shaking hand. “What if the man was simply making that bit up? I mean, I’ve thought about it too, and I can only remember meeting your fathers once, when I was ten years old. My father had some sort of party, at Wilton House, on our estate.” She rubbed her forehead, “It wasn’t a ball. In fact, I don’t remember seeing many women there. Father seemed to keep them hidden away.”

The men shifted in their seats and looked at each other. Christian cleared his throat. “I think it was a party where the women were perhaps paid to attend.”

Serena’s mouth fell open. “You mean they were . . . they were . . .”

“Women of ill repute,” Christian finished as the others nodded.

“Well, I can’t remember my father holding another such event—not at Wilton House, anyway.”

“Then perhaps something happened at this function that dissuaded him from ever holding another. That would make sense,” Maitland said dryly. “Whatever occurred, you’re somehow connected.”

Serena chewed her bottom lip trying to remember anything about the week just after her tenth birthday. She sighed and with palms upturned in defeat admitted, “I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.”

The men all started talking at once, arguing over what the next move should be. They grew louder as they each tried to talk over the other, and a small memory began to grow large in her mind. She’d seen this exact scene play out before. She remembered a group of men, a vastly different group of men, arguing viciously.

“Stop!” she cried out. The men became silent immediately. Serena leaned forward. “I remember when I was young, that there was a terrible argument one night. I was spying, as usual. Some of the men came to blows. Arend, your father was the most upset, and he left Wilton House that very night. I remember he tried to persuade Grayson’s father to leave too. A young girl was being led into one of the rooms as he left. His parting words were, ‘What you are doing dishonors the word ‘dishonorable.’ It is beneath contempt. Perhaps the French got it right—the aristocrats are diseased.’” She grimaced. “I screamed at his words. I thought there was some horrible disease in my house, and I didn’t want to die in agony like my mother had. Father saw me, of course, and I was dragged upstairs to my room. I wasn’t allowed down again until his guests had left.”

The men sat looking at her in silence. Tears began to well in her eyes. “I’m not a girl of ten anymore. They did something to that young girl, didn’t they?”

Christian moved to sit beside her and folded her into his arms. “It’s more than likely, yes.”

Maitland jumped to his feet and paced the room. “The bastard—my father . . .” It was the most emotion Serena had ever seen him display. “This has to be the incident. I remember my father coming back from the week at Wilton House and locking himself in his study for days. He drank himself into oblivion. I simply thought he’d lost everything at the gaming tables. But this—this makes my stomach churn.”

“What isthis? We don’t really know what happened.”

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