Page 6 of Wedding the Widow

“Slow and steady, love. Let us enjoy this together.”

Yes, enjoy. Enjoy the pleasure as long as they could. She relaxed back on the mattress, and he buried his face in her neck. His hot breath sounded ragged in her ear as he moaned with each lunge.

The slow, deliberate strokes kindled a beginning blaze, like a single flame licking deep within her. Heat sizzled down her arms and legs, radiating from her core, where he stoked her fire to a white-hot intensity she’d never experienced before. The spark must have leaped to him, for he abruptly abandoned his leisured pace, thrusting harder, with a frenzied power that left her breathless. Harder, deeper, faster he plunged into her as if trying to touch her very soul, until with a great cry he exploded within her, hot seed scorching her womb.

She clasped him deep within, shuddering around him, shattering into a thousand pieces as she cried out, “Dickon, Dickon! Oh, yes, yes, my love.”

Chapter 3

In the deathly silence following her outcry, Elizabeth held her breath, hoping against hope she’d awakened from an incredibly intense dream of Dickon. It had happened before, though never quite so vividly.

The man breathing heavily above her, however, was no dream. A sticky sheen of sweat covered them both, and her body ached in places long unused.

Oh, God, what had she done?

With a grunt, Lord Brack withdrew from her and flopped onto the bed next to her, flinging his arm over his face.

“I’m so sorry.” What else could she say? If she could die this minute, she would do so and be thankful. Unfortunately, that option seemed unavailable at the moment. At least in the semidarkness he couldn’t see her face, burning hotter than a blacksmith’s forge.

“It’s all right, Elizabeth.” He sighed and turned on his side to face her. “Please don’t fret about it. You’d said earlier you’d been missing your husband.”

The kind understanding in his voice, hushed in the darkness, filled her with even more humiliation. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” Words failed as tears choked her throat.

“Shhh.” He kissed her bare shoulder, a fiery brand that seared her soul. “Please don’t distress yourself, my dear.” Taking her cold hand, he laced their fingers together. “One often loses oneself in the throes of passion.” His warm lips brushed their entwined hands. “You are a very passionate woman, Elizabeth.” His husky voice sent shivers down her body.

“My lord—”

“Please, call me Jemmy.” A chuckle underlay the words. “After this evening, I don’t believe we need stand on ceremony any longer, do you?” He rose up on his elbow to peer into her face. A boyish grin showed in the faint firelight.

Beyond words, Elizabeth shook her head slowly. How would she ever be able to face him in the light without this feeling of mortification surging through her? Much less calling him by his Christian name. The idea of meeting him out in society made her chest tighten, as though a hand squeezed it. Not only had she taken a strange man into her bed, but at the most intimate moment possible, she’d called him by her dead husband’s name. By Dickon’s name.

“Lord Br—”

The glint in his eyes stopped her cold.

“Jemmy.” She forced the name out. So odd to say it aloud, though she’d heard Georgie call him that since the summer. “I think it might be best if you go before you are discovered here.” Perhaps if he left, she could think what to do about this ghastly mess. His warm presence in her bed was too disconcerting, too distracting. Any thought she might have had flew right out again with his slightest movement.

“Ah, but it’s scarcely midnight. We have the whole night before us.” He kissed her nipple.

She gasped, a bolt of desire streaking down to her core. What was wrong with her? She’d never been so insatiable, not even with—No! She couldn’t think of Dickon. Not when another man was fondling her breasts, making her want to moan with pleasure she’d not felt in over a year. Tears spilled down her cheeks. It was wrong to feel this way.

“Elizabeth? Did I hurt you?” The concern in his low, insistent voice sent the tears streaming faster.

Yes! she wanted to scream. He had hurt her grievously. For he had made her betray not only him, but her love for Dickon. She’d clung to that with every morsel of strength she possessed for the past year and a half. But she couldn’t confess that to him. So she shook her head and whispered, “I’m just terribly embarrassed.”

“Don’t be, love.” With a long finger, he followed the track of a tear as it hurried down her cheek, catching it on his thumb. “I’m certain when we enjoy one another again, everything will be forgotten.” He kissed her lips, then swung a leg over her body, straddling her legs once more. His shaft, magically hard again, lay snug on her stomach.

His readiness surprised her. Dickon had never been able again so quickly. And she just . . . couldn’t. What if she called him Dickon again? Her stomach clenched at the thought. “Jemmy, please. I don’t think I can . . . I don’t think this is right.” She turned her face from him. “I truly think you should go.”

A frown immediately shadowed his face. “You wish me to leave?”

The hurt in his voice sent a pang of guilt through her, but she ignored it and nodded. “I simply can’t.” Tears flooded her eyes. “We shouldn’t have done this at all. I’m not done . . .” She took a ragged breath, angry at its pathetic mewling sound. “I still love my husband, so I’m sorry, but I can’t have you in my bed.”

He tensed, then vanished from above her, leaving her exposed and cold. “I understand, Elizabeth.”

She raised up on her elbow, pulling up the covers and peering into the dim room.

He pulled on his breeches, fastening his fall with lightning speed, his short jerky movements punctuating his anger.