My Last Duchess, стр. 68
Wick moved so his body was poised above hers and God save her, the only thing she wanted was that large body to rest on topof hers. She finally understood why women played the strumpet: it was because they caught a glimpse of a man like this one.
“Wick,” she whispered, throwing the last of any remaining maidenly caution to the winds, “come to me . . . please?”
“I thought it was tiddling that you didn’t like,” Wick said, his eyes glinting with an unholy mixture of laughter and lust. “Now I find you don’t likediddling either?”
Philippa rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
A strong hand suddenly laid a scorching path up her leg, easing them apart, skating onto the inner flesh of her thigh. Philippagasped. “That’s exactly where Rodney . . . you mustn’t!”
“I won’t,” Wick said tenderly, dropping another kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I’ll never do something so ham-handed thatRodney partook in it . . . not unless you beg me to, of course.”
And with that, he took her mouth in such a devouring kiss that at first Philippa hardly noticed the hand stroking her legsapart, dancing close to her most secret—but notice she did. She tore her mouth away, and said, “Wick, no.”
“I would never,” he said, his eyes innocent. “On the Continent, we disdain diddling. We do this instead.” And without pausingfor a response, he pulled open her legs with strong hands, slid down, and before she could even conceive of such a thing,put his mouth—there.
Philippa didn’t even think of refusing. In fact, she couldn’t think at all. Her capacity for rational thought did not reemergeuntil after she found herself shaking from head to foot, trying to fathom how a scorching wave had burst over her head anddragged her down into its fiery depths.
Wick was there, grinning down at her . . . nudging her.
Her eyes widened. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” he said, husky and sweet. “Take me, Philippa. Because I’m the one who loves you, and because you love me. Make me yours.”
She knew instinctively that this kind of ownership had nothing to do with ha’pennies, or even kisses. And when he was deep inside her, hers weren’t the onlyeyes shining with errant tears.
“You’re mine,” she whispered.
Wick cradled her face in his. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” she whispered back, rather surprised. “It did with Rodney, and there’s so much more of you. But it feels . . .” Shewiggled a little. “It feels good.”
“Ah,” he said, with such a wealth of satisfaction in his voice that she started to smile, but then he drew back, slowly, andjust as slowly, thrust forward, and the smile flew from her mind, along with everything but the wild pleasure, the ravishingfeeling that had her arching to meet him, crying out with each stroke.
He kept coming, and coming . . . like the tide washing up on the shore, only not so gentle, then it felt as if the ocean cameto her, as if a flood of pure pleasure swept from her toes to the ends of her fingers.
Dimly, she heard his groan, then her own cry.
It was a night of discovery.
She woke in the dim light of dawn to find that Jonas had slept through the night for the very first time. Wick was bent overher. She reached up, only to realize that he was, once again, dressed in his livery.
“I must go,” he murmured, brushing strands of hair from her face. “And you must return to being Miss Philippa Damson ratherthan my favorite nursemaid.”
She smiled at him drowsily, but she was waking up, and his words coalesced into something ominous. “What do you mean?”
“I expect your father will arrive this morning to take you home.”
Philippa sat up, her heart suddenly pounding. “I shan’t go.”
“You must. Jonas is much better, and young ladies can’t serve in the nursery forever. You are no servant, Philippa.”
“I don’t want—” She stopped. “If you are a servant, I want to be a servant.”
“You mustn’t say such a thing.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“You must.” He said it gently, but she heard the stark truth of it in his voice. “There is no place for you here, in the castle.You might come as a visitor, but if I am in livery.” He hesitated. “I would rather you did not.”
And there it was.
She swung her legs from the bed and stood up, feeling the chill of his words spread through her body. “Please, Wick, don’t—don’tsay this.”
He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her close. “I will try to come for you,” he said, low and fierce. “I will try, Philippa. But I could never make you a servant or a beggar at my side. Wait for me—”
“Forever,” she said.
“One week. If I don’t come for you before one week has passed, I could not manage it. But know this, Philippa.” He lookeddown into her face, as unyielding as the greatest emperor who ever lived. “If I do not come for you, it is not for want ofdesire for you, nor for want of love for you, nor for want of trying. I would do anything to be worthy of you.”
Her breath caught on a sob. “Oh, Wick . . .”
“And I will never love another woman above you.”
The deep, hungry yearning in his eyes made her knees weak. She caught at him, fumbling for words, the vow that would makehim understand that she was his forever. That she would wait a lifetime.
But he was gone.
Chapter Ten
Philippa lay awake until the thin gray light turned pale yellow, and Jonas stirred. She had no sooner washed and dressed herselfand Jonas than a footman announced that her father requested to speak with her.
The moment she entered the sitting room, she threw herself into her father’s open arms. “I’m sorry, Papa; oh, you were worried! I told you not to be.”
For a moment, her father merely stood, his arms now tight around her. Then he sat down heavily, pulling her