Lady Belling's Secret Page 3

  Warm breath skated up her back, followed by his tongue tracing the line of her spine. “Hurry up and get my boot off, woman.” He kissed the small of her back.

  She straightened and worked the boot from his foot, but Thomas didn’t allow her to turn around to face him. He lifted the chemise over her head then wrapped his arms around her naked body and pulled her back to rest against his lap. His hands were everywhere, softly caressing her heated skin. He kissed her neck and shoulders, around her ears.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered and cupped her breasts, fondled her nipples and gently pinched until she heard a full-throated moan which must have come from her.

  One palm smoothed down her stomach until he arrived at the apex of her thighs. He ran his fingers over the curls just as one of his naked feet moved hers farther apart. She moaned louder and leaned her head on his shoulder when his fingers slipped between her legs and stroked the outside of her most private area. Frankie grasped his thighs with trembling fingers. He played with her down there and whispered sweet, seductive words in her ear. She stiffened when he separated the folds and slid the tip of one finger inside, then arched her neck when he used that same finger to roll the sensitive nubbin of flesh. Lightning bolts of sensation crashed through her, and she screamed a little. He chuckled and shushed her. She wanted to turn around, to kiss him, to see him, but he wouldn’t allow it. Leaving her deliciously exposed, he released her breast and turned her face to him. His talented fingers massaged her between her shaking legs as his tongue ravished her mouth.

  She pulled away from his kiss, panting and whimpering. Something was coming and she didn’t want to miss it. She soared, rising with more and more urgency, Thomas guided her up towards the inevitable end. He slid one long finger inside her, then a second. He pulled them out in tandem then slipped them in again, and she exploded. Arching her back and squinting her eyes shut tight, she burst. She was dimly aware of his embrace and the swift movement that brought her flat on her back on the bed beside him. She tried not to scream. She bit down hard on her bottom lip until the sensation ebbed.

  Thomas’s grin was knowing and outrageously erotic when she opened her eyes. His shirt and trousers were gone, and he lay naked against the length of her. He bent and kissed her mouth before taking a swollen nipple between his lips.

  “Oh my God.” She grasped his head, fisting his black curls in her fingers, and held him there to suckle and torment her until she didn’t think she could stand it anymore.

  He grinned up at her from her belly and maintained eye contact when he dipped his tongue in her navel. “I want to taste you.”

  That confused her. Hadn’t he kissed her enough to know everything she’d eaten today? After all, she still tasted the tea and sugar from their earlier repast in the sitting room. But then he moved lower and pushed one knee to the side. His grin was unrepentant when he ducked his head between her legs. Oh, no! That’s not done, is it? She made to sit up, mortified at how wet everything was down there, but he stilled her with a staying hand on her belly.

  “Trust me?” he asked with devilish charm.

  Of course she trusted him. With her decisions today, she trusted him with everything she held dear. She nodded almost imperceptibly. He ducked his head and spread her lower lips apart. She forgot to feel embarrassed the instant his tongue swept over her exposed flesh.

  “Oh my God,” she repeated.

  His fingers slipped back inside her while his mouth did sinful things. She wanted to hold still, but she writhed on the bed, unable to keep her hips from moving. He was making her do that thing again where she spiraled up and up. Oh God, she pushed for the edge, but his mouth pulled away before she fell.

  Thomas’s breath was as gasping as hers when he rose over her. “I need to be inside you.” She’d never heard his voice so deep and ragged and…lustful?

  “Yes,” she agreed. Until she followed the length of his body with her eyes as he knelt between her legs. His manhood jutted away from his groin like a yearning…thing. It was huge.

  “It’ll be all right,” he promised. “You’re ready for me. I’ll go slow.”

  Propped up on an elbow, she extended her hand and gently folded her fingers around his manhood. How could something she couldn’t get her fingers around ever fit in there? Thomas groaned, and she shifted her attention to his face. His head was thrown back and his chest heaved. He had never been more gorgeous. His lean sailor’s body tensed when she gave an exploratory squeeze. She let surprisingly soft skin glide through her hand until her fingers touched the bulbous head. A single bead of moisture pooled at the tip, and she used her thumb to spread it along the top.

  His flesh jumped in her hand, and he grasped her wrist, hard. “Careful,” he warned, his laughter harsh and strained.

  “I’m so sorry. Am I hurting you?”

  “No, you’re killing me so good.” He showed her how to move her hand, but he only gave her time for two or three fluid strokes before he pulled her away for good and positioned himself at her entrance.

  Slowly he slid inside and he moved his hips until he reached a barrier. There was a momentary twinge, then just the feeling of fullness. Frankie lifted her knees farther apart. He bent and kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue in her mouth at the same time his hips flexed and he pushed all the way in.

  “All right?”

  She nodded, and he began to move inside her. Grasping at the counterpane and then his forearms, she’d never expected lovemaking to be this intense. But then again, never in a million years could her naïve younger self ever have conjured the true, stunning beauty of an entirely naked Thomas, either.

  Closing her eyes, Frankie focused on the sensations running riot over her. The feel of his large hands holding her hips, the rapturous rhythm as he glided out then in again, a bit more forcefully each time. He brought her to that magical edge, and she raised her hips in chorus with his, straining to get there.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  The intensity of his gaze did it, and she flew off the precipice. Thomas followed her with a deep-throated roar and, seconds later, collapsed against her chest, his face buried in her neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she kissed his brow. They lay like that, catching their breaths, for what felt like an eternity of bliss to Frankie. Eventually he shifted his weight to the side and levered himself from atop her. The fallen curtain was fairly cozy when he spread it over them in a makeshift blanket.

  He kissed her ear, her neck, her exposed shoulder. “I couldn’t have ever dared dream of such a homecoming, my dearest Francesca,” he said with closed eyes and a sleepy voice. His heavy arm hugged her tight to his chest, and one leg lay possessively over hers.

  Frankie wasn’t sorry, and she’d never regret what had happened here today. Knowing her past, some might consider what machinations had come into play, but she understood that sometimes fate played the cruelest hand. The only thing crueler than bringing Thomas home to her now was that at last, after all these years, he was interested in her.

  Actually, the cruelest fate of all was that now she knew she would love him forever. There was no hope for it. She cuddled up against him and closed her eyes to luxuriate in the moment.

  And, as she fell asleep, she didn’t think about her fiancé even once.

  Chapter Four

  When Thomas sleepily reached across the warm cover to pull Francesca back to his embrace, she was gone. There was no sleeping beauty, soft and pliant from lovemaking, asleep in his bed. He sat up, and the curtain serving as a blanket fell to his lap.

  “Francesca,” he called out, because that was how he’d come to think of her now. Francesca. Frankie was a girl’s name, a childish nickname. “Francesca?”

  Nothing. Silence.

  He stood up from the mattress and the curtain fell completely away, leaving him nude to pad across the expanse of the room. He opened the door to the adjoining Countess’s suite and, for good measure, called out her name again. She was indeed gone. Her clothe
s, which had littered his floor, were also conspicuously absent.

  His trousers were discovered crumpled underneath a heap of ugly drapery, and he tugged them on over his bare ass. The sun coming in from the windows had a decided slant, telling him he’d slept most of the day away. Amazing. He hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time since he’d learned of the accident.

  When had she left? He should have escorted her home. That was very badly done, Tom. He’d wait until dinner and go over to the house when he could be fairly certain everyone would be there. He was even more excited about seeing his second family after today’s events than he’d been when he first arrived back in London. He’d wanted to take a hansom directly from the dock to see them all but there had been so much to do, so many details to take care of. Still, he’d only been back in town a day.

  Crazy, but after today, this whole new life felt a little less overwhelming.

  He’d had a bit of a plan, actually more of a malformed idea, to enact upon his return to London and society. Of course, when he’d left in such a hurry, he stupidly assumed he would come back a war hero, celebrated and feted around town. He’d live the bachelor life for several more decades. Beyond that, he’d never considered. He’d been so young and so stupid - stupid and impetuous - and had had no idea what he’d pledged himself to when he had run off to war.

  These days he had no desire whatsoever to swan about town, having glasses raised to so-called honorable deeds. He had long since abandoned those ridiculous ideas well before his entire family was obliterated in that carriage accident. And wasn’t that absurd? How many times had he cursed his father and wished him dead? Or his brother for his disloyalty? Or his mother for her coldhearted worthlessness? How many times had he resolved to despise them all forever? But still, the carriage accident had been horrific, and he was sorry that he’d ever wanted for anything so awful.

  Now that he was the Earl of Harrington, he’d come home knowing he’d be inundated with responsibilities.

  He arrived at the front door of the Morewether townhouse only to find the family not at home.

  “To the theater, my lord,” their butler told him. “’Tis very good to see you though.”

  “I feel very good to be seen.” Thomas cast a glance around the front hall. It felt exactly the same, like home.

  “We were all sorry to hear about the earl and the rest.” The man ducked his head, in deference to the dead, Thomas supposed.

  “Yes, well, thank you.”

  Thomas had to smile when the butler laid his hand on his shoulder. “We all think you’ll do fine, though. You were always a good lad.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence,” he said. “Please tell the duchess I was by. I wouldn’t want her to think she wasn’t a priority.”

  “Most assuredly, my lord.”

  Thomas had ridden over to the house instead of taking a carriage. He had been naive to think the family wouldn’t have had any plans for an evening during the season. Five years away and he was completely out of step.

  Now that his evening plans had fallen through, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He no longer knew where the card games were played, he didn’t feel like going to the club and certainly not to one of the bawdy houses. He had absolutely no plans to renew old female acquaintances.

  It looked like another evening sorting through the mounds of mind-numbing papers in his father’s old study.

  Capital.

  When Masters delivered a note at half past seven the next morning, Thomas was still up from the night before, the deeds and legal documents and such long abandoned on the massive desk. Instead, signs that the furniture had been rearranged gave his man pause.

  “My lord, you have footmen to do this for you.” Masters balanced the missive on a silver salver as he surveyed the changed room.

  “I couldn’t asleep anyway,” Thomas said by way of explanation. He pointed to three long bundles of rolled-up Persians. “Have them exchange these rugs for others from around the house. I rather fancy the one in the morning room.”

  “Of course. First thing.”

  The note was written in a woman’s hand. “Meet me in the park at the Serpentine Bridge—half past 9.” It was signed with an elaborate letter F.

  It had niggled at his mind that Francesca had snuck away the day before, and she hadn’t even been at home for him to discuss it with her. Had she been shy afterwards? Embarrassed? He supposed it was foolish to be giddy about seeing her again, but he couldn’t wipe off the grin plastered all over his face.

  He’d have to hurry if he was going to make his tête-à-tête on time.

  Francesca arrived at the bridge early. She was nervous and fretful and sincerely feared that she might cast up her breakfast in the bushes. There was no one in the park at this hour, and certainly not at the location she had chosen. All the nannies and children were off in the meadows, gossiping and playing. She had even managed to sneak out of the house without her maid in tow. This was a conversation she didn’t want any witnesses for.

  She rubbed her stomach and scoped out the bushes anew, but she wrenched herself away and paced back to the bank of the pond. Maybe she should have brought Anna with her. She could really use some moral support. She snorted. Moral support, bah. She had no business thinking that phrase. Oh, she could just kill herself for getting into the position where she had to have this conversation.

  She whirled around to start her stride back towards the hateful bushes, and there he was, some twenty yards away. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Then he smiled at her in a way that made her heart literally ache.

  Thomas’s expression melted when Francesca turned on her heel and fled towards the bushes. Her discomfort was somewhat relieved when she reemerged, holding a handkerchief to her mouth.

  “My darling?” Thomas strode towards her, his hand extended to take hers in his own. “Are you all right?”

  Francesca pushed her free hand in front of her, the palm out to halt his advance. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? You look pale.”

  “No, I’m not sure,” she said just above a whisper. Thomas took another step in her direction, but he stopped when she retreated from him.

  “How did you get here?”

  Francesca pointed to a carriage a bit farther down the path. It was close, but still out of hearing distance.

  “Why did you sneak away? I was disappointed to find you gone.” His smile was so charming and his handsome face so dear to her, it made her tremble knowing what she must tell him. She didn’t immediately answer, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’m going to see Christian this afternoon.” Thomas’s face was lit up with excitement. Francesca wished she could feel even one whit of the joy that shone on his face.

  “Why?” she gasped, fearing his answer and suspecting she already knew why.

  “After yesterday? You know why.” Thomas took another step towards her, both hands out, as if eager to touch her. She held up her hand and, when she made an abrupt yelping sound, he stopped. His brows knit together in consternation. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand you.”

  Francesca smile was brittle, and she was very near hysterics. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “We weren’t thinking, Francesca. We were feeling. It was spontaneous. Don’t tell me it didn’t feel good to you too because I know better.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Her voice was small and shaking with emotions that she was struggling desperately to keep under control.

  “I know things didn’t happen in the acceptable way,” Thomas explained. “But I came back to London to get everything in order. I need a wife. It makes perfect sense that it is you.”

  Francesca moaned into her square of linen and swayed slightly. Thomas took the opportunity to step forward and take her by the arm, steadying her with his large hands. Even in this state of near panic, she felt the heat from his fingers through her pelisse and blouse, and her traitorous brea
sts began to ache at the sensory memory of his hands on her before.

  “Everything will be fine.” His tone was soothing, his breath warm on her cheek. “We will wed, and no one will ever know about the order of things, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “No.” She bit back a sob.

  “No what, my dearest?”

  “No, we will not wed. We cannot.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “I’m already engaged,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Last night was a terrible, terrible mistake, and I’d do anything to take it back.”

  He backed away from her, one step, then another. The way he was looking at her caused her physical pain. Francesca put her hands to her face. She wanted to let loose and sob, but now was not the time or the place. She had to stay strong and do the right thing.

  “I thought you knew.” Her voice cracked, and she breathed deeply to pull herself back together.

  “No. How would I have known?”

  “Mother wrote you all the time,” she explained.

  Thomas shook his head with vehemence. “I most certainly did not know. What kind of gentleman would I be if I knowingly made love to another man’s fiancée?”

  “Oh please,” Francesca protested. “You did it all the time.”

  “Not with you. Never with you.” He stared at her like she’d accused him of a war crime before his face grew hard again. “You can’t marry someone else.”

  “But I am. I have to. It’s all arranged.” Oh, if she could just turn back time.