“I want you, Amber,” he said honestly. “More than I have ever wanted any woman before. I watch you when you dance, I dream of you when I sleep, and when I lie in bed and close my eyes, I have done such things with you. Such beautiful, wonderful, lustful things.”
He heard her breath catch and felt her body soften against him. She wanted him, too.
“You do not understand the weight I feel every day,” he continued. “What I owe my name, my family, and my country. It is not a vague thing to me, Amber, but a responsibility bred into me with my first breath. It is a factor in everything I do. Sometimes I hate it, but other times…” His voice trailed away.
“Yes?” she pressed. “Other times what?”
He sighed. “Other times, it is an honor I bear proudly. My title means something to the people I serve, to my forebearers, and to my future children. Your father changed his name from Gohar to Gold, maybe not as easy as changing his coat, but he did it nonetheless.”
He felt her shoulders stiffen, then release as she absorbed the words he spoke.
“I cannot do the same. To be a Byrn means—”
“That you cannot marry a Gohar or a Gold.” She gently moved out of his arms. “But you can take your pleasure with one?”
He nodded. It was the way things were done. Mistresses were common, marriages were sacred, though not in the way the priests would have one believe. Marriages were holy connections of power and privilege. And as fascinating and talented as Amber was, she had neither.
“I won’t be your mistress,” she said firmly.
“I understand.”
“I won’t let you touch me like…”
“Like I did in the carriage.”
For the third time this night, he saw tears glittering in her eyes. Before they were meant for her father, but this time, they were for him and her. For what they might have been together if only things were different.
“But I want it,” she whispered, her voice desperate. “I want to feel those things with you. Is that wrong?”
“Of course not. Because if it is, then we are both damned.”
She turned away. “It’s not fair,” she murmured, and he agreed.
And then he had an idea. A scandalous, horrible idea, but one that might serve. At least for her.
“What if I teach you?” he offered.
She blinked as she looked up at him. “What?”
“What if I teach you how to feel that way without me? Without anyone. You can do it yourself in your own bed.”
She frowned. “It cannot be the same.”
It wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. “It might feel the same. You would have to try.”
“How?”
He glanced at the door. This was not something to be done with a guard ten feet away. “I will tell you—”
“In the carriage?”
He felt his lips twist in a rueful smile. “The basics can be learned quickly. We need not take a long ride around Hyde Park.”
She nodded slowly. “And if I want more than the basics?”
He shook his head, though the motion felt stiff with his muscles clenched tight. “I would be tempted too much.”
“Very well,” she said. “The basics.”
He nearly took her then. He could pin her against the wall and devour her until she screamed with desire. His belly tightened, and his groin throbbed along with his pounding heart.
But he was a man of his word. And though he struggled with it, he was also a gentleman who would not betray her father or his own family name. He held back. He gestured for her to precede him out the door. And he waited until he could adequately hide his state before stepping with her along the street.
Eventually, they came to his carriage. He handed her in and sat beside her, feeling her pliant body and smelling the musk of her desire. He told his coachman to drive directly to his sister’s home, so he would not be tempted to stray into dishonor. But he did hold her tight. He spoke clear and low into her ear. And once, he allowed himself to touch her breast by way of demonstration. He pinched her nipple and whispered of what she could do between her thighs.
And when he was nearly bursting with his own need, he opened the carriage door and stepped out while the air cooled his overheated body. He walked her to the front door, just as a gentleman ought. He handed her to his sister’s butler and bowed before he withdrew.
Then he retreated to the dark interior of his carriage where the scent of her still lingered. He opened his breeches, took himself in hand, and beat out his pleasure. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close to the same, but it was all he had.
He’d never hated his title more.
Chapter Fourteen
Amber hadn’t realized it was possible to feel so many things all at once. After leaving Elliott’s side, she had expected this hot, uncomfortable feeling to go away. It did not. She lay in bed in a nightrail that covered her from neck to ankle and couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. Not just the dark whispers in the carriage about where to touch herself and how, but the rest. The admiration he had for her jewelry designs. The laughter he’d shared with her father when discussing politics. And those horrible, horrible words, “Nothing has changed for me.”
Nothing? Nothing at all? Her entire life had turned on its ear. She wasn’t even sleeping in the same bed, and her daydreams had deserted her. A week ago, she’d sat in the cage and dreamed of dancing with a prince. Now she had danced with…well, not the prince. The Regent was fat and married. But she’d danced with eligible bachelors who might very well offer for her hand. How could she dream about something that was actually happening? Most of her waking thoughts were occupied with the very real idea of living the rest of her life with someone who talked constantly about his horses. Or who had a mouth shaped like a frog’s.
She couldn’t imagine kissing most of them, let alone the things she’d already done with Elliott. How would she share a marriage bed with them? How would she share lunch with them? At least three ate like they were starving animals. They’d barely managed to fist their utensils.
And even if she could ignore all of that, who among them would allow her to still sculpt jewelry? To spend hours in the back shop carving wax?
The questions were exhausting. It was a relief to focus on Elliott’s instructions as she lifted her nightrail up to her neck. She trailed her fingers slowly up her sides until she cupped her own breasts. It felt odd to do so and yet also a relief. It was nice to imagine his hands there instead of her own. She tried to mimic the way he had touched her, including the pinch to her nipple.
She felt the burst of sensation from that, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his hands on her, and it was hard to imagine the heat of his breath and the span of his hands. Then she tried to envision any of her suitors doing the same to her. Their hands, their mouths…
That felt so wrong that she took her hands away and rolled over in bed. She wanted Elliott, and no amount of fantasy would change that. But what if she thought simply of what was here and now? Maybe her own hands could make her feel good?
She rolled over to stare grumpily at the ceiling. In truth, she didn’t want it to feel as good by herself. She wanted Elliott’s body on hers. She wanted what he’d said would never happen unless she became his mistress. That was not a smart choice for her, not when eligible men were interested in her. Well, not her specifically. They wanted her dowry, which put them on the same level as Lysander and Demetrius. Those were the Wolf Pack men who flirted with her while eyeing the store. If she wouldn’t consider marrying them, then why was she considering the titled men who acted in the exact same manner?