“Not just your hair,” he said, guessing what she was thinking. “All of you, Joan, including the fact you laugh in a moment when many women are self-conscious.” He caught her in his arms, picking her up as if she weighed nothing, turning to put her gently on the bed formed from his breeches and her chemise.
Those clever fingers slid down Joan’s stomach, and she found she was shaking, waiting for his caress, desperate for that touch to sear her with pleasure.
He stopped.
She whimpered, despite herself. Words spilled from her mouth, “Please,” but other words too, unladylike ones, commands, pleas. Thaddeus was laughing against her breast, his teeth teasing her nipple, his hands stroking her between the legs so lightly that it felt like torment rather than pleasure.
She twisted underneath him, desperate. “Thaddeus!” she cried, loving the fact that no one could hear them. “I need . . . I need more.”
He laughed again, low and hoarse. His fingers breached her wet folds, finally filling her, sending a sweep of heat and relief through her.
But he withdrew and before she could complain, he was over her, kissing her, poised at her entrance, eyes catching hers. “Joan?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she cried. “Please, Thaddeus. Now, please!”
He thrust inside, the blunt head of his shaft not at all like his fingers. She froze, but then her body quivered and somehow accommodated his girth, squeezing him tighter, drawing him in.
It was Thaddeus’s turn to groan incoherent curses. Joan was concentrating on the greedy heat she felt, but she heard fragments. “Inside you,” he groaned, and thrust again, and again.
She had the odd feeling that they were on an ocean, his motion as steady as waves coming inexorably to the shore.
Every wave, every thrust, made her arch higher, grind against him, trying to get, trying to feel—
He shifted, and she shrieked. Thaddeus braced himself on one arm, stopping.
“No,” Joan begged, clutching his arms. “Don’t stop now, that was it, that was . . .”
“Perfect?” he demanded, eyebrow raised.
She moaned.
“Joan?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He rewarded her with a thrust from just the right angle, one that sent heat pulsing through her. “More?” He was in control, his voice strained but amused.
Joan nodded, her eyes on his. “No jesting,” she whispered. “Not now.”
He dipped his head and kissed her, his cock pulsing inside her but his hips still. “Thaddeus,” she sobbed.
Amusement left his face. He was taut with desire, his jaw tight. “I love you, Joan,” he said, caught her left thigh and pulled her to just the right position.
Joan meant to say I love you too, but she couldn’t speak a word. Pleasure burst through her and exploded in her veins. He flexed his hips, plunging deep, and every movement seemed to cause him to swell inside her until she lost all coherence and just babbled.
Screamed.
Sobbed, “I love you.”
“Yes,” Thaddeus breathed.
His forehead dipped to hers as his hips bucked uncontrollably, and he gave her everything he had, all the love he had pouring into her warm body.
Chapter Twenty-one
Thaddeus rowed back to the shore an hour or so later, his body exhausted, his mind exhilarated.
Joan sat in the other end of the boat, wearing her chemise again, likely not realizing that her nipples cast dark incantatory shadows, that the shadow between her legs was a delicious intoxication. Her voice was happy, no longer drenched in lust. She hadn’t noticed that his cock was tenting his breeches again.
“Do you want to hear my idea for heading off your father’s nefarious plan for that letter?” she asked.
He tried to make a sound that wasn’t an animalistic grunt and failed.
Joan was trailing a hand in the water, watching the ripples that spread from it, creating a moon trail instantly covered by drifting lily pads. Rather than give the oars a hard pull that would land them on the shore, he stilled.
“Or will you trust me to just give it a try?” she asked, looking up at him.
“I don’t think that my father will succumb to the pleas of a guardian angel,” Thaddeus said apologetically. “I believe you’re correct; he considers himself the ultimate justice.”
“You’re right about the angel,” Joan conceded. “I have a new idea.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“A secret,” she told him. “It may fail, but I’d love to try, if you’ll allow it.”
Thaddeus nodded. “Of course. Do you need any help?”
“No help needed. If I fail, I don’t believe it will hurt anything,” Joan said, her eyes shining with mischief. “But if I succeed, I will leave his bedchamber with his blasted letter.”
To be completely honest, Thaddeus no longer gave a damn about the letter. The power of the Wildes would stifle publication: The duke’s solicitors would threaten the papers; Devin would threaten the printing presses. Moreover, he was convinced that his mother would become Lady Murgatroyd as soon as she threw off mourning garments.
Neither of them would truly mourn his father, and the world would forget the cracked Duke of Eversley soon enough.
He slipped the oars into the lake and slowly paddled back. Joan was leaning over the side, greeting small frogs who plopped into the water rather than reply.
Most of England would consider him fortunate, and Thaddeus had always agreed. But in this moment, on this moonlit night, he felt as if he had only just discovered what it meant to be truly blessed.
It was to be loved.
He was still thinking about that as they emerged from the woods. Joan clutched his arm, and his head jerked up. The castle had been peacefully asleep, windows mostly darkened when they left. Now the family wing shone with light.
“The baby!” Joan cried, speeding up.
He strode after her, across the lawn, up the stairs . . . but when she burst into a bedchamber that presumably held a laboring mother, he remained in the corridor with the Duke of Lindow, who was leaning against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
“I tell myself everything will be well,” His Grace said, glancing at him. “Yet I know that women die in childbirth across the country. One of my children is in danger.”
“Your sister, Lady Knowe, is a better doctor than those who study for years,” Thaddeus offered, propping himself against the wall next to His Grace. The doors of the old castle were so thick that nothing could be heard from within the chamber. “Do you have any idea how long the . . . the event might take?”
“It differs for each woman,” Lindow said. His eyes narrowed, and he looked Thaddeus up and down.
Thaddeus couldn’t stop himself from grinning, even as he tucked in the trailing edge of his shirt. “She said yes,” he told Joan’s father. “She finally said yes.”
The duke grunted and bumped him with his shoulder. “Excellent.” They both looked up when the door swung open. “Take this!” Joan commanded, holding up a glass of golden liquid.
“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.
“Is the baby here?” the duke demanded, at the same moment.
“Almost,” Joan said. “Thaddeus, the soothing tonic is for your father. Aunt Knowe visited him earlier. She didn’t want to give him the drink until you had a chance to say goodbye.” She darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sorry.”