She lowered herself another inch and then another. He gripped her harder, the bite of his fingers only adding to the rawness of the moment. A breathy moan slipped out of her. There was no pain, only pleasure. Bliss. Satisfaction.
Finally, she was seated against him, his cock buried deep inside of her. Waves of sensation engulfed her. She was hanging on the edge of her climax. Her body urged her to move as Thomas had done that morning.
She lifted herself, the muscles of her legs quivering, and lowered herself. It only took a dozen strokes for pleasure to consume her. She continued to move against him but clumsily. Her nipples pebbled, and he leaned in to capture one in his mouth, tugging and nipping at the sensitive peak.
He rose with her still impaled on his cock and shuffled to the bed, dropping her on the edge of the mattress. She was on her back with her legs wrapped loosely around his hips. He thrust, his rhythm fast and hard. Another wave of pleasure rose and spun her before the first had receded.
As he had their first time, he withdrew and spent on her belly, his teeth bared and his groan muffled. The heat in his gaze as it traveled over her naked body spurred her heart into a gallop.
“You are a temptress. Last time was an error in judgment. This was utter madness.”
Victoria propped herself on her elbows and pushed him from between her legs with a well-placed foot in his sternum. “Why must you ruin the moment by calling our intimacies an error in judgment and madness?”
Thomas repaired his clothing, but Victoria only rose to wipe his spend from her body, then turned on him with her hands on her hips. He swallowed and held out her night rail. She ignored the offering.
“If I could—”
She held up a hand, silencing him. “If you can’t—or won’t—then I do not wish to discuss the future.”
The lack of a future was more apt. She snatched the night rail from his hand and turned her back on him. She didn’t let her tears fall until the door snicked shut.
Chapter 9
Garrick berated himself the entire trip to the Barclays’ manor house and continued the self-flagellation during his reconnoiter around the grounds as evening approached. His conclusion was that it would have taken a strength he did not possess to deny Victoria when she was naked and writhing on his cock. He was as weak as a sheared Samson where Victoria was concerned.
Bloody hell, now that her natural sensuality had been unleashed, she could crook her finger and have the nearest duke on his knees between her legs. Was there a duke in attendance?
Garrick might have to introduce the gentleman to his fists. He ran a hand through his hair and jammed his hat back into place. He had to quit thinking about Victoria as his. She wasn’t and never would be.
Her parting accusatory words haunted him though. Was he being noble or a coward for not pressing his suit? Perhaps neither. He was being practical. If Sir Hawkins knew Garrick had taken Victoria—twice—he’d be thrown in the Thames with much haste and no regrets.
However, if the slimmest chance of claiming happiness with Victoria existed, shouldn’t he make the attempt?
According to the ancient groundskeeper, the deep gulley marked the boundary, and as there was no way down or over, Garrick turned around. He exited the woods surrounding the Barclay property on the western side of the manor. He stopped in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the manicured lawn to wipe the mud off his boots.
A single horseman arrived. Based on the lines of the horse alone, the man was a gentleman. Garrick squinted when a niggling familiarity wouldn’t leave him be. He stalked toward the man. Surely Berkwith wouldn’t be so idiotic as to make an appearance.
Berkwith was that idiotic.
He was giving instructions to the groom and directing the footman to take his satchel inside when Garrick reached him and cleared his throat.
Berkwith spun around with a smile, examined Garrick, and determined he was not someone he needed to impress. His smile turned into a frown, and he clipped out, “Yes? What do you want?”
“I wish to speak with you.” Garrick intentionally didn’t grant Berkwith a “sir” or “my lord.” He was no gentleman and deserved no such deference.
“I’m road weary. Another time, perhaps.” Berkwith turned to the entrance, adjusting his waistcoat and smoothing his hair.
Garrick grabbed the man by the back of the collar and shook him, not enough to hurt him, but hard enough to garner his attention. “You have time for a chat with me.”
Berkwith sputtered a few nonsensical words before finding his tongue. “Unhand me, sirrah.”
Garrick ignored his protests and force marched him away from the goggling of the groom and footman to where they could not be overheard. “Are you in possession of an invitation to this house party, Berkwith?”
“I played a hand of whist with young Mr. Barclay last evening, and he extended an invitation. He is not arriving until the morrow, but I have his letter of introduction.” Berkwith pulled a wax-sealed letter from the inside of his jacket, and Garrick let him go in disgust. “Why the devil did you accost me? I should call you out.”
“Please do. I would enjoy destroying you.” Garrick kept his tone cold and calm, and as he hoped, Berkwith was rattled. “I accosted you because of your actions with regard to a certain young lady.”
Berkwith’s complexion turned waxy, showcasing the blue-and-black bruise peeking out at his temple hairline. “I don’t know what you are referring to. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“If it’s a pleasure to be speaking with me, I must be doing this wrong,” Garrick said dryly. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. A young lady was attacked. You—supposedly a gentleman—retreated and left her to the mercy of the streets.”
Berkwith’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing emerged. His eyes were huge with fear.
“This is what is going to happen. I will allow you to remain this evening as it is late. However, you will make your excuses to the Barclays and depart in the morning.” When Berkwith made a noise to argue, Garrick held up his hand, and the other man snapped his mouth shut. “In addition, if I hear a hint of scandal attached to either lady involved in your mad scheme, I will make sure your body is never found. Is that clear?”
Berkwith nodded vigorously enough to overcome the pomade on his hair.
Garrick crossed his arms on his chest and raised his chin. “You are dismissed.”
Berkwith turned and made his way to the front door as if the devil’s own hounds were in pursuit. Garrick allowed himself a smile, strolled around the house, and entered through the side entrance.
While he might not be a traditional servant, neither was he an invited guest. Therefore, the room he’d received along the bachelor corridor had been a surprise. It was small but plush and exceedingly comfortable.
Gaiety spilled from the drawing room where the assembled guests were gathered for merrymaking. He glanced through the door and caught sight of Victoria. She was talking with Lady Eleanor, Lord Percival, and an unknown gentleman. She wore the green gown from her fitting at the modiste. The color highlighted her pale skin and black hair. A golden ribbon weaved through her hair like a crown.
A pang reverberated in his chest as he turned to make his way to his room. Alone. He’d won his battle with loneliness long ago in the orphanage. Yet there was no mistaking the feeling. He was lonely. Not for just anyone, but for Victoria.