My True Love Page 9

  CHAPTER SIX

  Penelope stood next to the bench in her father's garden, listening. As she was alone and it was late, she should have been frightened, but she wasn't scared in the least. The leaves rustled, and she knew Mr. Pendleton had arrived. For the past forty-eight hours he had filled her world, and she could sense his presence without actually laying eyes on him.

  She'd become so attuned to him that she easily pictured how he moved, smelled, sounded, and carried himself. While she was forced to consider that her overt fascination might be caused by the fact that she wanted him to be her savior, she was perceptive enough to realize that it was more complicated than that. He had invaded her life, her imaginings, and her dreams, and she couldn't think, eat, or sleep without mentally keeping him by her side.

  Smiling, she turned, and there he was. Standing tall and straight, he was outlined against the night sky, and her heart fluttered in her chest. He was more handsome than she remembered, which was saying a great deal, because she thought he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

  "Hello, Mr. Pendleton," she said softly. His dark eyes glit-

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  tered with an emotion she couldn't describe, but the way he was looking at her made her feel coveted and cherished.

  "Hello, my pretty Penny," he said in that low voice she loved so much. "And you must call me Lucas."

  "I'd like that."

  He didn't move, so she did, taking one step toward him. She detected the tang of soap from his hair, the freshness of the cool night air on his skin, and she breathed deeply, relishing the chance to inhale the manly scents of horses and tobacco and whiskey. Underneath, she detected a musky aroma that she understood, on some primal level, to be the very essence of him. It called to her unceasingly and mercilessly, and she couldn't remain separated from him.

  When he was close by, her body cried out with an overwhelming desire to touch and be touched. She'd never experienced such a physical reaction around a man before, so she wasn't quite certain how to behave in his presence, but it was impossible to stay detached, and with so much at stake she refused to be timid. They were meant to be joined, and she extended a hand, hoping he would take hold of it.

  Lucas watched her approaching. After the previous night, when he'd recognized his attraction to her, he'd spent the day convincing himself that he could resist the natural force that drew them together. He was a grown, experienced man; she was a young woman, an innocent who could be readily led astray by passion. His plans for her were ominously unfair, so trying to enjoy anything more than a surface relationship would be foolhardy and reckless. And cruel.

  Despite his aim not to like her, he did. He felt sorry for her, and he wanted desperately to help her find a good end to her situation, but he could never act on the depth of his feelings. He knew better than to start a dalliance, and the wiser course was so clear, he could have traced it on a map, but as she neared, all his good intentions flew out the window. She reached out to him, he reached for her in return, and then she was in

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  his arms, and he was overcome by the strongest sensation that she was right where she belonged.

  His hands slipped under the weight of her luxurious cloak, circled her small waist, and held her, but while they begged to roam higher to cup her breasts, or lower to encircle her hips, he refused to let them. He battled an inner war, wanting to pull her tight, but he didn't dare. As she leaned into him, ready for their bodies to meld, he balanced her precariously, unwilling to allow the contact, yet not wishing to keep her at bay.

  Her aroma was tart and sweet at the same time, like lemons mixed with flowers. It was a luscious ambrosia, and he'd already learned that it was a dangerous siren song, appealing loudly to his basest animal instincts. His pulse pounded, his blood rushed through his veins. To his horror, it flooded to his groin, and he hardened, desiring her with an abrupt and fierce erection that almost doubled him over.

  Needing more but knowing he oughtn't, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, giving her the same type of chaste kiss he'd offered upon his retreat the prior night.

  Penny was surrounded by his height and warmth. His hands were at her waist, causing a strange ache that began in the center of her stomach and flowed out from there, making her weak, uncomfortable, twitchy, as though her skin were suddenly too small to cover her torso. His proximity heated the woman's spot between her legs, made her breasts swell and her nipples harden to where they rubbed in an irritating fashion against the lace of her chemise. It was the very first time she'd noticed her body in such a physical way, and it made her feel feminine and alluring.

  Barely able to breathe, she raised her face, ready to receive his kiss, when he again pressed his lips to her forehead. Gravely disappointed, she was having none of it.

  "No, Lucas," she said, tensing just as his mouth made contact. She grabbed the front of his shirt and rose up on her toes. "Kiss me," she ordered quietly, more brave than she ever imagined she could be with a man, but she craved this so much.

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  Too much. It was all she'd contemplated for hours, for days, for so long that she felt quite mad.

  "Penny," he said, placing another light kiss to her brow, to her cheek, "I can't."

  "You can!" she insisted. "Kiss me. As you started to last night. As though you mean it." Nibbling the bottom of his chin, she rose farther and found his mouth with her own. If he wouldn't kiss her, she'd kiss him! She was far past the point where she was content to wait for him to get on with it. Time was wasting.

  Lucas suffered the fleeting notion that if someone had chanced to see the two of them at that moment, their positions would have seemed extremely hilarious. He, Lucas Pendleton, who imagined himself to be the ultimate ladies' man, was standing in a dark garden, utterly alone with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, a female who was amenable and interested, untried and eager to learn all that he might teach, and he was fighting her off.

  If he'd had a long stick, he'd probably be waving it at her, trying to propel her away. Their predicament was ludicrous. It was laughable. It was incomprehensible. Then her lips brushed against his, and it was wonderful, and there was no longer any valid reason for resisting.

  She was exquisite. Everything about her called to him, and he couldn't prevent himself from kissing her back. He didn't even try. After the horrid events that had shaped the beginnings of his young life, he'd sworn never to deny himself what he truly yearned for, and he wanted her as he never had anything, or anyone else.

  Besides, he told himself in a particularly convoluted bit of logic—which made him realize that he was definitely thinking with a body part other than his brain—he was going to commit so many despicable iniquities where she was concerned. What was one more?

  He intended to win her confidence, her favor, her friendship and loyalty, all for nefarious, outrageous purposes, and simply

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  to further his own ends. In the process, he would confuse her, hurt her, abuse her trust, and when he was finished, she would hate him and rue the day they'd met.

  So ... what did it matter? After all, it was only one little kiss, one small sin in what would eventually be a huge pile of sins.

  He let his hands leave the safety of her waist. One came to rest on the center of her back, the other lowered to her rounded bottom. He urged her closer, until she was pressed against him from mouth to breasts to thighs. Her tight nipples rubbed against his broad chest, the softness of her stomach cushioned his hardened phallus, the mound of her sex stroked his leg.

  The intensity of the contact was unexpected; he'd never encountered anything like it. Alive, on fire, as though she'd invaded every pore, he was acutely aroused to the peak of anguish, and he needed to relieve some of the pressure by flexing his hips, but he restrained himself. She was a virgin, one who'd nearly been raped two nights earlier by another man who was out of control, and she hardly needed a second gropi
ng, offensive male thrusting and fumbling with her person.

  He had to exercise some discipline, but he couldn't imagine how, so he dropped his grip on her backside, instead circling his arms around the outside of her cloak, hoping to use the sumptuous sable as a barrier. But the instant he buried his hands in the elegant fur, he knew the move had been a mistake. All he could think about was what it would be like to he down with her on the rich pile, and how creamy and pale her delicate, white—naked!—skin would look against the black coat.

  Lest he perpetrate an act even more grievous than those he'd already contemplated, he linked his fingers tightly together behind her back so they couldn't linger or stray. He did not flex, he did not caress, he did not explore, he did not digress. In fact, he hardly stirred, turned to stone by his terror at the level of his burgeoning passion.

  When she playfully nipped his bottom lip again, an agonized groan escaped, then he dipped under her chin to nuzzle her

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  neck, thinking it to be a safe spot, but his lips encountered a hot, smooth nape and shoulder, and he groaned even more.

  "What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes," he managed to answer, "but we have to stop."

  "I don't want to," she asserted.

  "We have to," he declared. Even in the darkness he could see how her hair was mussed, her lips wet and swollen. She was staring up at him with such affection, an icy barricade against emotion melted in the center of his chest. Her tender regard made him want to blubber like a schoolboy, to babble, to blush, to do any asinine, insane thing she asked.

  He inhaled deeply, reining in his impulses, and explained gently. "If we don't stop now, I don't think we'll be able to stop at all."

  "I don't care," she said, taking him in, loving how she felt safe and secure in his arms.

  Colette had often explained to her what it could be like, but she hadn't understood until then. He was hard where she was soft, lean where she was rounded, rough where she was smooth. And he wanted her. He was hard and ready and pushing against her abdomen. It made her reckless and agitated, ready to complete any mad deed. Her stomach rippled, full of butterflies, her heart pounded, her skin was feverish. All combined, the moment was so joyful that she didn't want it ever to end.

  "I want to know what it's like," she said. "With you."

  "I realize you do." He chuckled at her freshness, her verve, her desire to go forward at any cost. "But you don't understand what you're really saying."

  "I do know," she insisted. "I'm not as naive as you think." She recalled the discussions she'd had with Colette. Although she'd never had the chance to put any of her maid's advice into practice, she comprehended what would happen if they continued. She was filled with an overabundance of unmanageable longing, her body dangerously craving his. Colette had said it would be like this if the man was right, if the time was right.

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  Lucas gazed down at her and couldn't help wondering if perhaps she did fathom more than he'd guessed, but he still couldn't go forward. "I don't think you're naive," he answered honestly, "but I do think you're untried, which means you could not possibly know all the consequences. And you offer me a generous gift, but it's one I won't accept. Especially not here, on a cold bench in your father's garden."

  Finally feeling more in control, he unclasped his hands from behind her back and rested a palm against her cheek. "Your first time should be special. You deserve a large bed and a deep mattress. Soft sheets and candlelight. Not a quick tumble in the dark with your skirts thrown up and grass in your hair." At the mention of her beautiful blond locks, he reached for a handful and pulled it to his face, inhaling the smell of her shampoo.

  Penny sighed at the sweet sentiment, and she couldn't help imagining the picture he'd painted—of the room and the bed— as she said flirtatiously, "I wouldn't mind a little grass in my hair."

  He laughed, a rich, full sound that made her stomach tickle anew as he let go of the long strands he was holding. "Will you sit with me? Just for a while?"

  "Yes," she said, thinking that she'd do anything he asked.

  He moved to the bench, and she came with him, but as he began to ease her down beside him, she refused to cooperate. She didn't know how long he intended to stay, when he might jump up and be over the fence before she could object, and she wasn't about to spend the rest of their time chatting politely as though they were sitting across from each other at supper. These were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Do not play the shy one, Colette had advised as she'd left the house, and she could hear the Frenchwoman's voice as though she were standing off to the side and giving directions. Show him that you are not afraid. Let him take you as far as he dares, to the point where he cannot bear to leave you behind.

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  Penny crawled onto his lap, a feat she couldn't have imagined performing a week earlier, but since she'd met him, she seemed to have become a different person. The manner in which she conducted herself was so altered that no one in the grand house knew what to make of her. Servants whispered among themselves and scurried out of her way. Her parents took surreptitious glances, trying to see what had changed, or understand what had come over her, but they were not quite bold enough to ask.

  If they had, she'd have told them that she was no longer the same biddable girl she'd been previously. In a scant matter of hours she'd turned into a mature woman. Her unexpected rendezvous with Lucas Pendleton had given her an overflowing supply of courage, and she was determined to put it to good use. With a clarity she'd never thought possible, she knew what she wanted, and she had a fair idea of how to go about getting it.

  Colette had dressed her in a simple dark gown that had an excessively low-cut bodice and required a minimum of petticoats. She rucked up the hem, holding it just so, and straddled his thighs. Then she tugged the edges of her fur cloak around them both, shielding them in a heated cocoon.

  "This is a very bad idea," Lucas announced as Penny snuggled near and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her chest rested against his, rubbing erotically with each breath she took. To his surprise, she wasn't wearing a corset, so there were no stiff encumbrances between them. Only a few thin layers of fabric separated flesh, making physical contact achingly precise.

  Lucas was in misery. He was able to feel the exact shape and size of her two full breasts, the valley in between, the poke of each pert nipple. They were hard peaks, swollen and aroused, and begging for attention. Her legs were open and relaxed so that her sex hovered precariously above his groin, causing his erection to increase to an astonishing size. It took every ounce of fortitude he possessed to keep from pulling her tight and

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  grinding himself against her sizzling, welcoming center, where he knew he would find some relief.

  He repeated, "A very, very bad idea."

  "Do you think so?" she asked, looking wide-eyed and innocent.

  "I know so."

  "But it's cozy to sit close," she said, "and it's dreadfully chilly out this evening. It's much warmer with you near."

  "Yes ... well..." She shifted again, her firm breasts moving in a slow circle across his chest. This was not good. Definitely not good. "But I need to talk with you, and—"

  "We are talking," she said, her voice husky and brimming with sexual promise. Her mouth floated mere inches from his, ready for another kiss that he definitely was not going to give her, when her tongue flicked out and wet her bottom lip, making it glisten. If he hadn't been convinced of her virtuous state, he'd have sworn it was a practiced move.

  Penny was having the time of her life, although events weren't proceeding exactly as Colette had explained. Her maid insisted that the only route to a man's brain was through his lap, so Penny was right where she needed to be. Her entire body was stretched out against his, but he wasn't participating, and she wasn't certain how to bring about an increase in t
he level of his ardor. To accomplish the goal she'd set for herself, she needed to make him so enamored of her that he'd do whatever she asked without question or hesitation.

  Frantic to hurry matters along, she reached for the clasp at the neck of her cloak.

  Lucas wanted to steer the conversation back to solid ground, but she committed the unthinkable, unfastening her fur wrap and letting it fall just as he made the uncorrectable mistake of glancing down. The dress she was wearing was hardly there at all, and as she leaned forward, both her breasts dangled in his face. He could see the tops as well as the ridges of the aureoles, and her nipples pressed against the edge, waiting to burst out. A simple joggle of the fabric would have them bare

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  and free. She'd be in his hands, in his mouth. He'd be able to judge the weight, mold the shape, thumb the nipples, manipulate the cleavage....

  This is my penance, he told himself, for every bad deed I'm ever going to do to her.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  "No," he lied. "Why would you think anything was wrong?"

  "You just look like you're ... in pain," she said as she reached behind his head and removed the ribbon that had been holding his hair. The long locks fell about his shoulders, and she laced her fingers through it.

  "I'm not," he insisted, powerless to say more, incapable of thinking beyond the pleasure of feeling her hands in his hair. He couldn't move. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to be about. What mortal man could? After all, he was only human. He needed space, distance, a chance to gather his wits, so he tried to find purchase in order to lift her away.

  Unfortunately her skirts were bunched up around her legs, so he discovered naked skin instead, along with soft lace, silky undergarments, and a frilly tied garter. His palm came to rest against a bit of exposed leg, just above the knee, and he couldn't resist running the tips of his fingers in small circles.