One Night With You

  She moaned into his mouth, hating the skirts in her way, barring her from finding relief.

  She pressed herself against him, winding her arms around his neck, wondering at the insistent ache throbbing at her core. She’d never felt anything like it, not at the start of her marriage when Marcus had sought her bed. Those nights, however fleeting, had never been more than…nice. Never had she felt this blistering passion. Never had she burned.

  Her fingers wove through his hair, luxuriating in the softness, in her freedom to touch the chestnut locks that she had spent many a summer day watching ruffle in the wind.

  His hands released her derrière and she fell back, boneless, ready to melt down the tree’s rough length. Still, their lips clung, drinking, tasting, devouring each other as his hands moved to her bodice. She gasped into his mouth when he cupped her breasts through her dress.

  With a growl, he wrenched his lips from hers, dragging his mouth down the column of her throat as he tugged her dress down, sucking, nipping at the cords along her neck. She heard a tear, but didn’t care. She needed his hands on her, skin to skin.

  Her head fell back on the tree, a cry rising up in her throat as he clasped her breasts, his touch reverent, too gentle for her tightly wound body that wept for fulfillment. Her head lolled side to side, a hoarse plea on her lips. “Please.”

  His hold tightened, his rough palms chafing the tender skin. He took her nipples between thumb and forefinger and rolled the pebble-hard peaks until she thought she would fly from her skin. She arched her spine off the tree, closing her eyes as shards of pleasure-pain spiked through her.

  His breath fired against her throat. She opened her eyes to his gleaming down at her in the dark, as though lit from within. He lowered himself, crouching at her feet. She felt his hands on the hem of her gown, then at her ankles, then her calves. Up they slid, skimming past her garters with astonishing speed before finding the slit of her drawers.

  He stood then, his fingers teasing the inside of her thighs until she instinctively parted her legs wider.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers slipping higher, stroking her before one finger pushed inside her, easing in with tormenting slowness until she nearly wept from pent-up desire. He used his thumb, rolling it over that little nub in fast circles.

  “Ah, you feel so hot. So sweet.”

  She moaned, shuddered against his hand.

  “I wager you taste sweet, too,” he breathed thickly in her ear.

  Overcome with sensation, her legs gave out.

  He caught her then, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his hips. She had barely recovered her breath from that assault on her senses when she felt him, large and insistent, pushing at her entrance.

  Their eyes locked, his burning brightly in the dark. He stopped, held himself there. His shoulders tensed beneath her hands, restraint humming through the corded muscles under his jacket.

  “Please,” she choked, her voice not her own, but some other wanton creature born of the night, where dreams hid and she ceased to exist.

  Then he moved, shattering everything she thought she knew about herself, about him, in a single thrust, embedding himself deeply inside her, filling her in a way that was more than physical. More than life as she knew it.

  He groaned, the sound reverberating from his body and into hers. With one hand on her bottom and the other gripping her thigh, he moved powerfully, stroking in and out of her. Again and again. His fingers dug into her thigh, pulling her leg higher for a deeper penetration, for pleasure so intense it bordered pain. The incredible friction drove her mad. She writhed between his hard body and the tree, desperate, searching for something she didn’t know, something elusive, something that seemed both near and far away.

  “That’s it. Let go,” he breathed in her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and biting down, hard, sending a bolt of need bursting through her.

  The ache that had started from the moment their mouths met increased, tightening every nerve in her body until she felt on the verge of snapping, exploding into pieces. His thrusts grew harder, faster, stoking the fire within her until—at last—she exploded, bursting from within, shivering like an apple blossom spinning through the wind.

  Her internal quivering gradually ebbed and she fell limp in his arms, her cheek resting on one broad shoulder. He joined her, shuddering against her, grinding her to the tree.

  She felt him pulse within her, the slightest movement in the still and sudden aftermath.

  She remained just so for several moments, pinned between him and the tree until he removed himself from her with a rustle of clothing and stepped back. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Still, she did not move, too afraid, too worried that her legs would give out beneath her, that she would blink and wake in her small bed. Alone. The same.

  Cool air crawled over her. A chill chased over her skin, puckering her nipples, returning her to herself, reminding her to pull her dress back up. Feeling less exposed, she lifted one foot, prepared to step from the tree, but her knees wobbled and her legs quivered. Deciding it best not to collapse in an undignified pile, she leaned back against the tree, giving herself further time to compose herself.

  “Aurora,” he whispered, and his fingers grazed her cheek. They brushed the stiff edge of her domino and she jerked, her heart lurching painfully. Despite the dark, her hand darted to her face to make certain her disguise was still in place.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you showed me your face?” he asked, the husky murmur of his voice rolling over her. “And perhaps we can even exchange names.”

  Beneath the teasing ring of his voice, she detected a determination, an edge. Seth had just made love to her in a garden. Against a tree. He would want to see her face, know her name. Curiosity alone demanded it. And damn if a part of her didn’t want to reveal herself, didn’t want to see the expression on his face when he saw it was she—Jane. But the other part of herself, the voice of logic—the realist—knew his reaction would likely be one she did not want to see.

  “Perhaps,” she returned, her heart beating harder at that total impossibility. Hoping that he took her vague response for playfulness, she ran her hand over his arm, grasping his fingers and pulling them away from her mask.

  Eyes smoldering like embers in the gloom, his voice flowed over her, “Come. Let us finish out the night elsewhere.” With a hand on her elbow, he pulled her along, back to the dimly lit path. His fingers burned her flesh, a brand that she would forever bear. One she never wanted to be rid.

  Unbelievably, the fire in her blood flickered to life again at his words. A part of her longed to go with him, to continue his sensual onslaught somewhere comfortable and private, where they could devote time and attention to one another, where he could stoke her newfound passions to life again. But that could never be. Her chest constricted and the backs of her eyes burned. This would be all she would ever have from him. One stolen night in a dark garden. She could expect no more. Could risk no more.

  She allowed him to lead her from the shadows, her mind working feverishly, wondering how she might escape him before he discovered that it was she who hid behind the mask.

  “Come,” he murmured near her ear, guiding her back into the crowd of revelers with his hand at the small of her back.

  A troupe of performers wove through the crowd, drawing upon them. A pair of jugglers led the way, tossing flaming batons. Dancers in flowing garments whirled around them. The crowd thickened, noisy and lively, jostling Jane as they swarmed for a better look at the performers. Seth tightened his hold on her. Nevertheless, one tug and she knew she could be free.

  Pressing herself to him, she crushed her mouth to his in a final searing kiss. For a moment, the noise vanished, the crowd disappeared and it was only her mouth on his—needing, taking, giving. Before she became too lost in the moment, in the kiss, in him, she broke away. Her lips still clinging to his, she stared into his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”


  “For what?” His eyes smoldered fire in the dark night.

  “One night with you.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, she wrenched herself free and dove into the crowd.

  “Aurora,” he called after her, his voice clawing the air, terrible in its anger.

  She plunged deeper into the mass of bodies as he again called that name she had come to love. And hate.

  Pushing ahead, she forbade herself to look over her shoulder, to see if he followed, too afraid that if she saw his face she would freeze, give in, and run back to his arms.

  The sound of his shouts faded, merging with the noise of Vauxhall—the laughing crowd, the cries of the performers, the steady song of the orchestra.

  She pushed ahead, down the wide lane crowded with both oncoming and departing revelers, until her lungs threatened to burst.

  Faces blurred before her eyes. Wind lashed her face, colder where tears streamed her cheeks, but still she ran. Holding her skirts high, she shoved through bodies with no thought to courtesy, no thought to the burning pain deep in her soul.

  A dull pain throbbed behind her breastbone. She pressed a hand to the spot, convinced that the sensation had nothing to do with shortness of breath…and everything to do with never having another night with Seth.

  Chapter 13

  Seth stopped short of shoving a pair of dandies weaving unsteadily before him to the ground. He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to keep sight of Aurora in the crowd. The throng parted and he pressed forward, scanning the many faces, trying to catch a glimpse of a gold dress, of dark brown hair trailing like a banner in the wind. Only nothing. No sight of her.

  He cursed fiercely, earning himself a few glances. Dragging a hand through his hair, he knew, deep in his gut, he would never see her again, that she did not wish for him to find her. That kiss had been the last—her enigmatic words the final good-bye.

  For whatever reason, she had sought him out tonight. But tonight it ended. He knew he would never see her again. Just as he knew he would never fully be free of her, that he would look especially hard at every lady to cross his path, measuring the rich brown of her hair, the slope of her throat, the generous swell of her breasts against her bodice…hoping against hope that it was his Aurora.

  Jane took a deep breath and tried to still her trembling. It did no good. She stretched her hands out before her. They shook like the last leaf of fall.

  “Well? What happened?” Lucy demanded.

  “Nothing,” she lied.

  Lucy frowned. “Well, did you see him or not?”

  “Lord St. Claire?” she asked with deliberate vagueness, unsure what to say, unsure of her friend’s reaction.

  “Of course. Who else? Isn’t he who you wanted to see?”

  Jane nodded jerkily, biting her lip. Lucy had asked nothing. Not when Jane requested to borrow her gold dress a second time. Nor when she asked for use of her carriage and driver. No questions, no judgments. Lucy had simply acquiesced, and Jane knew she deserved some sort of explanation.

  “Yes. I found him,” she confessed, cheeks stinging at the thought of what had transpired when she had.

  “And?”

  Jane turned her attention to removing the gown, straining to reach the buttons at the back.

  “Here, let me help.” Lucy brushed her trembling fingers aside. “You talked to him, I assume,” she said, probing further as she attacked the tiny satin-covered buttons. “What did you say? Did you tell him who you—” A sharp gasp ripped from Lucy’s throat. “Dear Heavens! Your sleeve’s torn, and some of the buttons are missing!”

  Jane’s face burned even hotter as she recalled the sound of the dress ripping in the garden. And all that had followed.

  “Jane?” Lucy demanded, her voice sharp.

  Jane squared her shoulders and met Lucy’s eyes through the mirror.

  “I—” she began, stopping at the weak sound of her voice.

  Lucy’s eyes rounded. “You didn’t!”

  Revealing heat swarmed her face.

  “You did!”

  Jane gave a single, hard nod, all that she could manage.

  “Does he know it was you?”

  “No.” Jane laughed then, a bitter, humorless sound. “Horrible coward, am I not?” She shook her head fiercely. “I couldn’t. He would never…” Her voice faded and she glanced at Lucy, willing her to understand, willing her to see that she was not some pathetic creature so desperate for the fleeting affections of a man that she had succumbed to a sordid tryst. It had been more than that. It had been Seth. Only he could make her toss caution to the wind and lose all morals.

  Lucy sighed softly, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Jane opened her mouth to assure her that there was no risk of that, but the words failed her when she realized she couldn’t make such a claim. The ache in her chest told her as much. Still, she didn’t regret it. She would never regret him. Too much of her life had been spent in a state of longing, wishing, dreaming for the reality of tonight. For Seth.

  Well, perhaps she had wished for more. Courtship. Love. Marriage. Children. But she would take what she had been given—the memory of a garden hugged by night. It would be enough. She would make it so.

  “I knew what I was doing, Lucy.”

  With a nod, her friend set to work on the remaining buttons. “I hope so, Jane. You’re a good person. You deserve more than what life has handed you.”

  “So do you.”

  Lucy smiled, but the smile failed to reach her eyes. “I had all I ever I wanted once. It was enough, it was…” She paused, a faraway look entering her eyes that pinched at Jane’s heart because she knew precisely where her friend was, knew who filled her heart, her head, her very soul.

  “I had enough joy for a lifetime,” Lucy murmured, blinking rapidly before turning her attention back to Jane’s buttons. Finished, she helped Jane step from the gown.

  A lump formed in Jane’s throat at the memory of Lucy’s daughter, a sweet-faced little girl that had loved to chatter, loved to laugh…loved life. She had only known Lucy six months before she had lost her husband and daughter to fever—about the same time Jane’s marriage had begun to crumble.

  Lucy lifted her head, her blue-gray eyes shining moistly. “Every day I tell myself that I will see her again. If I didn’t believe that, I could never go on.”

  Jane nodded mutely. She’d known pain, emptiness, but not loss in the way Lucy had. Seth had never been hers to lose. And at least he had not died. At least he lived on, breathing in air, even if not beside her.

  “Allow me my concern, Jane. You’re not one of those frivolous ladies to engage in affairs. You cannot separate your heart from such business.”

  Jane snatched her black gown from where she left it on a chaise, telling herself Lucy was wrong. Years ago, she had been infatuated with Seth. Tonight was simply an exercise in freedom, a chance to live the dream of her youth.

  “It was one time, Lucy. Once does not constitute an affair.”

  “Oh.” Her friend’s lips twisted in derision. “That makes me feel better.”

  Jane sighed as she stepped into her dress. “You’re such a mother hen.” She stilled, cringing at her ill-chosen words.

  Lucy’s face paled.

  “Lucy, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.” She waved a hand and motioned Jane around. With deft movements, she buttoned her up. “You’re a grown woman, Jane. Sometimes I forget not everyone needs my advice. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do.” She managed to say in a convincing manner.

  “I’ll only say this—you should let him know it was you tonight. If you feel so strongly about him, perhaps there could be a future—”

  “No,” she broke in. Seth would never see her as anything other than sister to the woman who broke his heart.

  “Hmm,” was all Lucy offered.

  Turning around, Jane glanced at the discarded gown, the gold a gleaming rem
inder of all that had occurred. Sadness welled in her chest as she gazed at the borrowed gown, realizing she would never have need of it again.

  Seth stormed into his room, wrenching free of his jacket and tearing his cravat from his neck. The scent of her still filled his senses, playing with his mind, his heart. He stopped hard in the middle of the room and looked about him, jerking his head to the left and right, searching for what he didn’t know. It wasn’t as if Aurora lurked in the shadows of his chamber, yet his gaze flew about the room like a wild zephyr skipping over the seas.

  “Lieutenant,” Knightly greeted, emerging from the adjoining room. “You’ve returned early. Was the lady not up to your expectations?”

  Seth stared at his former midshipman, thinking only that Aurora had surpassed every expectation…and wondering how Knightly knew of her. True, there was little the former midshipman didn’t know about him. The two had been together for so long, the men knew each other as well as any two souls could.

  Seth hadn’t treated Knightly as the other commissioned officers did, as though it were his privilege to shine their boots. And although Seth had never expected anything for such courtesy, Knightly had always looked out for him, teaching him how to fight, and not like a gentleman. Lessons that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

  Seth gazed at him now, shaking his head. “How did you know—”

  “Colonel Manchester’s sister?” Knightly prodded. “Is she as lovely as rumored?”

  “Oh, Miss Manchester,” he murmured. Of course.

  He’d forgotten about Miss Manchester. Forgotten everything save the feel of Aurora in his arms—her taste, her body against his. She kissed him as no woman had, as if she couldn’t get enough of him, as if his lips were opium itself.

  “Yes,” Knightly answered, looking at him strangely, “Miss Manchester.”

  “No, Miss Manchester did not meet my expectations.”

  How could she when his masked lady had been within twenty yards?

  For some reason, his thoughts turned to Jane just then. The sweet taste of her throat beneath his mouth. True, she was no wild tigress like Aurora, but the tremble of her neck beneath his lips, soft as the flutter of a moth’s wings, filled him with a different sort of hunger…but no less intoxicating.