Together they were magic.
Chloe was beginning to suspect that John recognized that fact as well.
Carefully he set her on the ledge of the balcony. The smooth stone wall was cool and about two feet wide. Light wind lifted her hair with a caress of breeze, sending the red tendrils up into the night.
John knelt before her, watching, as the same wind ruffled his own golden hair, now silvered from the moonlight. He seemed mesmerized by the sight of her.
Chloe had no way of knowing her beauty humbled him. Her entire essence seemed revealed to him as she sat upon that ledge, the stars crowning her. He was spellbound and could do naught but watch her haloed against the night.
His large hands held either side of her waist.
Eventually he rested his cheek against her knee. "Chloe," he finally whispered.
Chloe's fingertips brushed the silken hair along the side of his face. Wake up, John, she willed the handsome man before her. Please, wake up.
He raised his face to meet her gaze, emerald eyes heavy-lidded with physical passion. It was not what she had hoped for… but it was on the right pathway.
She had known John almost her whole life. Knew his thoughts, his moods, and now his yearnings. Chloe knew what he wanted from her.
Strange, but she did not feel shy at all about this.
Whatever John's feelings, Chloe knew he accepted her for who she was. She had always been comfortable with him.
She lifted his chin with the curve of her hand. "You wish to taste me, Lord Sexton?"
The green eyes flared with raw hunger. "Yes," he said. "Oh, yes."
His hands fell to her knees, separating them gently. Without hesitation, he began to make love to the delicate inner skin of her thighs, his mouth tender and careful as he introduced her to this new form of loving.
Chloe watched his golden head between her legs.
Satin lips glided along her limbs, laving in the softest of caresses. Taking his time, he nibbled lightly up and down her thighs, coming close to but not reaching his supreme destination, as if that particular portion were a favorite dessert he was saving for the ultimate treat.
He rubbed his face along her yielding softness, whispering something unintelligible, only to place a small kiss very close to the juncture of her thighs.
Then he laid his head upon her, hugging her to him.
Chloe cupped the side of his face.
He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. Kissing her palm. "Bring me to you. Like you did that first time."
She did as he asked. She brought him forward to her as he knelt between her legs. Until she felt his warm breath against her.
She trembled.
He kissed her there. A reverent placement of lips and mouth upon her woman's mound.
Chloe closed her eyes, her head falling back at the exquisite sensation of him at such an intimate place, his breath hot, his lips hot.
John murmured something against her, something that sounded erotic and sensual. Something that was desire.
He cradled her derriere in his grasp, bringing her closer to him; he wanted to capture this special experience and make it theirs alone.
A silky masculine tongue slid along her cleft.
Chloe cried out at the feel of him.
He brought her even closer to him and slipped inside her. And paused. And flicked. And paused. And licked.
Chloe clutched his broad shoulders, not believing the sensations he was capable of giving her.
He stroked his tongue inside, withdrawing to flick a hidden part of her that was hard and throbbing. Her fingers sank into his thick hair, clutching the silken mass in her grip.
He suckled her nether lips, stroking and caressing. Lost in what he was doing, he clutched her tight against his face, drowning in her scent, her texture, her taste. So immersed was he that he never consciously heard her mewling cries, her uninhibited moans of pleasure.
He simply loved her with his mouth.
And it was then that Chloe truly knew why he had been labeled the Lord of Sex. John had surrendered himself completely to the physical. Every ounce of feeling that the man possessed was channeled into his sexual actions. He was raw intensity.
He began licking her—long, even strokes. She called out to him with the passion he was arousing in her. It only increased the beat of his private dance. John grazed and swirled and flicked; she couldn't catch her breath. She sobbed out loud.
He scraped his teeth against her; she screamed his name.
He only responded to her with his tongue. Holding her firmly against his lips, he plunged into her. When he felt her quiver around him, he groaned aloud.
The vibration of his exclamation further added to her intense sensation. A tumult of waves flooded her, sending her cascading over the top like a waterfall.
"Sweet, sweet," he rasped, burying his face in her liquid essence.
The aftermath still shook her, and he seemed determined to milk every tremor he could out of her.
Chloe threw her head back. Bonelessly, her hands rested on his head; she could not seem to move them. She opened her eyes to the moon in the sky above. White fingers of clouds stretched across the ink sky like wispy, beckoning tendrils.
So perfect, she thought. So very perfect.
She would remember this night for as long as she lived. It was forever etched into her mind; a light-and-dark painting of her soul.
John's actions slowly dwindled down to an occasional lick of his tongue; he snuggled his face against her mound lovingly, his arms embracing her around the waist as he held her close. He didn't want to release her. Ever.
John had never experienced anything like what had just happened to him.
He wasn't sure what exactly had happened to him, but he knew it was significant. As soon as the tip of his tongue captured the first droplet of her dew, he was lost beyond reason. A hot chill raced through his body. Again, he had been like a starving man discovering a banquet laid out before him.
What was happening to him?
Whatever it was, it was getting worse—or better, depending on one's perspective. As before, the more he had, the more he wanted.
It was starting to worry him.
Although there was no need to worry. She was here with him and she was his wife, so there was no cause to…
Then why did he feel uneasy?
Since the first evening of their marriage he had worried over the possibility of losing her friendship with the advent of intimacy; this apprehension had not subsided. The concern was still there, only now the focus had shifted considerably. His concerns had taken on a new tone and direction.
His desire for her was overcoming him.
What was more, he had known from the moment he had first kissed her—Nay. At least he could be honest with himself. He had always known that he would never share her with anyone.
Then why had he let her believe that he would?
A voice inside whispered, So you could marry her.
The disturbing thought echoed in his mind.
It was true. He had married her under false pretenses. He had wanted her solely for himself. How was he ever going to tell her that?
She might not like the idea very much—especially since she had bargained with him for her freedom.
To hell with that idea!
Lady Sexton belonged to Lord Sexton, and no one was going to lay a finger on her except him!
She would just have to get used to—
What about him?
Was he going to give up his mode of living as well? A strange revelation occurred to him. He didn't care about his other women.
Not a whit.
Not compared to what he had with—
He looked up at her suddenly, his face awash with wonder. He didn't care about his past life! This was the life he wanted! The life at Chacun à Son Goût.
"What is it?" Chloe smoothed her hand across the side of his face.
"I…" He didn't know what to say. What could he say? That he sudd
enly decided to forgo the terms of their agreement and keep her to himself? How would she respond to that? What possible reason could he give? She would be furious and rightly so. He had misled her.
And he didn't even understand the entire situation himself. Truthfully, at the moment, he was more than confused. Besides which, that foreboding feeling was back, warning him to retreat.
There was no need to panic just yet, he reasoned.
They were still each honoring their pact, and there was plenty of time for him to work this out. He took a deep breath. "Nothing." He drew her to him, burying his face in her midriff. "Nothing to be concerned about, my Carrot."
Chloe hugged him back, not fooled for a minute. She knew him too well. Something had occurred to Lord Sexton. Just what it was, she would have to wait to find out.
John stood between her legs, bringing her closer to him. With his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, he brought her leg up and around his lean hip as his lips sought out her throat.
Chloe wrapped her arm around his strong neck, wanting him closer. His member rubbed along her cleft, sliding back and forth without entering her in a motion designed to torment and please at the same time.
"Come inside, John, please," she whispered, her face cuddling into his chest.
"Not yet." He took the twin globes of her derriere in a firm hold, bringing her up to him as he glided between her thighs. Her earlier moisture that he had so expertly brought forth aided his slide.
He nibbled along her collar while he teased and moved. Chloe caught the scent of roses, and jasmine, and her own personal scent mingled on him. The result was rich and evocative.
She uttered a brief declaration at the discovery.
"I know," he intoned in a husky voice. " Tis a perfect blend."
"John…" She took his face between her hands, kissing him deeply.
He stroked along her back with one hand while the other still cupped her to him. He seemed content to stay like this with her, rocking back and forth, holding her as he came to a measured boil.
A pair of swans glided across the pond under the moonlight. Their smooth passage added to the magic of the night. Seeing their passage, John stood Chloe before him, turning her in his arms so she could view the lovely scene.
"They're mates," he whispered behind her, his arms encircling her waist, bringing her flush against him.
"It's so beautiful, John." His warmth behind her was a comforting counterpoint to the cooler breeze.
"Yes," he said, but he was not looking at the swans; he was looking at her—his mate. He placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder, his powerful thigh wedging between her legs.
"Hold on to the edge of the balcony." He hinted in a hoarse undertone what he was about to do.
A puff of air escaped her lips; she hadn't known it could be done in such a way. "Like this?" she asked, her voice faint with surprise.
"Oh, yes, sweet." He smiled, enchanted with her winsome naïveté.
The thick head of his manhood pressed against her feminine portal. Chloe sucked in her breath.
He pressed forward slightly. John could feel her clamping up on him; she was nervous with the new position, yet didn't want to tell him.
"Watch the swans, love. See the way they glide on the water." He pushed forward slightly, gliding into her a few inches.
Chloe swallowed. "They—they look so lovely."
"Yes, you are." Another inch.
Chloe gasped, her inner muscles tightening.
"Ease up, Chloe. Relax…" He captured her earlobe with his teeth to shift her focus.
"I-I'm—"
John tried a different tactic. "Do you see the splendor of this estate, Chloe? It belongs to us—every tree, every blade of grass, every flower. Together. It blends perfectly, like a man and woman…" Another inch.
She clutched the masculine arms around her waist. "John!"
"Like us, Chloe." His breath was hot at her ear; he nibbled the edge of her lobe. "You feel so, so good, kitten. So incredibly perfect."
Chloe could feel him trying to come inside her yet more. The position was allowing him to enter her very deeply. He burrowed in another inch.
John was a very big man, and she was still tender from the newness of her experiences with lovemaking. She whimpered, a combination of confusion and desire.
"Don't fight it." He laved the indentation of her collarbone. "You'll enjoy this, sweet; you'll see… trust me?"
Chloe bit her lip, silently nodding her head. In this, as in all things, she trusted him. If he said he was going to bring her pleasure, then he would. She relaxed around him.
Her unconditional acceptance of him moved him greatly. He hugged her to him. "I'm going to glide all the way into you now—as far as I can go. We'll be like the swans, Chloe, gliding together…"
He did as he said.
Slid into her as far as he could.
The fullness of him throbbing within her took her breath away. In fact, he was within her so tightly…
"John."
He moaned something low, his hand cupping her chin to turn her to him. Angling his head, he joined their mouths.
"Like the swans," he mouthed against her lips, moving now inside her, gliding back and forth in an easy rocking motion.
The white owl hooted into the night; the breeze drifted around them; the moonlight silvered them. They became one with the night—part of the very essence of the magic of the scenery around them.
Lord John made love to her.
His compelling slides within her took on strength and purpose as he increased his actions. Caught along with his wife in the spell of Chacun à Son Goût. In the spell of Chloe's charms.
Bringing her hips into the contour of his own, he pinned her to him in a taut hold, stroking firm and fast. He called out her name over and over. He remembered her taste and inhaled her essence all over again as he strained inside her. His cries matched hers as he strove to bring them higher and higher.
Chloe knew she would never forget this night. Ever.
Her head fell back, encountering the muscled wall of his chest. It was all she could do not to yell out her true feelings for him. Somehow, she managed to hold back. It was not time—nowhere near time…
One of his hands released her hip to palm her breast, while the other maintained its firm hold on her. He brushed the tip with a skimming caress. The fine touch, so at counterpoint to his other motions below, made her ache with longing.
How could a woman want a man so much?
A sob of desire escaped her lips.
John answered her by placing hot, hungry kisses on the back of her neck. His hand left her breast to skim her nether curls. She knew what he was going to do. Her hand came over his wrist to stop him—it would be too much.
"No, please, don't." She gasped, breathless.
He ignored her request, sinking his fingers in the rich, red hair. Finding what he was looking for in a well of her liquid honey.
His forefinger stroked the hard little nub in circular motions as he mirrored the action inside her by rotating his hips.
Chloe screamed her release into the night wind.
With a guarded strength, he drove into her fiercely, his raw cry echoing hers as he too found completion.
Chloe sagged in his grip, almost fainting in his hold. The experience had overwhelmed her physically and emotionally. John gathered her in his arms, carrying her back into their room.
When he bent over her to place her in their bed, he was surprised to see tears on her face. He wiped one away. "What's this?" he asked, concerned, his voice still hoarse from his own experience.
"Beautiful," she whispered. "It was so beautiful."
His eyes became suspiciously damp. "Yes, sweet, it was."
John was at a loss for words himself, so he simply joined her in bed, covering them both with a thin coverlet. Making sure to wrap her securely in his arms.
It had been the most wondrous experience of his life.
And it worrie
d him profoundly.
Chapter Nine
Surrounded by Cyns
A few days later, John happened to be crossing through the foyer when a great pounding commenced at the front door of the house. Eyebrow raised, he stood in the center of the entry, wondering what new trouble was about to fall on his doorstep. One thing could be said for Chacun à Son Goût—it was never dull.
The butler hastily walked to the door, apologizing to Lord Sexton the whole way, as if the noise on the doorstep were somehow his fault. He opened the door to seven shouting Frenchman, all speaking at once.
And a bedraggled bunch they were too.
The poor butler put his hands up to try to bring some order to the fracas, but the French were having none of it. Each one tried to talk over the other in an effort to get his opinion heard.
John calmly stepped forward. "Having a bit of a problem, Calloway?"
The staid butler cleared his throat. "Aye, my lord. Can't make heads or tails of what they're saying."
"Allow me." John faced the motley group, surprised to recognize the Cyndreac brothers on his doorstep.
"In English, lads." He grinned at them, oddly glad to see they still had their heads. For all their rowdiness, they were an engaging bunch.
"Lord Sexton," one of them spoke up in perfect, unaccented English above the yammering of the others. "We are seeking Countess de Fonbeaulard and her granddaughter—if this servant will only let us by!"
"And what is your business with them?"
"Do not be foolish! We seek asylum, of course! We have just escaped from the Place de Greve! We are great friends with the Fonbeaulards; now if you would let us pass…" He was younger and slightly shorter than John but still managed to look down his aristocratic French nose at the viscount. "We have had an ordeal—as you can see."
They did appear some the worse for wear. They were bedraggled, filthy, and probably starving as well. Despite their state, they were still remarkably elegant.
Apparently even the rigors of dungeon life weren't enough to dampen their joie de vivre.
He was going to let them in, of course. But he needed to make one thing clear to these wild pups before he did.
Leaning insolently against the door frame, he blocked the one who had spoken to him from sweeping past. "Let's get one thing clear between us, Count Cyndreac."