She weighed up those options. “Mine. Petunia—my maid—won’t come up in the morning until I ring.”
He nodded, forced his arms to release her, then he caught her hand and, without another word, led her back into the house. He paused to lock the French doors behind them, then she took his hand and drew him into the front hall and up the stairs.
She led him down the corridor to her room at the end. She opened the door, and he followed her inside.
He shut the door, then swiftly glanced around the room as, smoothly, he drew her into his arms. A wide tester bed stood against the far wall. She hadn’t drawn the curtains over the wide windows; the moon was at its zenith, sending more than enough silvery light pouring in for their purpose.
There was something about making love in the moonlight—in a light that rendered white curves pearlescent.
As their lips met again, as she came up on her toes to meet and match him, he once again found himself battered by contradictory impulses—to seize and rush ahead, or to linger and savor.
In the end, he deferred to her. Although he kept his hands on their reins, he let her lead, let her script their play, drawing her back only when her open and unbounded enthusiasm had her racing ahead too fast. Then he caught her hands, captured her lips in a kiss designed to corral her wits, and refocused her on the sensation she’d missed, that in her eagerness she’d failed to properly savor. Once she had—once she’d tasted and gloried—he released her to resume her exploration.
They divested each other of their clothes, piece by piece stripping the garments away, revealing themselves to each other inch by inch.
Felicia marveled anew, thrilled to her core at being able to sate her senses with the resilient splendor of his bare chest. With the fascinating display of rock-hard muscles sheathing heavy bones.
To her surprise, she felt little modesty in allowing him access to her naked curves. She was too absorbed drinking in the wonder of his body, his inherent strength, and the sense of control, of reined power that, unclothed, he emanated.
To an untried lady, that should have spelt danger; instead, to her, he personified wonder.
They’d turned and shifted as they’d disrobed; now, finally naked, they stood beside her bed. She moved into his arms, and their bodies met skin to skin for the first time, and a sharp shiver of awakened awareness, potent and sweet, raced through her.
She lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders; with her greedy hands splaying over thick muscle and heated skin, she stretched up against him, her nerves sparking at the sliding contact.
He closed his arms around her, bent his head, and recaptured her lips.
As, eager and wanting, she returned the caress, his hands spread on her back, and he urged her closer yet.
She pressed her body to his—and felt her senses leap, then shudder. Felt her heart thud—felt his thud against her breast. Felt his erection, a hot, heated rod, against her belly.
Then he bent his knees and, with one arm banding her upper thighs, hoisted her against him. She broke from the kiss to look down at his face, and he tumbled them onto the bed.
She gasped, then lost what little breath she’d gained as he stretched alongside her, and his hand closed over her breast.
From that moment, her education began, as with caresses and knowing touches, strokes and hot kisses, he opened her eyes to the breadth of her own senses, to the elemental strength of her own passions and desires.
She’d known him for barely two weeks, yet he seemed to have known her forever; he knew just where to touch to make her gasp and tremble, over just what spot to languidly trail his fingertips to make her burn.
Soon, her senses were in tumult, and her nerves had tightened. Wings of heat beat steadily beneath her skin, the flames flaring hotter wherever he touched. Wherever she touched him.
Body to body, they rolled amid the sheets, the soft silkiness of her skin abraded by the hair-dusted roughness of his. The peaks of her breasts cinched tight as the crinkly hair adorning his chest rubbed across them.
His hands sculpted her body, making her arch, making her breath catch as sensation peaked, then fell—only to rise with the next stroke, the next brush of his lips across her skin. The heaviness of his limbs, the promise of his weight, had her sensuously sliding her body against his, tangling her legs with his, exploring and learning, seeking every last source of pleasure, for herself and for him.
Sensation built. And built. Pleasure escalated, wave upon wave, the next always greater than the last.
Suddenly, she needed his lips on hers, needed his kiss to anchor her as her senses and her perceptions whirled.
Her world had shrunk to them—him and her in the billows of her bed.
Delight had never been so sharp and sweet, and the pleasure his increasingly possessive, increasingly explicit caresses sent rolling through her continued to burgeon and build.
She felt his hand between her thighs, and she gasped and clung.
His fingers stroked, his touch sure and artful, and her mind locked on the sensations each knowing caress sent lancing through her.
Desire swelled, a never-before-tasted elixir; she found it well-nigh addictive, compelling her, driving her on.
Into passion.
The flames flared, brighter, near incandescent in intensity as they consumed her from the inside out.
Then with a blunt fingertip, he circled the nub of nerves hidden between her folds, and she lost her breath and arched against him as sharp pleasure streaked through her.
He slid one long finger into her sheath, and she caught her breath on a half sob. Her mind seemed to overload, struggling to assimilate the pressure of the intrusion, the alienness of it, along with the sudden wanting that filled her. He murmured something, his voice dark and mysterious, then he stroked. Her body responded, rising and riding each gentle thrust, and she discovered she ached for more.
Discovered a need welling inside her, one she’d never felt before—a need that grew and swelled until it thundered in her blood.
Urgency blindsided her, and gasping, she clutched at him, needing him closer.
Abruptly, their play seemed a great deal more serious, more desperate—her heightened need sharpened to an acute ache.
She wasn’t an innocent—she knew what this was. She needed him now.
Now.
Rand understood her wordless call—her demand, the command carried in her grip as she sank her fingertips into his upper arms and tried to drag him over her.
More than ready, he complied. Passion was a drumbeat in his blood, more forceful than ever before. He lifted over her, bracing his arms and taking his weight on them as he spread her legs with his and settled his hips between her thighs.
They were both burning. Desire had flushed her skin a delicate rose, visible even in the moonlight. Her breathing was ragged, her breasts rising and falling, her hands urgent on his skin.
The soft flesh at the apex of her thighs had flowered for him; the scalding slickness of her welcome bathed the head of his erection as he nudged the swollen lips at her entrance, then eased slowly in.
She caught her breath and stilled. From beneath lids weighted by passion, her eyes glinted, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth—waiting, wanting, and yet unsure...
Unable to resist, he lowered his head and kissed her. Caught her lip and drew it from her hold, then sank deep into her mouth and, with unrestrained ardor, claimed.
Her attention shifted as he’d known it would. He seized her senses, trapped them in the kiss.
Then he flexed his spine and drove slowly, powerfully, home.
Home.
Her maidenhead ruptured, and her sheath closed around him in glorious welcome; her small cry was smothered between their lips, and she arched wildly beneath him.
And it was his turn to catch his breath,
to break the kiss and clench his jaw and, with his head hanging close beside hers, battle his instincts as he fought to give her a moment to accustom herself...
Although tension still held her, he sensed that she paused, then he heard a soft “Oh,” the syllable, barely breathed, laden with wonder.
If he could have smiled, he would have. Instead, he eased the reins he’d so desperately clung to, and slowly, with care, moved upon her, inside her.
Immediately, instinctively, she rose to his beat, to the challenge and the promise, reaching for it, stretching and grasping, and then racing with him as he drove them on.
What followed was a lesson in what could be. She might have been a novice, but he learned, too.
Learned of the difference a true connection of the heart made to what had previously been a merely physical pleasure.
This was hunger.
This was desire.
Everything before paled in comparison.
Her perfume—an elusive blend of honeysuckle and rose—wreathed about him, and he breathed deeply, drawing the scent into his body, into his mind, an indefinable part of her, now, an ineradicable part of him.
They were both desperate, their skins slick with passion, their breaths ragged as together they pushed on. And on...
Abruptly, passion’s peak reared before them.
Undaunted, they flung themselves up—straight to the pinnacle. Together, they raced—and leapt.
Her senses fractured a second before his. The invisible rack tightened one more time, and she, her body, the strong muscles of her sheath, clutched him violently for one last instant, then she broke, and release took her.
He had only a heartbeat to look down at her and glory before his own release roared through him. He dropped his head to the curve of her throat and groaned long and deep as ecstasy wracked him and he emptied himself into her welcoming heat.
A minute later, his arms quivered and gave way, and, exhausted and spent, he collapsed upon her.
Felicia wrapped her arms as far around him as she could reach. She didn’t know why, but she welcomed his weight, the blanket of his body warm and solid over hers.
She lay beneath him; every last muscle in her body felt wrung out and limp. As for her mind, she hadn’t known her faculties could be so overwhelmed—so suborned by sensations, feelings, and emotions that nothing else could intrude. Her body—every nerve, every muscle, every square inch of her skin—felt steeped in glory. In pleasure that, until now, had been unimaginable.
As for that moment in which their passions had peaked and the dam had broken...she was quite sure she’d seen stars. Even now, with her body weightless, apparently floating on a sea of satiation, pleasure still thrummed beneath her skin.
Beyond that moment on the terrace, she hadn’t paused at any point along their path, the one they had followed that had led them from then to now. At no point had that path felt anything but right—the right and proper path for her.
Also, she’d sensed, for him.
Their commitment had been mutual; their need had been, too.
Certainty was there, among all the other emotions swirling through her. As her body relaxed even more, sinking deeper into the mattress under his weight, she felt him stir.
He raised up and, through the waning moonlight, searched her face. His expression was lax; she was sure hers was, too.
He shifted, raised a hand, and brushed her tangled hair back from her forehead. “Are you all right?”
His concern reached her clearly. Softly, she smiled, lifted her hand, gripped his fingers, and weakly squeezed. Her eyes holding his, she murmured, “‘All right’ doesn’t do justice to how I feel—I’m not sure words can.”
Relief showed in his face. “Good.” Then he disengaged and lifted from her.
He reached for the rumpled covers, shook them free, then drew them over their cooling bodies. He settled beside her and slid an arm around her; yielding to his gentle urging and her own impulse, she turned to him, settled her head on his chest, in the hollow beneath his shoulder, and felt his arm close protectively about her.
Holding her to him even as they slept.
She smiled and lightly touched her lips to his chest.
He smoothed a hand over her hair, then she sensed him settle, his heavy body relaxing just that touch more as sleep crept up on him.
She closed her eyes and felt slumber ease its clouds over her, too.
This was the first time in her life that she’d slept with anyone else. It should have felt odd. Instead, it felt perfect.
She’d found her place—the place that was right for her, a place into which she fitted perfectly.
On the cusp of sleep, revelation shone in her mind.
This was the place she’d spent her life waiting to find—lying in the arms of a good, kind, caring, passionate, protective, and purposeful man.
CHAPTER 12
When Rand opened his eyes, the sun was well up, and soft sunshine streamed across the foot of the bed. During the night, he’d turned onto his stomach, and Felicia—his wife bar the ceremony—lay facing him, her head on the pillow beside his.
From beneath still-heavy lids, he drank in the sight of her and felt his heart swell. She was, quite simply, the woman for him.
As his mind drifted over the events of the night—the feelings, the sensations, the glory—awareness tugged at his mind.
Something had woken him. What?
Then he saw Felicia’s fine brows draw down, a slight frown forming, then her lashes rose.
She looked into his eyes. For several heartbeats, they stared at each other—the simple fact of them sharing a bed underscoring just how much between them had changed since the previous day.
Her gaze softened, and her lips curved. But then the frown, which had lightened, returned.
She blinked and, still frowning, lifted her head from the pillow. “What’s that noise?”
Rand turned to his side and came up on one elbow, looking down the bed toward the source of a distant rumbling. That was what had woken him—an unexpected cough, followed by that purring murmur.
It was coming from outside...
He looked at Felicia as she turned to look at him.
Dawning realization lit both their faces.
“It’s the engine,” she breathed.
They both looked toward the window. The noise had to be escaping through the open workshop doors.
Rand flicked a glance at the carriage clock on Felicia’s dressing table. “It’s barely six o’clock.” He looked back at the window. “William John must have thought of something.”
Her brother had spent the previous afternoon and evening working feverishly to repair the damage from and rectify the cause of the latest setback.
Felicia was listening intently to the steady purr; in the quiet of the morning, it was just loud enough to reach them. The thrum of sound remained steady, but the tone changed—increasing in pitch, then decreasing, then, after several minutes, increasing smoothly again.
On tenterhooks, she waited, but no sudden bang or even a hiccup disturbed the steady, rumbling purr.
Then, from below, they heard William John bellow to the morning, “It works!”
Felicia looked at Rand, wonder in her face. “He’s fixed it!”
Rand met her eyes, then together, they thrust back the covers and lunged for their clothes.
Minutes later, Rand stuffed his cravat into his coat pocket and opened the bedroom door for Felicia. She’d thrown on a day gown, but hadn’t bothered with petticoats; the material of her skirt clung to her hips and legs as she hurried along the gallery and down the stairs ahead of him.
It was so early, none of the staff were yet about. Other than the steady purring of the engine, no other sound disturbed the morning quiet.
They hit the tiles of t
he front hall, and Rand strode to the door to the stairs leading down. He flung open the door and led the way.
He and Felicia all but leapt down to the workshop floor, where William John, his expression ecstatic, was literally dancing around the engine, which continued to thrum smoothly, the gears rotating, the drive shafts smoothly engaging and thrusting.
William John saw them. “Watch this!” Gleefully, he paused by his temporary control board and shifted the handle that controlled a lever. The engine smoothly accelerated, gears and shafts moving faster and faster, then he held the handle steady, halfway to full speed, and the sound leveled and all movement continued at the increased pace. “Keep watching!” He lowered the handle, returning it to its original position, and the engine slowed, but didn’t stop.
“That’s it!” William John spread his arms, encompassing the entire machine. “The riddles are all solved, and it works exactly as Papa intended.”
Felicia seemed unable to drag her eyes from the purring engine. Rand could understand; after all their efforts, the disappointments and frustrations, to see it working, apparently so effortlessly, was breathtaking.
Beaming in delight, William John bounded to Felicia, caught her hands in his, and swung her into his mad dance. “Balance!” he declared. “It was all about balance—just like you said.”
“You fixed it!” Felicia’s eyes were bright, her expression radiant. “You did it!”
“We did it. I wouldn’t have thought about balancing things without you.” Grinning, William John dipped his head toward Rand and met his eyes. “And we’d never have had the funds to persevere if it wasn’t for Cavanaugh.”
Grinning back, Rand saluted the pair of them. Then his gaze fell to the engine. “What brought you down so early?”
“I woke to an epiphany.” William John whirled Felicia to a halt beside Rand, then stepped closer to the engine and pointed to several long tubes that now formed a web along each side. “I realized we needed to equalize all pressure directly, from the boiler on, and not just rely on our single pipe to deliver to both pistons. That also meant running equalizer tubes back from both drive shafts and both pistons to get the controls working correctly.”