Devil in Spring Read online

  The finger worked deeper, finding sensitive places that made her gasp. His mouth descended to the triangle of curls, searching among the soft folds. He kept her balanced on the edge of intense pleasure, kissing and suckling at the little crest of her sex, while his finger played inside her. She couldn’t help grinding her hips in tightly curtailed movements, begging wordlessly for relief. His touch withdrew briefly, only to return with more pressure, and she realized he had added another finger. She began to protest, but then his mouth did something so amazing that she gasped and spread her shaking thighs.

  Patiently, tenderly, he coaxed and caressed her, his tongue flicking at a steady pace, bringing up the pleasure in a powerful surge. She moaned and strained against him, her pelvis tilting upward. A moment of stillness came over her right before the blinding release began, rushing all through her. She twisted, cried out, panted, sobbed, lost to shame in her husband’s arms. After the last faint quivers had faded, she was too dazed to move. His fingers slid from her, leaving her with a strange, empty feeling, the entrance to her body dilated and throbbing.

  Moving over her, Gabriel settled between her thighs and slid an arm beneath her neck. “Stay relaxed, sweet,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

  Pandora didn’t have a choice—her body was as limp as an empty glove.

  He reached down, and she felt a glassy-smooth hardness stroking over her vulnerable opening, circling slowly. Searing-hot, heavy, the blunt tip nudged into the soft cove. He filled her gradually, the pressure enormous and inescapable, and the pain took her breath away as she felt herself being stretched wider than she would have thought possible. Her flesh throbbed sharply around scalding tightness.

  Gabriel held still and stared down at her with concern, waiting for her to adjust to him. Smoothing wisps of hair back from her face, he kissed her forehead.

  “You don’t have to wait,” Pandora said, closing her eyes against a sudden smart of tears.

  She felt the brush of his lips against her eyelids. “I want to,” he whispered. “I want to stay inside you as long as possible. The pleasure you give me . . . it’s like discovering lovemaking for the first time.” He brought her mouth to his in a softly erotic blaze that sent the butterflies whirling in her stomach again. Her muscles clamped convulsively on the hardness inside her, and she felt him push deeper each time. Somehow her body made room for him, yielding to the insistent penetration. It wasn’t quite as painful now, subtle ripples of pleasure rising through the discomfort. He moved with great care, the heat of him pressing astonishingly deep within her, sliding in like silk.

  Pandora lifted her arms around his neck, and tilted her head back as he kissed her throat. “What should I do?” she asked breathlessly.

  Gabriel let out a quiet groan, his forehead drawn as if he were in pain. “Just hold me,” he said hoarsely. “Keep all the pieces of me together. My God—I’ve never—” He broke off and thrust deep, and shuddered until she felt his rough tremors at her core, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him with every part of herself.

  After a long time, he stopped shivering and collapsed in weary satisfaction, moving partially to the side to keep from crushing her.

  Pandora played with the damp locks of his hair at the back of his neck, and traced the neat shape of his ear. “Your lovemaking,” she informed him, “is a gift.”

  And she felt the curve of his smile against her shoulder.

  Chapter 16

  “I’ve never spent so much time in bed,” Pandora said four days later, as late-morning light stole in through a crack in the draperies. “Not even when I was sick.” Other than a handful of outings, such as a walking excursion to view ancient Saxon statues, and taking afternoon tea in the hotel’s outside gardens—they had stayed in the privacy of their suite. “I need to do something productive.”

  A lazy masculine arm curved around her front, pulling her back against a hard, furry chest. Gabriel’s voice was like dark velvet against her ear. “I, for one, have been exceptionally productive.”

  “I meant something useful.”

  “You have been useful.” His palm smoothed over her naked hip.

  “Doing what?”

  “Satisfying my needs.”

  “Not very well, it seems, or I wouldn’t have to keep doing it.” Pandora began to crawl across the mattress as if to escape the bed, and giggled as he pounced on her.

  “You do it too well. It makes me want you all the more.” Gabriel settled over her, pinning her in place. His mouth lowered to her shoulder for a brief, soft bite. “You obsess me, with your sweet mouth and clever little hands . . . your beautiful back . . . and legs . . .”

  “You need a hobby,” Pandora said severely as she felt his erection against her bottom. “Have you ever tried writing poetry? Building a ship in a bottle?”

  “You’re my hobby.” He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, having discovered it was a particularly sensitive place.

  Gabriel was a tender and passionate lover, exploring every inch of her with ruthless patience. He taught her about the slow build of anticipation, about the infinite ways to heighten desire. For languid hours he would guide her from one erotic sensation to the next, until she was overcome with shuddering waves of pleasure. At other times, he played rough-and-tumble, teasing her into a state of wildness and satisfying her with deep, powerful thrusts. She was always a little disoriented afterward, euphoric and shaky, but he would hold and caress her until she relaxed into a dreamless sleep. She’d never slept like this in her life, all through the night and late into the morning.

  When evening approached, they would order dinner up to their suite. A pair of hotel stewards, both wearing noiseless slippers, would come to the sitting room to cover the round table with spotless white linen, and arrange place settings of china, silver, and crystal. They would set out little bowls of water, each topped with a perfect sprig of lemon verbena, for rinsing one’s fingers between courses. After bringing trays of steaming silver-covered dishes, the stewards would leave to allow them to serve themselves in privacy.

  During dinner, Gabriel was an entertaining companion, amusing her with an endless supply of stories. He was willing to discuss any subject, and encouraged her to speak frankly and ask as many questions as she liked. Whenever she jumped from one topic to another seemingly unrelated one, it didn’t appear to bother him. It seemed that no matter what her faults were, he was willing to accept her for who she was, and who she was not.

  At the end of the meal, the house stewards would return to remove the dishes, and bring tiny cups of Turkish coffee, a plate of French cheese, and a tray of bottled liqueurs. Pandora loved the jewel-colored liqueurs, which were served in miniature crystal glasses shaped like thimbles with flared rims. However, they were deceptively strong, as she discovered one evening when she made the mistake of trying three different kinds. As she tried to rise from her chair, her legs wobbled dangerously, and Gabriel quickly reached out to pull her into his lap.

  “My balance is off,” she said in befuddlement.

  Gabriel smiled. “I suspect it was that extra glass of Crème de Noyaux.”

  Pandora twisted to cast a perplexed glance at the half-filled glass of almond cream liqueur. “But I didn’t even finish it.” With effort, she leaned over to grasp it, downed the rest in a gulp, and set the empty glass on the table. “There, that’s better,” she said in satisfaction. Spying Gabriel’s liqueur, which he had barely sipped from, she began to reach for that one as well, but he hauled her back with a smothered laugh.

  “No, sweet, you don’t want a headache in the morning.”

  Pandora looped her arms around his neck and stared at him with owlish concern. “Have I had too many? Is that why I feel so swignorant?” As Gabriel began to reply, she interrupted him with her mouth and wrapped herself around him passionately.

  In the morning, she awoke with a hazy memory of having done remarkably indecent things with him on the chair . . . clothes had been discard
ed or pulled to the side . . . and at some point she vaguely remembered squirming and bouncing on his lap while savaging him with kisses . . . oh, she wanted to die of embarrassment.

  Also, she had a headache.

  Mercifully, upon seeing her discomfort, Gabriel didn’t tease, although his mouth worked briefly as if to hold back a smile. He had a glass of peppermint water and a headache powder waiting for her, the moment she awakened. After she downed the medicine, he put her in a warm scented bath.

  “My head feels like a threshing machine,” Pandora grumbled.

  Gabriel bathed her with a soapy sponge while she rested her head back against the rim of the tub. “The Germans call it katzenjammer,” he said. “The way one feels the morning after an evening of drinking. Translated, it means ‘the wailing of cats.’”

  Pandora smiled slightly, keeping her eyes closed. “I would be wailing, if I thought it would make me feel any better.”

  “I should have stopped you after the second glass. But I overestimated your tolerance.”

  “Lady Berwick says a lady always takes wine or spirits within a sober limit. She would be disappointed that I behaved badly.”

  She felt Gabriel lean over her, his lips brushing her water-speckled cheek. “Let’s not tell her, then,” he whispered. “Because you’re so delightful when you behave badly.”

  After her bath, he wrapped her in a thick flannel towel and carried her into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed with her, he carefully pulled out the tortoiseshell combs that anchored her hair. Pandora turned onto her front and rested her head on his chest as he began to massage her scalp with gentle fingertips. The slow kneading sent a delicious tingly sensation down the back of her neck. But she couldn’t let herself enjoy it fully.

  “What’s worrying you?” Gabriel asked, his fingertips especially gentle around her bad ear.

  “Part of me doesn’t want to go back to London,” she admitted.

  The soothing massage didn’t cease. “Why not, darling?”

  “As soon as we return, we’ll have to send out wedding cards to let people know they can call on us, and pay calls in return, and I’ll have to learn the servants’ names and the domestic expenses, and make certain the larder inventory matches the butcher’s bill. And someday I’ll have to give a dinner party.”

  “Is that bad?” he asked sympathetically.

  “I’d rather be guillotined.”

  Gabriel eased her up higher on his chest and began to smooth her hair. “We’ll postpone sending out wedding cards until you feel more settled. People can wait to call until you’re ready. As for the servants—they won’t expect you to know everything straight off. Moreover, the housekeeper has managed the household efficiently for years, and if you don’t wish to involve yourself in the details, she’ll proceed as usual unless you tell her to change something.” His fingertips traced a light pattern over her bare upper back, eliciting a pleasant shiver. “You’ll feel better when you make some progress with your board game company. When we return, you’ll have your own carriage, driver, and personal footman, to allow you to go wherever you like.”

  “Thank you,” Pandora said, pleased. “Although there’s no need to hire an extra footman. I’ll have the second footman accompany me when necessary, the way Kathleen does.”

  “I’d prefer to hire a special footman, for your convenience and my peace of mind. There’s a particular fellow I’m considering—he’s vigilant, capable, and trustworthy, and in need of a new position.”

  Pandora frowned. “I think I should have a say in choosing him, if he’s to accompany me everywhere.”

  Gabriel smiled, stroking the shape of her cheek. “What qualities do you have in mind?”

  “I would like my footman to have a cheerful disposition and twinkling eyes, like Father Christmas. And he must be kind and have a good sense of humor. Also patience, and excellent reflexes, because if I’m out walking and thinking too hard, I may not notice if I’m about to be mown down by a speeding carriage.”

  Gabriel actually paled a shade or two, and gripped her closer.

  “There’s no need to be alarmed,” Pandora said with a grin. “I have yet to be flattened under a carriage wheel.”

  Looking no less anxious, Gabriel continued to hold her a little too tightly. “The man I have in mind has all those qualities and more. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with him.”

  “I probably will,” Pandora allowed. “After all, look at what I tolerate from my lady’s maid. A footman would have to be absolutely impossible for me to dislike him.”

  Chapter 17

  “My footman is impossible,” Pandora exclaimed a week after their return to London. “I have to find another one right away.” She had just come back from her first outing in her new carriage, and it didn’t appear to have gone well. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she advanced on Gabriel with a scowl while he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

  “There’s a problem?” Gabriel asked in concern. He tossed aside his waistcoat and began to unknot his necktie.

  “A problem? No. Many problems. A plethora of problems. I went to visit Helen and the new baby, and then I stopped at Winterborne’s, and—Good God, what is that smell?” Pandora stopped in front of him, sniffing close to his chest and throat. “It’s all over you. A sort of metal-polish smell, and a bit like something’s gone bad in the larder.”

  “I’ve just come from the swimming club,” Gabriel said, smiling at her expression. “They added chlorine and other chemicals to the swimming bath to keep the water from turning foul.”

  Pandora wrinkled her nose. “In this case, the solution may be worse than the problem.” She retreated to the bed and hoisted herself onto the mattress, watching him undress.

  “You were saying about the footman,” Gabriel prompted, unbuttoning his cuffs.

  He’d been prepared for a few objections about Drago, a former employee from Jenner’s, who was admittedly an unconventional choice for a footman. Drago had started working at the club at the age of twelve, and had risen through the ranks from messenger boy to night porter, and eventually to main hall steward. He had no family to speak of, having been abandoned at an orphanage with a note bearing his name.

  Gabriel had known him for years. There was no man in London he would trust more to watch over his wife during her excursions about town, which was why he’d ended up paying a small fortune to hire him as a lady’s footman.

  The role wasn’t as improbable a fit as one might have assumed. One of the requirements of a footman was to be well acquainted with the terrain of London, and Drago knew every nook and cranny of the city. He was a physically imposing man, large and muscular, with an air of quiet menace that would intimidate anyone who even thought about approaching Pandora. His disposition was steady, if humorless, and he was not easily provoked. It was second nature for him to notice details of people’s dress, postures, and expressions, and identify risks and problems before they occurred.

  Although Drago had reluctantly accepted the position, his lack of enthusiasm had been obvious.

  “Lady St. Vincent doesn’t pay attention to time,” Gabriel had told him, “so you’ll have to mind her schedule. She tends to lose things easily. Keep an eye out for dropped gloves, handkerchiefs, books, anything she might accidentally leave behind. She’s sweet-natured and impulsive, so for God’s sake keep swindlers, street-sellers, pickpockets, and beggars away from her. Also, she’s often distracted, so don’t let her trip on the pavement or veer into the street.” Gabriel had hesitated before adding, “She’s hard of hearing in her right ear, and it sometimes causes vertigo, especially in poor lighting when she can’t orient herself. She’d have my head if she knew I’d told you. Now, do you have any questions?”

  “Yes. Am I supposed to be a footman or a bloody nanny?”

  Gabriel had leveled a steady gaze at him. “I understand this may seem like a step down from working at the club. But to me, there is nothing more important than her safety. Lady St. Vincent is a young, curio
us, very active woman who doesn’t think in conventional ways. She has much to learn about the world—and the world has much to learn about her. Protect my wife, Drago. It won’t be as easy as you think.”

  Drago had given him a short nod, the hint of annoyance fading.

  Gabriel’s thoughts returned to the present as Pandora aired her grievances.

  “I wanted a footman with twinkly eyes like Father Christmas, not the eyes of a Viking mercenary. Footmen are supposed to be clean-shaven and pleasant-looking, and have nice names like Peter or George. But mine is scowly and growly, and his name is Drago and he has a black beard. You should have seen when I stopped by the toy department at Winterborne’s. He stood by the door, glowering with his arms folded, and all the children grew nervous and started looking for their mothers.” She gave Gabriel a suspicious glance. “Does he know anything about being a footman?”

  “Not much,” he admitted. “Drago has worked at the club in various positions. But the butler is training him, and he learns quickly.”

  “Why can’t I have an ordinary footman like the other ladies have?”

  “Because you won’t always be going to the places other ladies go.” Gabriel sat on a chair to remove his shoes and stockings. “You’ll be looking for factory space, and meeting with suppliers, retailers, and wholesale traders, and so forth. If you take Drago with you, it will ease my mind about your safety.” As he saw the mulish set of Pandora’s jaw, Gabriel decided to take another tack. “Of course, we’ll replace him if you wish,” he said with a casual shrug. He began to unfasten the buttons of his braces. “But it would be a pity. Drago grew up in an orphanage and has no family. He’s always lived in a small room at the club. He was looking forward to living in a real household for the first time in his life, and seeing what family life was like.” That last sentence was pure conjecture, but it did the trick.