"Oh, God…"
He held himself motionless against the very mouth of her womb while the world dissolved, heated ecstasy overwhelming mind and body, every trembling nerve incited to rapture pitch.
"You can't leave me."
He heard her through a thundering lust so unrestrained and lecherous, he could honestly answer "I won't" even as he began to withdraw.
"No, no, no!" She clutched at his back, trying to maintain the ravishing pleasure.
"Hush," he commanded, breaking her hold. "I'm coming back." And when he'd reached the limits of his withdrawal stroke, he plunged in once again and felt her soft sigh of gratification as he buried himself to the hilt.
Riveting sensation jolted their bodies, thrilled through their senses, burned away all but rapacious need, and they moved in the heated water in an agitated flux and flow that sent waves of water onto the carpet. Unmindful, driven by a frenzy of torrid desire, they wildly took and gave, greedy, impatient, consumed by a carnal hunger that burned away all but feeling, and when their orgasmic culmination exploded over them, they were both left breathless.
"My undying… thanks," she whispered, lying prostrate, her head thrown back.
"The pleasure… was… mine" he gasped, his forehead resting on the rim of the tub.
"I'm… going… to be… wanting more…"
He turned his head and met her voluptuous gaze. "Wet or dry?" he softly drawled.
"Whatever you want."
What he wanted might alarm her, he thought, the possibility of fucking himself to death mildly alarming to himself as well. "I'll make a list," he whispered, a faint smile playing across his mouth.
"And I'll accommodate you."
"Sight unseen?"
She moved her hips in the smallest of undulations. "As long as I have this inside me, I'll accommodate you any way you wish."
"An inspiring offer."
"I can feel your inspiration already." He'd grown rigid again, and the exquisite sensation brought a smile to her lips. "How lucky I am."
A consummate gambler, he understood the laws of chance and he knew full well the ultimate degree of luck involved in their meeting. "We both are," he softly said.
Chapter Ten
HE CARRIED HER from the bath sometime later, wrapped her in one of his robes, slipped on a dressing gown as well, and led her through the imposing crimson-bedecked bedchamber to another dressing room so large, she stood in the doorway, rapt.
"Is this your Roman bath?" The walls and floor were of green-veined marble, the high-domed ceiling a colorful mosaic depiction of fauna and flora, the light from numerous wall sconces reflected in dozens of gilt-framed mirrors lining the walls.
He shook his head. "That's on the ground floor. My great-grandfather apparently saw this room in a villa in Naples and brought back twenty Italian craftsmen to replicate it for him. I thought you might like to use the facilities."
"Thank you." Her blush deepened the pink on her cheeks.
"I could leave if you wish."
"If you would… although I suppose at this point-" A flaring bit of scarlet rouged her cheeks. "I mean, after what transpired…"
"I'll wait outside," he gently said. "The water closet is through those doors." Pointing at a trompe l'oeil woodland scene, he added, "Just push on the clump of primrose."
She stood for a moment after the door closed on him, in awe of the magnificence. Nothing in her past compared with the degree of luxury evident in Bathurst House. Although Dermott seemed not to notice-his small dressing apartment was almost ordinary in its plainness. A clock suddenly struck, and glancing around, she saw a tall case clock set between a freestanding marble tub and a silk-covered chaise. A large family could live comfortably in this chamber, she thought, smiling faintly, the warmth from the fireplace adding to the creature comforts of the room. Vases of flowers perfumed the air as well, and she wondered if one ever became blase about such splendor.
Not that she would have the opportunity to find out, she decided with the practicality she'd learned at her grandfather's knee. And on that pragmatic note, she moved toward the hidden doors and gently touched the primroses.
The doors swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges and another chamber decorated in marble met her gaze. Pink marble this time, with a water closet in the guise of a throne and a sink with faucets that implied Bathurst House was supplied with running water. She wished she had someone to describe these luxuries to, and incongruously, considering her reasons for being there, she wished her grandfather were available to listen.
Dermott was seated near the large boulle desk when she reentered the bedchamber, refreshed as well after using the simpler accommodations in his dressing room. Lounging in an outsized chair, he held a brandy glass in his hand. "Did you manage to make all the faucets work?"
"Yes, thank you. How beautiful, and ingenious as well. Grandpapa would have enjoyed seeing your plumbing." [5]
He smiled. "And I would have liked to see your grandfather again. He raised a very unusual woman." He rose as she approached and offered her a chair beside him.
"Do you think I'm unusual?" Sitting, she thought how gracious he was to charm after as well as before.
"Without doubt. Champagne? I had some more brought up." Which required waking the servants he'd dismissed.
"Yes, thank you." She took the proffered glass. "Unusual because of this-arrangement, you mean?"
He momentarily pursed his lips. "A consideration perhaps, but no-I think your lack of affectation most appeals."
"My lack of social graces, you mean," she noted with a smile.
"Hardly. You could grace Almack's with the best of them. I suppose I dislike coy women, and you are not that. What you are, darling, is the fascinating focus of my desires-in a most disturbing way. And there, I've said enough. I despise conversations about feelings."
"As do all men, in my experience."
"Your experience?" He cocked one dark brow.
"In my grandfather's business. If one ever broached a subject that even veered in the direction of how one felt-say about a shipwreck, for instance, or a spoiled cargo, or the plight of laborers on the plantations that supplied much of the cargo-they would invariably say 'And so life goes,' as though it were possible to avoid an emotional reaction. Even Grandpapa, darling that he was, rarely mentioned his love for me other than to say, 'You're my sun and moon, Izzy'-he called me that from childhood-'now tell me what you want and you may have it.' "
Dermott grinned. "A spoiled young lady-which accounts for your sexual demands. Not that I'm complaining."
"Nor I, Lord Bathurst. You've lived up to your reputation splendidly."
"We're not done yet."
"I should hope not."
His lazy smile was overtly sensual. "Wanton minx."
"Indeed." She winked at him over the rim of her glass. "And I never had the least idea."
"I should be grateful to your disreputable relatives."
"In a way I am. Because of you, of course."
His gaze went shuttered, wary of female flattery after years of avoiding entrapment.
Her trill of laughter drifted to the bacchantes overhead. "Do they all want to leg-shackle you?"
"Enough to make one cautious."
"I know better. No need for alarm. But I'm glad you were the first," she softly added.
And perhaps the last, a rash, impulsive voice inside his head avowed. Which voice was instantly quashed by those brute impulses that had sustained him in recent years. "Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He had no intention of becoming involved.
"You're very welcome. And when you're sufficiently rested, I was wondering-if you didn't think me too forward-"
His gaze came up, and he waited with interest.
"Whether we could have some of that chocolate dessert that we left on the tray in your dressing room."
[5] I'm always fascinated by the ingenious plumbing incorporated into some of the grand residences, at a time when indoor plumbing wasn't universally available. But water provision was in the hands of numerous private companies and had been as early as 1581, when waterwheels were pumping Thames water to parts of the City. At the end of the seventeenth century, the use of steam for power was made effective by Thomas Savery. In 1712, a pump worked by a Savery engine was installed at Campden House in Kensington. It could raise three thousand gallons an hour up fifty-eight feet to a cistern at the top of the house. In 1723, the Chelsea Waterworks Company was incorporated "for the better supplying in the City and Liberties of Westminister and parts adjacent with water." The company was responsible for introducing the first iron main in London in 1746, and by 1767, with the widespread use of steam pumps, 1,750 tons of water were pumped daily. By the time Celia Fiennes was touring England in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century, water was being supplied for indoor fountains, baths, and water closets.