He took her mouth again with his, even as the relentless trespass brought her ever closer to the pulsing joyous moment of annihilation that she had sensed before. The skin of her belly rippled, the muscles beneath growing rigid; her thighs tightened around his hand, her buttocks clenched hard with the impossible desire to postpone what she knew was coming and the hopeless need to lose herself in the inexorable joy.
And then when she could hold on no longer, he withdrew his hand. Her body screamed for completion. She cried out with the pain of loss, and then he slipped a hand beneath her bottom, holding the compact muscled roundness easily on one palm as he guided himself within the aching portal of her body. The moist, tender flesh closed around him, and he touched the corner of her mouth with his tongue, murmured a word of reassurance that she hardly needed.
He kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, one hand still supporting her bottom while his other caressed her breast. Her buttock muscles hardened in his hand and her nipple crested against his palm. Her skin was damp and hot, her lips parted on soft female sounds of joyous anticipation. He eased deeper within, listening to her body with his own. And when her eyes and her body told him she was ready, he increased his pace, driving deep to her core. Her hands gripped the corded muscles of his upper arms as he held himself above her, and with a cry she yielded herself to the maelstrom.
Rufus held her tight as the storm ravaged her, tossing her high before tumbling her down and down into the still waters of annihilation. He was in no hurry for his own climax this time and waited until her heavy eyelids swept up, showing him the green gaze, drowned in wonderment. She reached up and touched his mouth, then smiled. And he was astonished at how beautiful she looked in this moment of complete abandonment.
Leisurely he began to move again and her body stirred around him, little flutters like a sparrow’s wing. She touched his mouth again, then moved her hand down to his belly, surprising him with the knowingness of her caress. His stomach muscles jumped beneath her touch, and with a soft moan of pleasure he withdrew from her body the instant before he too was lost to joy.
She clasped his head to her breast and held him. His body slumped heavily into the mattress and slowly his breathing steadied and they lay quietly, while the noise from below continued unabated, the crashes and yells sounding more abandoned than ever.
After a while Rufus opened his eyes and hitched himself onto an elbow. He traced the curve of Portia’s high cheekbones and smiled lazily. “Better?”
“Wonderful,” she said with a wicked little chuckle.
Rufus swung off the bed with a laugh and went to the table to fetch the flagon. He took a gulp and held it to Portia’s lips. She drank thirstily, then fell back again against the pillows.
“I wonder if I’ve just broken the pact,” she said with another smug chuckle.
“What pact?” Rufus found the throaty little sound as delightful as it was infectious.
“Olivia and Phoebe and I had a pact,” she said with mock solemnity. “We even mingled our blood as we swore an oath never to be ordinary. I know that included not getting married, but I’m not sure whether it also included not losing one’s virginity.”
Rufus raised an eyebrow, a frown ridging his brow. “Who’s Phoebe?”
“Diana’s little sister. The three of us met up at Cato’s wedding to Diana.” Portia’s smile now had a touch of acid to it as she remembered what had brought the three of them together. “We were all feeling out of place… unwanted. And for a few minutes one sunny afternoon, we connected. Three social disasters playing a childish game of fantasy.”
In the last hours, Rufus had forgotten all about Cato Granville. He’d forgotten why this girl had come into his life and the question of what he was to do with her.
“What is it?” she asked quickly, seeing the darkness come into his eyes, the sudden set of his jaw.
He shook his head in brisk dismissal. “We’ve a long journey tomorrow. Let’s try to sleep, if we can manage to drown out the racket.”
A shadow had fallen across them, and Portia’s exuberance died, leaving a cold empty space in the pit of her stomach. She guessed that her careless remarks had reminded Rufus that she was a Granville. And now she too remembered it.
She was a Granville and she’d just betrayed her Granville heritage in Rufus Decatur’s bed. Would Jack consider she’d betrayed him? Maybe not. He’d pursued pleasure himself without too much thought of principles and consequences.
But the shadow now would not be thrown off. What was to happen to her now? Had this changed anything? What did she wish to happen now?
“I’m not in the least sleepy,” she said, jumping from the bed, hiding the chill of her reflections under the mantle of her previous exuberance. “And the piper’s still playing. Let’s go back down again.” She bent to pick up her discarded britches and drawers.
Rufus hesitated. But in the chaos of noise and revelry below, he could postpone reality for a while longer. So he said only, “‘You’re tireless,” and began to dress.
It was close to dawn when silence fell over Fanny’s house of doubtful repute. The hall was a disaster area-tables and benches overturned, drink spilled, dogs searching out bits of food among the debris, moving stealthily among the bodies’ that were sleeping where they’d fallen.
Rufus was among the last to succumb and he found Portia curled in the inglenook, finally defeated by sleep. He scooped her out of the embers and carried her upstairs, rolling her beneath the covers before collapsing beside her. Two hours was all he would allow any of them before they resumed the journey. But they were grown men and could take the consequences of their excesses.
Cato Granville looked up from the pile of dispatches at the tentative knock on the door to his bastion room. “Enter.”
To his surprise, his daughter slid into the room. He couldn’t remember when Olivia had last sought him out. With conscious effort, he smoothed away his frown.
Olivia curtsied and stood in silence for a minute. She was wearing a rather drab gown, Cato thought. The dull yellowish brown didn’t suit her dark coloring. It made her look sallow. And then it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember when he’d last seen his daughter in a dress that did suit her. He made a mental note to ask Diana to direct her stepdaughter to a more attractive wardrobe.
“I was wondering about P-Portia, sir.” Olivia finally spoke. “When is she c-coming back?” Her black eyes had a painful intensity, and her hands were screwed tightly together against her drab skirt.
“The business is very complicated, child,” Cato said dismissively. “I don’t know what will happen.”
“B-but it’s not fair!” Olivia protested, her eyes intently focused on the inner landscape where she formed her words. “It was supposed to be me. Not P-Portia. You owe it to her to bring her back.”
Cato was as displeased as he was astonished at such a challenge from his normally reticent daughter.
“This business does not concern you, Olivia,” he said sharply. “And I do not appreciate your discourtesy. You may leave.”
Olivia flushed. In silence she curtsied again and backed out of her father’s sanctum. She stood leaning against the closed door, gathering herself together. That interview had required a great deal of courage, and it had achieved nothing except a show of her father’s anger.
The clock in the bastion tower struck four, and she remembered with dull distaste that she was supposed to be attending Diana in the stillroom. Some jars of preserves had gone missing, and Diana was interrogating the stillroom maids. Her stepdaughter was supposed to be learning the arts and skills of household management.
She pushed herself away from the door and trailed grimly down the corridor toward the domestic part of the building. As she rounded the corner at the end of the passage, a voice said, “Well, if it isn’t the little Olivia. My own little sister.”