Leo fit himself against her spoon fashion. She quivered at the sensation of warmth applied all along her back, long hairy legs tucked up beneath hers, a muscular arm thrown across her. All the textures and scents and pulses of him were wrapped around her, his breath falling on her neck. What an extraordinary creature a man was.
It was wrong to take such pleasure in this. Everything Althea had said about her was probably true. She had a whore’s nature, a craving for masculine attention … she was indeed her mother’s daughter. She had repressed and ignored that side of herself for years. But now it was being shown to her, as surely as a reflection in a looking glass. “I don’t want to be like her,” she whispered without thinking.
“Like who?”
“My mother.”
His hand settled on her hip. “Your brother gave me the strong impression that you were definitely not like her.” He paused. “In what way are you afraid of being similar?”
Catherine was silent, her breath wavering as she tried not to choke on a new surge of tears. He was undoing her with this newfound tenderness. She would have much preferred the old mocking Leo. It seemed she had no defenses against this one.
He pressed a kiss into the hollow behind her ear. “My dear girl,” he whispered, “don’t tell me you feel guilty for having enjoyed sexual relations?”
It unnerved her further that he had reached an accurate conclusion so quickly. “Perhaps a little,” she said, her voice catching.
“Good God, I’m in bed with a puritan.” Leo uncoiled her stiff body and spread her out beneath him, ignoring her protest. “Why is it wrong for a woman to enjoy it?”
“I don’t think it’s wrong for other women.”
“Just you, then?” His voice was gently sardonic. “Why?”
“Because I’m the fourth generation of a family of prostitutes. And my aunt said I had a natural proclivity for it.”
“Everyone does, love. It’s how the world is populated.”
“No, not for that. For prostitution.”
He snorted derisively. “There is no such thing as a natural proclivity for selling oneself. Prostitution is forced on women by a society that allows them damned few options to support themselves. And as for you … I’ve never met a woman less equipped for it.” He played with the tangled runners of her hair. “I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic. It’s no sin to enjoy a man’s touch, nor does that have anything to do with prostitution. Anything your aunt told you was pure manipulation—for obvious reasons.” His mouth lowered to her neck, pressing kisses along the taut surface. “We can’t have you feeling guilty,” he said. “Especially when it’s so misguided.”
She sniffled. “Morality isn’t misguided.”
“Ah. There’s the problem. You have morality, guilt, and pleasure all mixed together.” His hand went to her breast, cupping tenderly. The sensation shot to the pit of her stomach. “There’s nothing moral about denying pleasure, and nothing wrong about wanting it.” She felt him smile against her skin. “What you need is to indulge in several long nights of uncivilized lust with me. It would drive all the guilt out of you. And if that didn’t work, at least I would be happy.” His hand swept down her body, his thumb brushing the top edge of intimate curls. Her belly tightened beneath his palm. His fingers trailed deeper.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Helping you with your problem. No, don’t thank me, it’s no trouble at all.” His smiling mouth brushed against hers, and he moved over her in the darkness. “What word do you use for this, love?”
“For what?”
“For this sweet place … here.”
Her body jerked at his gentle caress. She could hardly speak. “I don’t have a word for that.”
“Then how do you refer to it?”
“I don’t!”
He laughed quietly. “I know several words. But the French, not surprisingly, have the nicest one. Le chat.”
“The cat?” she asked, bewildered.
“Yes, a double meaning for a feline and a woman’s softest part. Puss. Pussy. The sweetest fur … no, don’t be shy. Ask me to pet you.”
The words stole her breath away. “My lord,” she protested faintly.
“Ask and I’ll do it,” he prompted, his fingers withdrawing to play in the sensitive hollow behind her knee.
She swallowed back a moan.
“Ask,” came his coaxing whisper.
“Please.”
Leo kissed her thigh, his mouth soft and hot, his bristle an exciting scrape against the tender skin. “Please what?”
Wicked man. She squirmed and covered her face with her hands, even though they were in complete darkness. Her voice was muffled by the screen of her fingers. “Please pet me there.”
His touch came so lightly she could scarcely feel it at first, fingertips stirring, teasing. “Like this?”
“Yes, oh yes…” Her h*ps lifted, inviting more. He fingered the folds of her sex, massaging delicately, tracing the softness within. The skillful caresses brought her body to trembling readiness.
“What else should I do?” Leo whispered, moving lower in the darkness. She felt his breath on her, heat against moisture, a soft intermittent blowing. Her h*ps arched and strained without volition.
“Make love to me.”
He sounded gently regretful. “No, you’re too sore.”
“Leo,” she whimpered.
“Shall I kiss you instead? Here?” His fingertip swirled.
Catherine’s eyes widened in the darkness. Stunned and acutely aroused by the suggestion, she licked her dry lips. “No. I don’t know.” She writhed as she felt him breathe against her, his fingers gently holding her apart. “Yes.”
“Ask me nicely.”
“Ask you to … Oh, I can’t.”
The teasing fingers left her. “Shall we go to sleep, then?”
She caught his head in her hands. “No.”
He was inexorable. “You know how to ask.”
She couldn’t. The shamed syllables stuck in her throat, and she could only moan in frustration.
And Leo, the monstrous cad, smothered a chuckle against her thigh.
“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” she said furiously.
“I do,” he assured her, his voice thick with laughter. “Oh, Marks, we have so far to go with you.”
“Don’t bother,” she snapped, trying to move away, but he pinned her legs in place, holding her easily.
“There’s no need to be stubborn,” he coaxed. “Go on, say it. For me.”
A long silence passed. She swallowed and made herself say, “Kiss me.”
“Where?”
“Down there,” she managed, her voice shaking. “On my pussy. Please.”
Leo fairly purred in approval. “What a naughty girl you are.” His head lowered, and he nuzzled into the damp softness, and she felt his mouth cover the most sensitive part of her in a wet, open kiss, and the world caught fire.
“Is that what you wanted?” she heard him ask.
“More, more,” she cried, gasping.
His tongue traced her in fluid, savoring strokes. Her body drew taut as he began to tug and flick, and the voluptuous expanding pleasure went all through her. She was suffused in wet sensation, each slide of his tongue opening her to greater pleasure. His hands cupped beneath her, making a vessel of her hips, tilting her to meet his mouth. She convulsed in raw shudders, crying out, her nerves dancing with exquisite heat. His mouth lingered softly, as if he were reluctant to stop. For a scalding moment she felt his tongue enter her, teasing out a last few quivers.
She was soon chilled as rain-scented air from the partially open window swept over her skin. She thought Leo would satisfy his own needs then, and she moved toward him in exhausted confusion. But he settled her in the crook of his arm and pulled the quilts over them both. She was replete and enervated, unable to stay awake.
“Sleep,” she heard him whisper. “And if you have any more nightmares … I’ll kiss them all away.”
Chapter Twenty
The rainy night had yielded to a damp green morning. Leo awakened to the sounds of the carriage yard coming alive with the whicker and jangling and stomping of horses. A muffled clatter of footsteps advanced along the hallways as people left their rooms and went to the tavern for food.
Leo’s favorite part of a romantic rendezvous had always been the moments of anticipation right before lovemaking. His least favorite part had been the morning after, when his first waking thought was how quickly he could leave without causing offense.
This morning, however, was different from any other. He had opened his eyes to discover that he was in bed with Catherine Marks, and there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be. She was still sleeping deeply, on her side with her hand palm up. Her fingers were curled like the edges of an orchid. She was beautiful in the morning, tumbled and relaxed and sleep-flushed.
His fascinated gaze traveled over her. He had never confided so much in any woman, but he knew that his secrets were safe with her. And hers with him. They were well matched. No matter what happened now, their days of battling were over. They knew too much about each other.
Unfortunately, the question of their betrothal was not at all settled. Leo knew that Cat was not nearly as convinced of the rightness of their match as he was. Furthermore, Harry Rutledge was going to have an opinion about it, and so far Leo had rarely liked his opinions. It was even possible that Harry might encourage Cat in her idea of traveling the Continent.
A frown tugged at Leo’s brow as he pondered how she had gone through life virtually unprotected until now. How could a woman so deserving of affection have received so little? He wanted to make up for everything she had missed. He wanted to give her whatever she had been deprived of. The trick would be convincing her to let him.
Catherine’s face was peaceful, her lips slightly parted. Curled among the white bed linens, a glimpse of her pink shoulder visible, that golden hair streaming everywhere, she looked like a confection placed amid swirls of whipped cream.
There was a disturbance at the foot of the bed as Dodger hoisted himself up to the corner of the mattress and crept along Catherine’s side. She stirred and yawned, and fumbled to pet him. The ferret curled by her hip and closed his eyes.
Catherine awakened slowly, her body lengthening in a trembling stretch. Her lashes lifted. She looked at Leo in bewilderment, clearly wondering why he should be there with her. It was a stare of disarming innocence, those lovely sea-gray eyes contemplating him while her mind collected itself. Hesitantly she reached a cool hand to his cheek, investigating the bristle that had grown during the night. Her voice was low and wondering. “You’re as scratchy as Beatrix’s hedgehog.”
Leo kissed her palm.
Catherine nestled against him cautiously. Her breath stirred the hair on his chest as she asked, “Are we going to London today?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you still want to marry me?” she asked abruptly.
He kept her hand in his. “I’m going to insist on it.”
Her face was angled so that he couldn’t see it. “But … I’m not like Laura.”
Leo was somewhat startled by the comment. “No,” he said frankly. Laura had been the product of a loving family, an idyllic life in a small village. She had known nothing like the fear and pain that had shaped Catherine’s childhood. “You resemble Laura no more than I resemble the boy I was then,” he continued. “How is that relevant?”
“Perhaps you would be better off with someone like her. Someone you—” She stopped herself.
Leo turned and braced himself on an elbow, looking down into myopic blue-gray eyes. “Someone I love?” he finished for her, and watched her frown and chew her lower lip uncertainly. He wanted to gently bite and suck that perfect little mouth as if it were a fresh plum. Instead he traced the edge of her lower lip with a gentle fingertip. “I’ve told you before, I love like a madman,” he said. “Immoderate, jealous, possessive … I’m absolutely intolerable.”
He let the backs of his fingers glide over her chin and along the front of her throat, where he felt the swift tattoo of her heartbeat and the flutter of her swallow. No stranger to the signs of feminine arousal, he slid his palm over the front of her body, skimming the hard bud of her nipple, the curve of her side. “If I loved you, Cat, I would have you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’d never have any peace.”
“I would set limits. And make you heed them.” She drew a sharp breath as he pulled the sheet away from her. “You want a firm hand, that’s all.”
Annoyed by the disturbance, Dodger slid off the bed indignantly and went to hop into Catherine’s carpetbag.
Leo nuzzled the warm curve of her breast and stroked the tip with his tongue. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, catching her hand, drawing it down to his hard flesh.
“I … I didn’t mean…”
“Yes, I know. But I’m a terribly literal-minded person.” He showed her how to grip and stroke him, guiding her in the ways he liked to be touched. They lay together in the warm bed, both of them breathing fast as she explored him with delicate pale fingers. How many times Leo had fantasized about this moment, the prim and prudish Marks na*ed in bed with him. It was glorious.
Her hand tightened on his stiff length, and the delicious pressure nearly sent him over the edge.
“God … no, no, wait…” He pried her hand away with a gasping laugh.
“Did I do something wrong?” Catherine asked anxiously.
“Not at all, love. But one rather hopes to last more than five minutes, especially before the lady is satisfied.” He reached for her breasts, kneading gently. “How beautiful you are. Bring yourself higher and let me kiss your breast.” As she hesitated, he closed his thumb and forefinger over her nipple in a playful pinch.
She jerked in surprise.
“Too hard?” Leo asked contritely, his gaze intent on her face. “Then do as I asked, and I’ll soothe it.” He didn’t miss her quick double-blink, or the altered rhythm of her breathing. Reaching out, he drew his hands slowly over the slender curves of her body, learning more about her by the second.
“You are intolerable,” she told him unevenly. But she obeyed the encouraging pressure of his palms, and climbed slowly over him. She was light and supple, her skin like silk, the blond thatch of curls brushing crisply against his stomach.