Page 39 of A Devil in Silk (Tales from The Burnished Jade #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

The Dog and Duck

Burford, Oxfordshire

Clara lay awake in the narrow bed, Olivia’s steady breathing the only sound in the darkness. Yet her mother’s name rang in her ears, a refrain she could not silence. It was as if a buried secret had clawed its way to the surface, bringing the dreadful fear it had cost Agnes her life.

She turned her head towards the crack beneath the door, willing the promised scrap of paper to appear. The waiting was its own kind of agony. What if Bentley failed to deliver the note? Perhaps Lord Rothley slept with one eye open. Or was he in the taproom, emptying the innkeeper’s stock of brandy?

Bentley’s troubled look after their visit to the seminary suggested he might turn to the bottle, too. The gossip had shaken him, so much that he asked outright whether she wanted to join him tonight—as if her passion could falter as easily as his faith.

Surely her desire for him burned in every touch, every desperate kiss. His arms were her solace, and she needed the shelter of his embrace, now more than ever.

Yet she sensed something had changed. Was it the frustration of having chaperones? Or the prospect of Daniel’s return and what awaited them in London? Were his doubts tied to her and?—

A faint sound stirred the silence. A slip of paper slid beneath the door. Every nerve jolted awake, though she fought the urge to fling back the coverlet.

She rose slowly, drawing her cloak around her shoulders as she crept across the boards. Her thoughts strayed to Bentley’s bare chest and hard body, sending a tremor of longing coursing through her.

The seal was a smear of wax, hastily pressed, but her pulse raced all the same. She broke it with a nail, devouring the hurried scrawl by the light of the dying embers.

Come to the Gabled Chamber at the end of the corridor.

I’ll be waiting.

—B

Her stomach fluttered like a bird mid-flight. She glanced at Olivia, whose soft sighs filled the room. Reason urged caution, yet Clara’s heart was already halfway down the corridor. She slipped from the chamber and stole down the dark hallway, anticipation rising with every step.

She did not need to study the plaques or trace the letters carved into the wood.

A door to her left eased open. Bentley stood there in his shirtsleeves, one muscular arm braced on the jamb, the open neck revealing the hard plane of his chest. A swift glance into the corridor, and his fingers closed possessively around her wrist, drawing her into his domain.

All thoughts of murder and betrayal vanished.

Love filled her heart.

Lust burned everywhere else.

“You came,” he said, his nearness heady as wine.

“Of course I came.” Why did he doubt her? She lived to spend these precious moments with him. “I pray Rothley is asleep or too drunk to notice you left.”

“Rothley rarely drinks enough to dull his wits. He’s like a hawk; one sound, one shift in the dark, and his hand goes for the knife beneath his pillow.

” He drew her wrist to his mouth, the air alive as he kissed the sensitive skin.

“He knows we’re here. He knows about us.

Only a fool would attempt to conceal anything from him. ”

The panic she expected never came. Nothing would prevent her from having the only man she wanted, the man she craved.

“I don’t care,” she admitted, noting the furrows on his brow, the tension in his powerful shoulders. “I’d rather die than forgo the chance to spend one night with you.”

“One night?”

“Every night.”

To silence his doubts, she rose on her toes, filling her lungs with his woody scent as she pressed her mouth to his.

Oh, this was everything she needed. The taste of brandy, the warmth of his lips, the greedy sweep of his tongue.

He pushed the cloak from her shoulders, hands sliding over her back, fisting the cotton nightgown, pulling it taut over her heavy breasts.

Heat pooled hot and heavy between her thighs, her blood surging like fire in her veins.

But Bentley tore his mouth away, the uncertainty in his eyes cutting through desire’s haze. “Clara, we need to talk.”

“Talk?” How could she string two words together when all she wanted was him? “Surely you didn’t invite me here to discuss the case.”

“Not the case.” Frustration marred his tone. “Us.”

“Can we talk later? We have all the time in the world for conversation, so very little for this.” She smoothed her hands over his chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his loose shirt. “Let me touch you. You’ll have my full attention then.”

“Clara—”

“Please, Bentley.” She nuzzled against his throat until he shivered. “It’s been a long day. I promise to listen after we’ve made love. Right now, I need you inside me.”

His resistance lasted no more than a heartbeat.

With a groan, he crushed her to him, surrendering to the inevitable.

The kiss was hot, bruising, the urgent stroke of his tongue sending pulses deep into her core.

He cupped her cheek, fingers splayed possessively, drinking from her like a man starved.

Nothing on earth compared to this. She wanted to drown in him, to be consumed by him. It should have frightened her, yet her heart soared with the certainty that he was hers, as she was his.

She dragged her mouth from his. “I need more of you.”

“Then take it,” he growled.

They fell onto each other again, breaths mingling in a fevered clash. She tore his shirt over his head, breaking from him briefly before his lips seized hers. He slid her nightgown higher until cool air licked her bare thighs, her bottom, her belly. Fabric fell away.

His gaze trailed a path over her curves, hunger blazing. He hissed a breath, tongue sliding over his lower lip. “God help me, Clara. You’re so damn beautiful.” Snaking an arm around her waist, he lowered his head to her breast and closed his mouth over one taut peak.

Heat seared through her as he sucked, his tongue teasing until she cried out. She threaded her fingers into his hair, gripping hard, anchoring him to her, needing the exquisite torment to go on forever.

“Only you could make me feel like this, free and possessed in equal measure.” Her heart hammered as his tongue circled her aching nipple. “Oh, I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want you.”

He drew back, fixing her with his heated gaze. “I’ll die if I’m not inside you soon.” Yet he unbuttoned his trousers slowly, pushing them down over his lean hips, a hum of masculine satisfaction escaping when his shaft sprang free.

He was so thick, so hard.

A thought came unbidden, shocking in its boldness. What would it be to take him in her mouth, to own him as he had owned her? Before fear stole her courage, she sank to her knees.

“Clara, wait.” Startled, his eyes flared, but she only smiled.

She would not let him keep all the power. Her hand closed around him, her mouth following, hungry to taste the man she loved, the man who had undone her so completely.

“Clara, no!”

The protest broke on a groan, his head tipping back. The sound thrilled her. She loved the weight of him in her hand, the heat of his skin, the way his body betrayed him with every shudder. For once, he was utterly at her mercy.

She took him deeper, lips closing around him, imagining this must be how a woman pleasured a man, her tongue stroking until his curse split the air.

His hand clamped her shoulder, the pressure betraying his desperate restraint. “Clara … God help me. Stop … I. Won’t. Last.”

“Then take me now, Bentley.”

He drew her up, his mouth hot on hers again. His hands roamed her bare skin as if needing to claim every inch, though his touch gentled when she shivered. She felt the battle within him, possession warring with control.

Possession won. He shed the last barrier between them and pulled her astride him on the bed. His gaze locked with hers, dark with need. “Ride me,” he rasped. “Be my princess of Persia. Your body burns so fiercely, I could believe we’re in the desert.”

A smile tugged at her lips, the thought more thrilling than a night at the amphitheatre. “You want me to take up the saddle?”

“Hell, yes.” He gave her a roguish wink. “You know what to do.”

Her laugh melted into a moan as she straddled him, lowering herself onto his thick length, sheathing him slowly. The stretch stole her breath, a sweet ache that made her shudder, yet the sight of him watching her with raw, unguarded hunger only made her bolder.

His hands closed firmly on her hips. “That’s it. Take me. Take all of me.”

Her head tipped back, hair spilling over her shoulders as she began to move—slowly at first, then faster as instinct took hold. Heat coiled low in her belly, spreading with every delicious thrust and glide.

Bentley’s gaze never wavered. He watched her as if spellbound, lips parted, his face etched with strain and wonder. The way he looked at her … it was hard not to believe she was beauty itself.

“Yes, love,” he groaned. “Don’t stop.”

She leaned forward, her mouth seeking his, kissing him deeply. His tongue drove against hers, each plunge answering the roll of her hips, every stroke drawing her higher until the world fell away.

He tightened his grip, rocking her back and forth with a strength that stole her control. Each movement sent him deeper, filling her until she gasped at the sheer force of sensation.

“Touch yourself,” came his husky murmur. “I’ll make you come again tonight.”

The command sent a shiver through her. She obeyed, her fingers finding the place where their bodies joined, the added pressure sparking waves of pleasure that made her cry out. He groaned at the sight, gripping her harder, urging her to ride the crest with him.

Her fingers circled with growing urgency, each stroke magnified by his relentless thrusts. The pleasure built swiftly until it tore through her in a rush that stole her voice. She clenched around him, shuddering with the force of release.

“Bentley…” Her cry was half-plea, half-ecstasy, as she writhed against him.