Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dahlingford worked Ember hard. He knew she was aroused but for whatever reason resisted the last capitulation—the release that would bring her the greatest pleasure. He knew this was the secret to his success with the ton’s women. It was a matter of patience and skill, and the sublime discipline not to rush his own orgasm.

Women weren’t ready until they were damned good and ready.

And dear Ember, she required his best skills. The most patience. The most expertise. He’d carried an erection for her since she was sixteen. The carriage accident had slowed down his ability for a quick draw—he’d never shared that with anyone and couldn’t imagine sharing that information with Ember either.

A few more deep thrusts, and he spilled into her. He groaned like a mad bull and pushed hard one last time. A suitable amount of lighting would have given him the best pleasure. To see Ember spread out, her legs about him, her alabaster skin coated in a sheen of sweat, her chest heaving and her nipples hard.

Good Lord! His greatest dream and he had to earn it in the dark.

Ember’s legs slid from him. She scooted away and then covered herself, as she rolled to her side.

She might think the night was over. She might think she’d done her paltry duty to repay him for a day of negotiation and threats. He’d done well by her and by their friendship. Come morning, she was going to be surprised by the real payment he would require.

He crawled into the bed and curled onto his side behind her. She was warm like the sun and fit next to his body like a fine leather glove. He brushed his hand over her hip and down one of those silken legs he’d dreamt about for so long.

She wasn’t sleeping.

“It’s very acceptable to enjoy this, Ember,” he said.

“I’ve never enjoyed it, Dahl. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Not even a little? It didn’t thrill you to know the wicked Dahlingford was having his way with you? I would think a lady, such as you, would have been proud to bring down such a wayward rogue, and all without lifting anything more than a brow.”

“Oh, stop, Dahl. I am the veriest of bores and I don’t know how I will ever be able to look you in the eye again.”

He kissed her shoulder. “I won’t make it easy. When I see you glance in my direction, you can be sure I will only be thinking of one thing: your luscious, full breasts, these fantastically perfect legs and the sweet tightness of your cunny. Well, maybe more than one thing.”

He thought she giggled.

Dahl knew it would take some time to be ready again, but he wanted to keep Ember hot and wet. Ready for him.

He slid his hand along the back of her thigh and pushed her top leg forward. When he slipped his fingers along her seam and into her sheath, she moaned. She was dripping with his seed and her want. He did not think it would take long to arouse her fully.

If, as she said, she’d never enjoyed sexual congress, she was about to find out what could be achieved with a little dedicated application of fingers, tongue and cock. Was her husband foolish enough to have left her wanting?

He pressed his cock against her ass and gyrated, his tumescence rousing more quickly than he could have hoped, while Ember squirmed beneath the work of his fingers. It was a quick matter to slip his cock into her again.

Dahl pleasured her in every way he knew how, but the sounds coming from her mouth and the undulating fire against his body, told him she was close to discovering what she really did and did not enjoy.

“Dahl,” she said, then rolled her face into her pillow.

Just as he felt the contractions around his cock, Ember felt them in her body. She screamed, muffled. Then screamed again. Her body tensed and shook. He released again, every fiber of his being feeling Ember and the fulfillment of years of desire.

When his soul returned to his body, Ember was softly crying.

“Oh, my love. Please tell me it was not as bad as all of that.”

“I don’t know what it was.”

“Maybe by tomorrow morning, you will know.” He kissed the back of her head and pulled close again. Yes, he slept, but every hour or so, he was roused from sleep by desires so deep and so long unfulfilled that he could do nothing but obey his need to have Ember.

Come morning, she was responding as if she were one of his women long used to his ways and his demands. Only she started having a few demands of her own, including things she could not utter, except to guide his mouth between her legs.

The sun finally peeked through the curtains and shown golden across her body. This time, Dahl got to watch her as the true throes of passion came over her and she gave in fully to the pleasure she’d never known was possible.

He crawled from bed, dressed, then rekindled the fire in the hearth.

Downstairs, the servants were busy but expectantly waited for Dahl’s instruction. Servants had a sense about the happenings in the house. Tongues surely started wagging when he and Ember arrived together. And not to be smug about yesterday’s success, but they might also be relieved he was in the household.

But there were more important things to accomplish today.

Once the breakfast tray was ready, he waved away the help and took the tray himself, stopping once to pull the papers from inside his jacket and set them next to the linen napkin. There were no flowers, no exotic teas or chocolates, only this one last opportunity for their joint happiness.

He knew that. Ember was coming to believe it.

Inside her room again, he said softly, “Ember. Good morning.”

She stirred and through a sleepy-eyed gaze, she called his name. “Dahlingford.”

“I brought your breakfast.” Good Lord. Waking to the sight of disheveled and well-used Ember every morning was the culmination of his lifetime dreams.

“You don’t need to stay,” she said, and struggled to sit up. Remembering she was naked, she pulled the blankets over her breasts and refused to look at him. “And you really shouldn’t be here.”

He’d carried the tray to the side of the bed and removed a plate covering. “Well, I am. And we have unfinished business. More than can be discussed in one morning. So, let us get to the point.”

He set the tray on her lap, then sat beside her. “First, are you going to compliment me?”

“On what? A night of debauchery?”

A hearty laugh escaped him. “For you, maybe. For me, it was a night of riches.” He crossed his leg, braced one hand over her and watched as she picked up a fork.

“Dahl, I’ve thanked you, but I have nothing else to offer.”

“Only the world.” He took her free hand. “You said yes to me once. You said you would marry me.”

“I was sixteen and my father had other ideas.” She glanced up at him and there was the Ember of his youth. Wistful, hopeful, trusting.

“But you wanted to marry me. Today is our chance.” He touched the papers. “Today, Ember. I’ve already procured a special license, which is why I was late returning last night. Say yes, my dear. Say yes and let us be as happy as we were meant to be. I’ve loved you. Loved you! And I want my days going forward to be toward one end: ensuring that you know you are loved. And you must, actually. I won’t have anyone believe that you would share my bed outside of marriage bonds.”

“One night is not enough time to make such a decision.”

“I’m happy to sleep in your bed as many nights as it takes.”

She fiddled with the fork against her breakfast tray. “Do you remember when Gerald died?” Trent nodded. “I felt so alone and so destroyed. I spent several days contemplating what I should do…about you. Or if I should do anything.”

“I wish you would have said something. I wanted you to see me then. I wanted to remind you of our feelings for each other.”

“I truly thought you were lost to me,” she said.

“Say yes, Ember. Say yes for all that we missed but could have again.”

Ember stroked his face and stared deeply into his eyes. “Yes, Dahl. It is finally our time.”

He pulled out his pocket watch and clucked his tongue. “Speaking of time. You must dress, my dear. The minister will be here in an hour and a half.”

The wedding vows were spoken that morning and Dahlingford promptly returned them to her bed where they spent the next two days.

Until there was a knock on the door and Anne VanLandingham, the Duchess of Pelham, burst through dressed in her winter finery.

“Did you think you could marry without anyone finding out?” She held a newspaper in her hand and marched into the room. Dahlingford wasn’t surprised by her forwardness. She did have a certain reputation for willingly interfering, and that, outside of the bounds of propriety.

Ember sank lower and hid the best she could. Dahl sat up and rearranged the blankets around his waist.

“You look happy, dear Trenton.” She sat beside Dahl, patted his thigh and leaned toward them. “Have you heard the latest bad news?” Anne asked.

“Bad news? You must be in raptures,” he said.

“Raptures? Why would you ever think such a thing? But I did want to make sure you and Lady Dahlingford will be at my ball Friday night.”

“Should we attend, Ember? I’m not sure I am ready to part from my new wife just yet.”

“But you must. So much has happened. I’m surprised you don’t know, Lady Dahlingford.”

“Oh?” Ember squirmed upright.

“It’s a well-known fact bad things happen in threes,” she said. “Your brother, for instance.”

“Robert? What has he done? And where are my sons?”

“Oh, the boys are fine. They are still at Redfield. Having the time of their lives, mind you. But Robert? Dear Robert has departed for Gretna Greene, eloping with Louis Ederline’s widow.”

“What? With Lady Sarah?” Ember said. “Her husband’s only been dead three weeks!”

“Oh, there’s more. Gray Pacquin’s father was arrested for treason!”

“Ah, the French will be French,” Dahl said nonchalantly.

“That’s terrible!” Ember exclaimed.

“And what’s the last of these three terrible things?” Dahl asked, searching beneath the covers for Ember’s hand.

“The worst of the bad things,” Anne proclaimed. “Trenton James has taken a wife.”