Page 7 of To Dance with a Devil

How could he refuse such a plea? It was the work of moments to shed his clothes and tug her legs free of the trousers she wore, easier still to take his place between her thighs, sliding his aching flesh against her until she cried out and he thought he’d go mad if he didn’t have her. Yet she was a virgin and, though Jerome had never deflowered one before, he knew he must prepare the way to make it easier for her.

So he continued the glide of his flesh over hers, until she was writhing beneath him, her pale skin flushed and rosy as she clutched at him, grasping at his shoulders and holding him tight. He moved back then, returning his hand to that tender spot and sliding a finger inside as his thumb circled and caressed.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, as his finger moved slowly back and forth.

“Yes,” she gasped, and then, “No, I… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, smiling down at her. “Tell me.”

“It’s… It’s… lovely,” she managed, staring up at him from heavy-lidded eyes. “But….”

“But?”

“But it’s not enough.”

Jerome chuckled and moved over her, kissing her neck and then her mouth. “Greedy girl,” he murmured against her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, the word long and drawn out into a decadent moan.

He crooked his fingers inside her, finding the tender spot that made her cry out again and again until she shattered beneath him and he swallowed her cries with his mouth. He didn’t wait until the rapture had ebbed, thrusting inside as her climax still pulsed within her and she cried out again, pleasure and pain as she let him in.

“Bonnie,” he whispered as euphoria and desire took over, sweeping him up with it. “Bonnie, you feel like heaven.”

Chapter 3

I know I ought not have done it, but I love him, and it was wonderful, so perfect. I love him so much it hurts. What option did I have?

Oh Lord, I’m so unhappy.

― Excerpt of an entry from Miss Bonnie Campbell to her diary.

18th September 1814. Still the night of Harriet and Jasper’s engagement ball. Holbrooke House, Sussex

Jerome stared at the stable roof overhead, a cold sensation settling in his guts. The knowledge he’d been a bloody fool was hard to refute. That he’d compounded his error by getting so carried away he’d not withdrawn in time to lessen the risk of putting a babe in her belly was beyond anything. He’d acted like some green boy with no idea of what he was about. That Bonnie had sent him careening over the edge so madly was something he was struggling to come to terms with, too. It seemed so unlikely as to be laughable, and yet… she had. She’d been so welcoming, so enthusiastic and bold, and… and he’d lost his bloody mind. There was no other explanation.

Beside him she was stirring, and it took him a moment to realise she was getting dressed. Belatedly, he realised he ought to have held her, comforted her and reassured her, told her it would be all right.

“Bonnie,” he began, his voice sounding odd and rusty in the silence after their cries of pleasure had faded and gone.

“Oh, stop looking so anxious,” she scolded him, pulling on her trousers. “You look like you’re on your way to the gallows. I told you there’s nothing to worry about. You don’t owe me anything.”

He stared at her, a little taken aback. “I might,” he said. “I didn’t… I mean I ought to have…. Oh, dash it all, Bonnie. We’ll have to get married. You might be pregnant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, utterly calm, far calmer than he. “Your mother would never forgive you, and you’d hate me for trapping you, which was not my intention as you well know, so stop getting hysterical. That’s supposed to be my job.”

“I’m not hysterical,” he objected, stung, though he didn’t see how she was so bloody unmoved. “I’m just trying to do the right thing by you.”

“Well, I don’t want you to,” she snapped, pulling her shirt back on. “I told you that from the start. There’s no need. I doubt very much I’m pregnant, no matter how virile you think you are, and if I am… well, we’ll worry about it then.”

She shrugged on her waistcoat and coat and thrust her boots on, and would have walked away from him before he’d gathered his wits. He leapt up, pulling his trousers on as he hurried after her.

“Bonnie! Bonnie, wait.”

She paused but didn’t turn and he moved to her side, taking her hand in his.

“Bonnie,” he said again, softer now.

“Don’t,” she said, and he heard the quaver in her voice as she tugged her hand free and ran out of the stables and into the dark.