What Edward did?
He floundered for words to explain that he knew, whatever had happened, it hadn’t been her fault. That he’d never blame—
Her mouth brushed against his—the merest promise of a kiss, a feather of a kiss.
‘Thank you.’
The soft words breathed against his lips and he was lost. When she pulled back his arms closed about her gently and he was on the wrong side of the carriage, on the seat beside her, sanity incinerated as desire ignited. There were reasons he shouldn’t be doing this. In some distant corner of his brain he knew that. He was supposed to be talking to her. Reassuring her. But he no longer cared. With a groan Ash released the death grip he’d imposed on his self-control and kissed her instead.
Her mouth was a miracle of sweetness, soft and yielding under the demands of his, kissing him back. He wanted that. He wanted everything. Everything and more. Wanted the shy touch of her tongue, stroking against his, the spicy Maddy taste of her, the silk of her hair as he disposed of her bonnet and slid his fingers into the fragrant curls. Hairpins pattered on the leather squabs and to the floor as her hair tumbled free around her shoulders, coiling, twining around his fingers like living silk.
Nothing else mattered. Just Maddy. In his arms, giving herself freely until he could scarcely breathe for wanting her. Under the heavy pelisse he found the slender, supple curve of her waist encased in velvet, the gentle swell of her breast above. She stilled and he deepened the kiss, cupping her breast through velvet and her stays. Heat hammered in his veins as he traced the tender curve of her breast beneath the confining material.
His mouth consumed a soft gasp and he was lost in the kiss, in her. Swiftly he unbuttoned the pelisse, slipped it from her shoulders and sank back into the enchantment.
Too many clothes and he needed to touch her, touch Maddy. His body on fire, he stroked down one leg, over the richness of velvet—and slid beneath, her skirts rucked over his arm. She gasped as he caressed her knee, as his fingers slid higher and found warm, bare skin that shamed silk and velvet....
* * *
Struggling for breath, Maddy pulled back from the kiss.
‘Ash!’
Somehow she found the breath for his name, stunned at the intimacy of his touch there on her thigh. Stroking, maddening, on her inner thigh. Higher he slid, and higher, until she wanted to scream with need.
There! Higher... Please!
Somewhere, someone made a frantic little noise and his hand withdrew. She realised that she had cried out and nearly wept in frustration.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ His voice, tight and strained, sounded exactly as she felt.
‘No. Please. No.’
The words were barely out before his mouth took hers again, complete and deep.
* * *
Madness took Ash. Never breaking the kiss, he lifted her over him so that she straddled his thighs, petticoats and skirts spilling over him in a froth of velvet and muslin.
Slipping his hand back under her skirts, he found her, hot and damp, and consumed the frantic little cry of shock as he explored the melting folds. For an instant she was utterly still in his arms, and then on a moan she pushed against him, her body pleading, begging for more, her mouth frantic on his as he stroked.
* * *
Her body was no longer hers, but his to command. Thought was long gone. There was only the ache in her breasts and the deepening ache in her belly and lower, where he touched her with such shattering intimacy, there where she was open to him. And his kiss—all dark heat—the surge of his tongue, taking her mouth in the same possessive rhythm as his wicked fingers between her thighs.
* * *
He should stop. He knew that. But instead he was unbuttoning the fall of his pantaloons, freeing himself. His mouth devouring hers, he guided himself to her entrance, gripping her hip with his free hand as he eased her down to meet the savage ache of his erection. Liquid silk spilled over him, over his fingers, and he fought not to just take her. He eased in a little farther, shaking, burning... So tight, so hot and wet... And then he felt it. Not just tightness. A resistance that could mean only one thing....
His mind fought free for an instant of the heat engulfing him.
Not like this. It shouldn’t be like this!
‘Maddy, no. Wait, sweetheart!’ His voice was harsh, scarcely recognisable to himself.
But she squirmed against him, pressing down, sobbing in a wordless plea. And his body responded, thrusting upwards into the welcoming warmth, his mouth taking her shocked cry as he breached her maidenhead and slid deep into paradise.
* * *
Pain cut, sharp and swift, and Maddy fought for breath, slowly realising that although he was buried inside her, Ash wasn’t moving at all. That his fingers were clamped like a vice on her hips, holding her still. She couldn’t believe how stretched she felt. How deep he was inside her. She took a careful breath, not entirely sure there was room inside her for anything other than him.
‘Don’t move.’
She froze. The words sounded as though they’d been chipped out of solid granite. His breath was harsh in her ear.
‘Are you all right?’
She wondered if he was in pain, his voice was so rough. ‘No. Yes. I...’ She tried another breath. ‘I don’t know.’
But even as she spoke she realised that the pain had faded, was only memory, leaving behind a restless need to move, to ease the ache.
He spoke again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—’
His voice broke off as she moved, and his fingers gripped savagely. She tightened around him on a gasp.
‘Damn.’
He groaned and began to move beneath her, hard and fast. There was no pain now; her body was flaming to life as he thrust again and again. Need, pressure coiled and built. Dimly she heard a frantic voice, sobbing, pleading, and realised she was sobbing, she was pleading.... And then his body hardened as he groaned, thrust up into her and held still and deep, shuddering as warmth flooded her. She took a shaky breath, aching with need as she understood—it was finished...he was spent.
* * *
Very slowly, Ash returned to his wits. Maddy. He’d taken Maddy’s virginity in a damned carriage. Gently, he lifted her from him. Hell’s teeth! She had deserved better than that for her first time. Deserved better than to be deflowered in a carriage by a bridegroom who, for whatever reason, had doubted her innocence. She had deserved a bed and a man who had at least taken care to satisfy her before taking his own selfish pleasure. And if he had been right about Montfort then she had deserved those things all the more!
‘Here.’ He handed her his handkerchief. She stared at it
