Victoria wanted to reach for him, but her arms were still trapped behind her. "Sebastian…" she began to say, but the rest was lost when he covered her mouth with his, closing off everything but her soft moan as his hands moved up and under her gown to touch her vis bulla. She felt them brush over it, tug gently on the silver cross. Then his hands spread over her belly, under her shift and stays, and lifted her hips so that her piled-up skirts rode higher.
Sebastian moved away, releasing her mouth with a low, delicious pop that made it clear he would have kissed her all night. With one last look up at her, as if to confirm this next move, he gave a gentle sigh and fitted himself into her with one smooth slide.
Oh. Victoria closed her eyes as her heart thrummed and the lovely feeling of being joined with a man settled over her. A pleasure tear trickled down into her hair, and she drew in a deep breath and just felt.
She realized he wasn't moving; they were joined there in the rumbling carriage, his hands positioned next to her shoulders, one knee bent next to her thigh on the bench. When she opened her eyes, it was to see him looking down at her with a grin.
"I always knew our first time would be in a carriage," he told her. And drew a deep, shaky breath. Then exhaled. Closed his eyes.
And still he didn't move.
She shifted under him because her hands were trapped. "Sebastian."
"What's the hurry, ma chère?" He bent to kiss her again, fondling her lips with his, tasting them as they rocked gently against each other with the carriage rhythm. It was enough of a movement, that incessant jolting, that Victoria felt every bit of her attention focused there where he'd slid in, and where her ni**les brushed against the shirt he hadn't bothered to remove. Her gown bunched between them, spilling over the bench, and his legs were warm against hers.
He moved forward and she tasted the skin of his neck, faintly salty, and felt the hard pumping of the pulse in his throat. The throb between them ached and burned, and she felt the way they slid together ever so slightly, and the long-lost familiar coil that would begin to unwind deep inside her. That great need dug at her, incessant, until all she could think of, focus on, was him inside her and not moving.
Sebastian rested his cheek on her forehead and at last shifted. Slowly, drawing each stroke in and out with deliberation, he pressed down and in and up, his hands moving in the cushioned seat next to her shoulders, tangling in her hair, fingers crushing into her skin. Their breathing matched, rushed and urgent, capped with sighs and soft groans.
Victoria moved too, felt the tension that had sat dormant as it built inside her, and it wasn't long before she shuddered beneath him, more tears sliding from her closed eyes, then felt him bow into her one last time, and the pause as he came inside her.
"Ah, Victoria," he murmured next to her ear, his voice low and barely audible over the carriage rumble, "I am so glad you changed your mind."
"About what?" She could barely form the words.
"About making me wait a very long time for this."
"You gave me little choice," she said, her lips brushing against the beginning of stubble on his jaw. "You were quite convincing. And Sebastian… my wrists are hurting."
"Of course." He pulled out, sat back, and tucked himself back into his breeches, leaving her without the pleasure of seeing his chest or any other part of his body. Then he helped her extricate herself from the pelisse and tuck her br**sts back into the dress.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, lounging back in his seat.
"How long until we arrive to wherever we are going? Or was it truly a ploy to get me into this carriage?"
He smiled with great insouciance. "It was indeed a ploy. I wanted desperately to get you into this carriage. But we can still eat, can we not?"
The basket had been tucked under one of the bench seats, and Victoria helped him to pull it out, her long hair sliding down to get in the way as she bent forward.
"What a pleasure to see your hair unbound like that," he commented as they hefted the basket next to him on the seat. "I've been wanting to see it that way since the first night we met at the Silver Chalice."
"It gets in the way," Victoria told him. "I have considered cutting it, but I cannot bear to."
"Thank heaven for vanity!" he said, opening a bottle of wine. "Will you look to see if there is any cheese in there?"
While she rummaged in the basket, he poured a glass for her, and when she handed him the cheese and bread, he gave her the wine and they settled back to eat.
Her body still thrummed, and there were still a lot of questions to be asked and mysteries to be solved. Such as what he looked like underneath all those clothes.
And who Beauregard was.
As she sipped her wine and nibbled on a piece of bread, Victoria felt lazy and sleepy and content. It wasn't until her cup was half-empty that she realized it was an unnatural lazy, sleepy, content feeling.
She bolted upright and the carriage pitched. She grabbed at the wall next to her.
"May I take that, ma chère, before you spill it?" Sebastian was quick to relieve her of the wineglass.
"Salvi," she accused. Her tongue was thick; but she forced herself to say it again. "You put salvi in… this. You… lie…" The words were hard to get out; her eyes were drooping.
"I did not lie when I said it was a ploy to get you in here," he told her. "I am sorry it had to be done this way… but you would not have come otherwise. You are, after all, a Venator, and used to doing things your way." She thought… Was there a bit of mockery in his voice?
"Sebastian…" She put as much accusation in her voice as she could muster.
"You will be more comfortable if you come here." He helped her settle next to him, her head propped in the corner opposite him, her knees drawn up on the bench, her feet pushing into his leg.
"Why?"
"Unfortunately, you were becoming a problem for the Tutela's plans, and I was asked to remove you."
"You… liar… You… bastard."
"Such language! But it is only temporary, my dear. I promise no harm will come to you. You will be safer outside of Rome until after the second."
"Who is Beau… re… gard…?" Her eyes were closed. Sleep dragged her away.
He said something; perhaps he answered her question. She thought she heard it, but then she remembered no more.
Chapter 21
In Which Monsieur Vioget Makes an Unflattering Comparison to Our Heroine