isn't here, is she?"
He chuckled. "No, she isn't."
"Will you join me?"
"What the hell?" he murmured; then, ever the little gentleman, he apologized. "Pardon me."
"There's no need to be sorry for what happens when we're alone." She walked behind the sofa and trailed a playful finger along his collar. "Feel free to be yourself."
She proceeded to the liquor cabinet, and she could sense him inspecting her. Her negligee was slinky, captivating, and she poured their beverages slowly so he could look his fill.
55
As she turned , a wave of understanding passed between them. He was no boy. He was aware of why she'd summoned him, and he was keen to dally.
She walked to the couch, as he observed her every move, and she snuggled next to him, offering him his glass. From the minimal contact a spark shot up her arm. She was so attracted to him, and had been from the first, though she couldn't figure out why.
They had nothing in common. Not background, or experience, or upbringing, or age, but she was enamored, so she wouldn't try to unravel the mystery. Physical appeal was often mystifying.
She sipped her libation, simmering under his blatant regard. "Tell me, Chris, have you a sweetheart at home?"
" There aren't many candidates around Doncaster who would be suitable for me."
"I don't suppose there would be. Will you hunt for a bride, while you're in London?"
"I'm not ready to wed. My mother says there's no rush."
"A wise woman." It would likely be the sole instance she'd ever agree with the unpleasant, provincial Regina. "So if you're not in the marriage market, you'll have to find other activities to keep you busy."
"I was thinking the very same."
He'd barely sampled his liquor, so she took his glass and set it on the table. She nestled closer, her breast crushed to his arm. Her nipple hardened, poking into him, and he grinned.
Perhaps he was more sophisticated than she suspected.
56
"Have you ever been kissed? " she asked.
"Many times."
She pouted. "But you said you didn't have a special girl . "
"Can you keep a secret?"
"I can."
"I sneak out at night, to carouse at the village tavern."
In mock affront, she gasped. "Your mother would be scandalized."
"I'm sure she would be."
"I've heard it mentioned that tavern maids are strumpets."
He laughed. "Some of them definitely are."
"Why don't you show me what they've taught you? I'm dying to learn."
"I'll just bet you are."
For a fleeting moment, she had the impression that his tone was contemptuous, that he judged her to be a strumpet, too, but his expression was potent, his smile fixed. She must have imagined his disdain.
She stared at him, wondering if he'd initiate the encounter, but he was motionless, and the expectation was excruciating. She couldn't bear the suspense, so she progressed, her lips resting on his, and it was as if the gesture gave him permission. He assumed control of the embrace, enfolding her in his arms, and pulling her across his torso.
His fingers were in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, and she was ecstatic to discover that the harlots with whom he'd philandered had been excellent tutors. She was wild for him, and her craving wasn't generated by his fortune or his title.
He molded her breast until she was writhing in
57
agony, and desperate for him to clasp her nipple, but he never did, so she guided his hand to where she needed it to be.
Still, she wasn't receiving sufficient stimulation, and she dropped the strap of her negligee to expose her bosom.
'Touch me here." Breathless, aroused, she desired so much more than he was conveying. She directed him in how to squeeze and pinch, how to twist and tease.
He was an avid pupil, and he quickly grasped what was required.
"Like this?" he queried.
"Oh yes. Don't stop."
She was riveted, exhilarated, overwhelmed. Both during and after her marriage, she'd had many paramours, and the episodes had been so unsatisfactory. Always, she'd been left with the sense that she was
He chuckled. "No, she isn't."
"Will you join me?"
"What the hell?" he murmured; then, ever the little gentleman, he apologized. "Pardon me."
"There's no need to be sorry for what happens when we're alone." She walked behind the sofa and trailed a playful finger along his collar. "Feel free to be yourself."
She proceeded to the liquor cabinet, and she could sense him inspecting her. Her negligee was slinky, captivating, and she poured their beverages slowly so he could look his fill.
55
As she turned , a wave of understanding passed between them. He was no boy. He was aware of why she'd summoned him, and he was keen to dally.
She walked to the couch, as he observed her every move, and she snuggled next to him, offering him his glass. From the minimal contact a spark shot up her arm. She was so attracted to him, and had been from the first, though she couldn't figure out why.
They had nothing in common. Not background, or experience, or upbringing, or age, but she was enamored, so she wouldn't try to unravel the mystery. Physical appeal was often mystifying.
She sipped her libation, simmering under his blatant regard. "Tell me, Chris, have you a sweetheart at home?"
" There aren't many candidates around Doncaster who would be suitable for me."
"I don't suppose there would be. Will you hunt for a bride, while you're in London?"
"I'm not ready to wed. My mother says there's no rush."
"A wise woman." It would likely be the sole instance she'd ever agree with the unpleasant, provincial Regina. "So if you're not in the marriage market, you'll have to find other activities to keep you busy."
"I was thinking the very same."
He'd barely sampled his liquor, so she took his glass and set it on the table. She nestled closer, her breast crushed to his arm. Her nipple hardened, poking into him, and he grinned.
Perhaps he was more sophisticated than she suspected.
56
"Have you ever been kissed? " she asked.
"Many times."
She pouted. "But you said you didn't have a special girl . "
"Can you keep a secret?"
"I can."
"I sneak out at night, to carouse at the village tavern."
In mock affront, she gasped. "Your mother would be scandalized."
"I'm sure she would be."
"I've heard it mentioned that tavern maids are strumpets."
He laughed. "Some of them definitely are."
"Why don't you show me what they've taught you? I'm dying to learn."
"I'll just bet you are."
For a fleeting moment, she had the impression that his tone was contemptuous, that he judged her to be a strumpet, too, but his expression was potent, his smile fixed. She must have imagined his disdain.
She stared at him, wondering if he'd initiate the encounter, but he was motionless, and the expectation was excruciating. She couldn't bear the suspense, so she progressed, her lips resting on his, and it was as if the gesture gave him permission. He assumed control of the embrace, enfolding her in his arms, and pulling her across his torso.
His fingers were in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, and she was ecstatic to discover that the harlots with whom he'd philandered had been excellent tutors. She was wild for him, and her craving wasn't generated by his fortune or his title.
He molded her breast until she was writhing in
57
agony, and desperate for him to clasp her nipple, but he never did, so she guided his hand to where she needed it to be.
Still, she wasn't receiving sufficient stimulation, and she dropped the strap of her negligee to expose her bosom.
'Touch me here." Breathless, aroused, she desired so much more than he was conveying. She directed him in how to squeeze and pinch, how to twist and tease.
He was an avid pupil, and he quickly grasped what was required.
"Like this?" he queried.
"Oh yes. Don't stop."
She was riveted, exhilarated, overwhelmed. Both during and after her marriage, she'd had many paramours, and the episodes had been so unsatisfactory. Always, she'd been left with the sense that she was
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