To her shock, his hand was moving hers, stroking it along this very odd part of him, while Anna watched, shamelessly inspecting something she hadn’t seen by the light of day at this range ever before. His skin was soft, smooth, and slightly pink, particularly around the head of his penis. The actual length of him, though, was surprisingly thick, rigid, and hot.
“Like that,” he rasped. “Jesus,
His hips moved in counterpoint to the way she was stroking him, and his fingers closed more tightly around hers. This had to be hurting him, she thought distractedly, as his back was arched, his jaw clenched, and the muscles of his neck taut.
“God, Anna, don’t stop,” he warned just when she would have said something. “That feels too good… Jesus Christ.” His breath soughed out on a long, groaning sigh as a milky liquid spurted rhythmically over their fingers and onto the bare flesh of his stomach.
His hand went still over hers, but he kept their fingers laced.
“Dear, sweet, merciful God.” He sighed, opening his eyes. “I did not plan for this to happen, Anna. Have we a napkin to hand?”
Dumbly, she handed him one, her eyes fixed on his softening penis.
“Can I let go now?”
“You may,” he replied, frowning at her. He swiped at himself with the napkin and then tossed it aside.
“Does it hurt?” Anna nodded at him, and he regarded her carefully.
“You haven’t done this before.”
“I didn’t know one
“Arousal has an element of discomfort to it, until satisfied, and then it is pleasurable beyond description.” He did not move to tuck himself up, and she did not stop looking.
“One would not necessarily reach that conclusion, watching you,” Anna said. “But you are not… aroused now?”
“No.” His smile was sweet, pleased. “If you keep looking at me like that, I will be again soon.”
“May I touch you?”
“Just be gentle, but indulge your curiosity however you please.”
Anna didn’t want to ask any more questions, feeling she’d revealed quite enough ignorance to a man who was utterly blase about something so odd she could barely comprehend it.
So she let her fingers ask the questions, traveling along the softening length of him, lifting him this way and that, manipulating his foreskin and exploring his testicles, all with a frown of deepest puzzlement on her face, while he obligingly kept his eyes closed and gave every appearance of a man dozing off.
“You are…”—she waved a hand over his genitals—“becoming unrelaxed again.”
He opened his eyes and smiled. “You are a treasure. Let me hold you.”
When Anna hesitated, he tugged her down to his side, tucking her under his arm, her head on his shoulder. He lifted his hips to tug up his breeches but left the falls open and himself half exposed.
“If I touched you again,” Anna asked, “would you do that a second time?”
“With you? At least three times, eventually. A man does need some time to recover, though. Anna…?”
“Hmm?” Her hand was resting over his cock, but just that, not moving him nor attempting any further exploration.
“Thank you.” The earl’s eyes drifted shut. “There’s a great deal more to be said, of course, and soon, but for now, thank you.”
Anna didn’t know what to say to that, for she felt like thanking him, too. She had shared something with him, something wicked and dear and dangerous, and yet it was as he’d said. Her clothes were on and her physical virtue uncompromised. He had given her knowledge, of his body and of him, but he had not demanded comparable knowledge of her.
Maybe he would, Anna thought. Maybe that was the “great deal more” yet to be discussed. She hoped not, because as much as she might want to, she could not afford to allow him those liberties, not if she valued her freedom.
“COME.” THE EARL HELD OUT A HAND AND GRABBED the hamper, putting the blankets on top. “We need to talk, and the library will be less gloomy than the kitchen.”
They’d had to sprint for the kitchen when a summer squall had caught them napping on their blankets, and the rapid shift from pleasantly dozing to a dead run still had Anna disoriented. She put her hand in his but found she dreaded this talking he wanted. Words could land with the force of a blow, and she was going to hurt herself with what must be said, and very likely anger him, as well.
When they arrived at the library, he pulled the cushions from the window seats and fashioned a nest on the floor with those and the blankets. Retrieving the champagne bottle from the hamper and cracking one window, he settled cross-legged on the blanket and watched her as Anna moved restlessly around the room.
“Have some.” He held up the bottle. “We can swill from the bottle like heathens if it won’t offend you.” She joined him and took a pull from the bottle.
“You are sworn to secrecy,” she warned him. “Mrs. Seaton does not tipple.”
“Neither does Westhaven.” He followed her example. “Heir to a bloody duke, you know.”
In that moment, she lost a piece of her heart to him. His hair was curling damply against his neck, his clothing was in disarray, and he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of an empty room, swilling champagne. In that posture, in his dishevelment, with grave humor dancing in his green eyes, the Earl of Westhaven was impossibly dear to her.
“I like that look in your eye, Anna,” he said. “It bodes well for a man housebound with little to do.”
“You are lusty,” she said, not a little surprised.
“Not particularly,” the earl said, passing her the bottle. “Or not any more than others of my age and station. But I am lusty as hell with you, dear lady.”
His expression softened, the humor shifting to a tenderness she hadn’t seen in him before.
She put aside the bottle. “That look does not bode well for a mere housekeeper who wants to preserve her paltry little reputation.”
He reached into the hamper to retrieve her hairbrush, untying a hair ribbon from its handle. “We traveled in an open carriage, Anna, and when this rain blows over, I’ll have you directly back to Town. You never even let me get a hand on your delicate ankles.”
“That isn’t the magnitude of the problem, and you know it.”
“I can see we are going to have a substantial discussion. At least let me put your hair to rights so you can’t glare at me while we do.”
“I do not reproach you for what happened outside,” Anna said, scooting around to present him her back.
“Good.” The earl kissed her neck. “I want to reproach myself, but at present, I just feel too damned pleased with life, you know? Perhaps in a day or two I will get around to being ashamed, but, Anna, I would not bet on it.”
She could hear the uncharacteristic smile in his voice, and thought: I put that smile there, just by sharing with him a few minutes of self-indulgence.
“I am not ashamed, either.” Anna tried on the lie. “Well, only a little, but this direction could easily become shameful, and I would not want that. For you or for me, as we are not shameful people.”
“You will not be my mistress,” Westhaven said, sifting his hands through her hair in long, gentle sweeps. “And you did not sound too keen on being a wife.”
Anna closed her eyes. “I said it depended on whose wife, but no, in the general case, taking a husband does not appeal.”
“Why not?” He started with the brush in the same slow, steady movements. “Taking a husband has some advantages, you know.”
