‘Anyone could stumble in. Find us here. Your legs spread. My hands where they shouldn’t be. My fingers inside you.’
He slid a second finger in with the first, curving them to press against a spot she hadn’t even known existed. He worked them deeper, his thumb finding its way back to the throne.
The sound of her panting was loud in her own ears. She shuddered, so close to climax her fingers and toes had gone numb. Nothing existed except his hand between her thighs, his chin against her ear. The tight feeling building low in her belly, her womb twitching like a butterfly in a net.
She leaned back, hands gripping his thighs for leverage, silk slipping under kidskin, muscles hard as the marble bench beneath them. His straining erection pressed to her bottom. God how she wanted to turn, open the fall of his breeches and take him inside her. On the verge of climax she desperately wanted him to be inside her when she found it. This was wicked. Dangerous. Perfect. His mouth, hot and wet pressed an open kiss to the tender spot just below her ear. She mumbled his name, gripped his thighs harder, fingers digging in as she tried not to scream.
‘Yes, Daphne?’ he inquired softly, choosing that moment to cup her still bared breast with his gloved hand, pressing the nipple between his thumb and side of his hand. She bucked, tightening around his finger.
She was so close. So close.
‘Gabriel?’ she said his name again, half protesting, half begging.
He shushed her, re-establishing a rhythm. She gave a high pitched little whimper, much louder than she’d intended.
‘Eh-eh-eh.’ His breath stirred the fine hairs that curled next to her ear, sent a shiver through her. ‘You’re going to give us away.’
Her toes curled. Back arched. Legs went ridged, shaking, clamped around his one thigh and the bench. The coloured lights swirled as her vision blurred.
‘God I love the way it feels when a woman comes apart in my hands.’
She throbbed as he flexed his fingers, clenching and unclenching around him, her whole body shaking. She could feel the fullness of his fingers inside her—wonderful, yet not enough—the pressure of his hand against what he’d called her little hill, her throne. She hadn’t known there was a word for it. It was just ‘that spot.’ She tipped back her head, trying to see his face, wanting desperately to see his expression. It was too dark. All she could make out was the glitter of eyes, the quick flash of teeth as he smiled. Just that little glimpse made her want to drag him up to the dowager house and start all over.
He bent his head and kissed her, lip to lip, the slightest flick of his tongue tracing the seam, slid his thumb over her one last time, causing her to jump. His chuckle, soft and wicked, rumbled from his chest to hers, rattled through her sternum, made her lungs seize. He withdrew his hand, leaving her empty, bereft. His cock, impossible to ignore, rode her bottom. The hard length mocked her. Reminded her that the act had only just begun. That there was so much more she wanted.
‘Take a couple deep breaths, my darling nymph.’ He lifted her leg and swung them both round so that she was again in his lap, her skirts decorously covering her once more. ‘Cinderella has to go back up to the ball, and yours truly turns back into a pumpkin a few minutes hence.’
Imogen smiled into the dark and shook her head. ‘The pumpkin was a coach.’
‘Was it?’ Gabriel asked, standing her up, his hands lifting her and setting her down on her own unsteady legs. She wobbled and he rose, his arm steadying her. He kissed her again, his hands tugging at her bodice, rearranging layers of corsetry and silk. ‘I shall have to read it again. I knew there was a pumpkin in there somewhere.’ He pulled his glove from his pocket and promptly tugged it back on. Imogen cocked her head and looked up at him consideringly. She reached one hand out and dusted off his shoulder. Even in the dark she could make out the slightly light patch on his coat where her head had rested.
She didn’t want to go back up to the house. She wanted to find a far more private place and see what else she might tempt him into, but she was promised to the earl for the next dance, and her absence—their absence—would be far too conspicuous. With a discontented sigh, she allowed Gabriel to lead her back into the maze and up to the house.
Lord and Lady Somercote took their place in the foyer to say their good-byes to their guests who were staying elsewhere. Helen Perripoint paused to watch the subtle machinations taking place as the guests who were staying retired for the night, some of them obviously making illicit assignations for the hours to come. Mr Nye, for example, was hovering around Lady Hardy, and several of the men were busy trying to detain Lady Lade. But even as Helen watched, the lovely widow curtsied to her court, and made her escape. Helen spotted Imogen across the room and hurried to join her. Thus ending Gabriel Angelstone’s tête-à-tête with her friend. Completely ignoring the scowl Angelstone directed at her, Helen slipped her arm through Imogen’s, and stole her friend away from him.
The evening was over, and now it became a matter of escaping the gentlemen unscathed. Helen rather liked several of the men who’d been vying with one another for a few more hours of her time, but she wasn’t going to get caught making such a public display of herself.
Better to gather up her obviously besotted friend and make their way back to the safety of
