Imogen was not surprised when Gabriel kissed her, she’d known it was his intent as soon as he’d joined them that morning. When he looked at her, she could feel it, and it made her nervous and slightly sick to her stomach, in a dreadfully excited way.
It was quite a lowering thought to be forced to recognize just how eager she was for him to kiss her. Having him finally touch her was a relief. She’d been struggling all morning to figure out how to treat him, how to respond to him; to know what to expect from him, what he expected from her. It was different than anything she’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t courtship, and it didn’t follow the same rules, but parts of it felt familiar.
She hadn’t been embarrassed by what they’d done last night. Not when they were doing it, and not afterward, but now…now she was feeling decidedly embarrassed and unsure. Today, last night seemed unreal. Unreal and impossible. She’d lain awake last night, slightly horrified by what she’d done; by what they’d done. Slightly horrified, and terribly excited. It had been glorious; positively the most decadent, delightful, wicked thing she’d ever done. She’d taken a step forward into a new life. One in which she felt beautiful, desirable, and oddly free. She wasn’t sure where she might end up, but she was positive that it had to be better than where she’d been for the past few years.
Anything had to be better. She was already ruined, could being someone’s mistress really be all that much worse? Well, not really even mistress.
Lover.
That was the proper word: Lover.
She shivered and pressed closer. His lips were parted over hers, his tongue leisurely exploring her mouth, twining with hers. He broke of their kiss, moved up along her jaw to the extremely sensitive spot just below her ear.
‘Gabriel.’ She was suddenly flustered, barely able to stand.
He stopped, pulled his head back far enough to look her in the eye. ‘I like the sound of my name on your lips,’ he said, his eyes warm and teasing, ‘Say it again,’ he urged her, his lips returning to her neck.
‘Gabriel?’ she managed gasp out, amazed at how breathless she sounded.
‘Yes, my beautiful nymph?’ he replied, taking her earlobe between his teeth.
‘We—I mean…it’s…Oh!’ Imogen squeaked as his tongue circled the rim of her ear.
Gabriel stopped what he was doing, drawing back from her with a sigh. ‘You mean this is not wise?’ he queried.
‘I…’ Imogen took a shaky breath, not exactly sure what she had meant to say. She was unsure if she’d been asking him to stop, or begging him for more. He’d clearly assumed it was the former, and for the moment, she was willing to let him. She needed a minute to catch her breath; to think. It was, after all, mid-morning on a very public beach.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said with a wry smile. He took her by the hand and led her to the edge of the pool, drawing her down to sit beside him on a rock that had clearly been positioned for just such use. He tugged off his shoes, removed his socks, and they both sat there silently, dangling their feet in the water.
Tomorrow he would be gone, and perhaps it was best that they take this no further. Wanting what one should not have was damnably harder than wanting what one could not have.
He moved the foot nearest to her, bringing it over to rub hers. It was a small thing, but she was glad of it. Glad he couldn’t seem to escape the urge to touch her.
Imogen watched their feet, studying his ankles, and the oddly elegant lines of his feet. She’d never really noticed a man’s feet before. She was sure she must have seen Perrin’s on numerous occasions, but she had no clear memory of them. She was fairly certain she’d be able to sketch Gabriel’s when she was eighty. This particular moment: the rock cool under her thighs, rough against her palms, Gabriel’s foot caressing hers, the breeze blowing her hair into her face, was turning into one of those moments where everything froze, and you could recall it exactly as it had happened forever. Why this moment instead of a hundred others she couldn’t say, she just recognized the signs.
She opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it again. What was she going to say? What was there to say? They’d shared a delightful flirtation, and a little, light dalliance, and that was really how it should be left…light.
While she was still struggling for the right words, Aubrey came pelting around the corner, calling, ‘Uncle Gabe! Uncle Gabe!’
Imogen jumped.
Gabriel smiled down at her, a smile she recognized by now as the one he wore when he was thinking particularly naughty thoughts. He stood up, and turned his attention to his cousin’s son. ‘Yes, brat?’
‘Aunt George says it’s time for lunch,’ the boy announced.
Gabriel stood up with the easy grace Imogen had quickly come to associate with him. Long limbed, sure of himself, solid, like a stag hound.
He dusted the sand from his breeches and helped her up. There was a world of things unsaid between them, but she was more than a little relieved at having been interrupted before saying any of them.
Lunch passed in a blur, everyone discussing plans for the coming months: The races at Newmarket, Lord Glendower’s shooting party, the Devonshire rout that would celebrate the opening of Parliament. Imogen listened absently.
She wouldn’t be attending any of the events they were all looking forward to with such uninhibited glee. Most of it didn’t
