Curious.
Was George up to something? Something other than facilitating his amorous adventures? It was unlike her to provide him with such easy access to his quarry, and he knew for a fact all their room assignments had been planned out by her.
Pondering exactly what his mischievous friend could have meant by their room assignments, he rang for his valet and prepared to change for dinner.
Chapter Twenty-One
Is the new head of the Darling family the latest man to be scalded by scandal broth of the Portrait Divorcée’s brewing? Numerous people seem to think so…
Tête-à-Tête, 26 October 1789
Quivering with a combination of nerves and the chill of a crisp fall night, Imogen sat by her fire, waiting for Gabriel. After dinner, while they’d all played cards and smoked on the terrace, he’d bent his head and whispered ‘Look for me after your maid has gone for the night, unless you bar your door to me.’ Then he’d wandered off again to play billiards with Lord Drake.
The decision in her own hands, she’d dithered over it all evening, finally forcing herself to retreat to the fire. Barring her door with what exactly? A chair? Should she push her dressing table in front of it? It was hard to see how such a flimsy bit of wood would do much to hinder his entrance.
Her stomach twisted into knots. Her head swam. Succumbing was easy, making a choice much, much harder.
Hearing the sound of male laughter from down below, she stood up in a panic, contemplating pushing her chair to the door and sitting down it in. Barring the door would be so much easier if it had a lock. Alas …
She had barely stood up when she heard the dressing room door creak open, and Gabriel, already attired in his banyan and slippers walked into the room. It has never occurred to her he’d appear via that door. A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in her throat.
‘Change your mind, love?’ he inquired, stopping in the doorway and leaning up against the door jam.
Imogen smiled a bit wildly, and bit her lip in consternation. He’d known exactly what she was doing. She blew her breath out and laughed softly. ‘Over and over.’
Over and over…but she’d already inserted one of the sponges he’d given her.
‘Last chance,’ he said, not moving from the doorway. ‘Shall I turn around and go back to my own bed?’
Imogen shook her head no, and Gabriel smiled back at her, relief flooding through him. For a minute there he’d been convinced she was going to take him up on his offer. The thought was intolerable.
He was going to have to do something about her reticence. He just couldn’t figure out exactly what. He’d never had a lover before who was unsure about her choice. Hell, he’d never even had one he’d had to really pursue.
But for the moment he was content to simply pull her into his arms and offer the most obvious kind of reassurance. What his nymph needed was further proof that she belonged to him, and that he belonged here with her.
Moving carefully, but with decision, he untied her wrapper and slid it off her shoulders, amused to find she hadn’t bothered to don a nightgown. She was getting better at this. He could feel her blush as her skin heated beneath his hands more than he could see it in the fire lit room.
Imogen followed his lead and loosed the frogs of his banyan. Her fingers fumbled. She made a disgusted little sound and broke off their kiss momentarily as she tugged the final one free. Gabriel chuckled and let the garment fall to the floor, he wouldn’t be needing it for hours yet.
She tugged him to the bed and fell back, taking him down with her onto the coverlet. Overly eager in a purely selfish way Gabriel rolled her to the centre of the bed and slid one hand between her thighs. She was already slick and swollen. Her excited gasp when he slipped two fingers into her sheath was all the encouragement he needed to nudge her thighs further apart and ease himself into her.
He moved slowly, teasing her, rolling his hips with each thrust. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold out, he was too pent up from hours spent picturing being with her, planning exactly what he wanted to do to her. Remembering the sound of her crying out in his cousin’s cabin, and wishing to hear it again.
Genuine abandon was a rare and precious thing.
He paused when he felt the first rush of his climax, he could fell the ache of his building orgasm all the way to his toes. He couldn’t put it off, though he was loathe to bring their play to an end.
Beneath him Imogen strained, urging him to go faster, to go deeper. Her knees drawn up to tightly grip his ribs, her feet braced against his buttocks. He kissed her again, exploring her mouth, nipping at her lips, and then when she shivered, and made a soft whimpering sound that she quickly muffled by biting down on his shoulder, he gave in, and propping himself more securely on his forearms and knees he turned his attention to bringing them both to fulfilment, surging in and out of her with long hard thrusts that shook the entire bed.
Imogen threw back her head, clutched one of the displaced pillows in one hand, while she continued to hold the other one over her mouth, afraid she was
