He didn’t form attachments with women, and he most certainly didn’t succumb to romantic inclinations. Was that what was blossoming? A romantic affection?
The notion didn’t bear contemplating.
He had to focus on what mattered. Bed play was where he was most comfortable, where he knew how to behave and what to expect.
He leaned down and kissed her. For the briefest instant, she stiffened in protest, then she relaxed and let him proceed.
His loins were pressed to hers and flexing in a slow rhythm, and very quickly, he’d traveled far past any safe point. He unbuttoned her gown and tugged at the fabric, exposing her to the waist, but she was so absorbed that she wasn’t aware of what he’d done.
Though she didn’t realize it, she had a very sexual nature, so it was easy to distract her. It was only as he caressed her bosom, bare skin to bare skin, that she gasped with surprise and tried to squirm away.
Her breasts were pert and round, the tips pink and inviting. He’d thought he preferred large-busted females, but apparently not. Her slim perfection aroused him in incalculable ways.
“You can’t remove my clothes,” she insisted.
“If I don’t undress you, how will we have any fun?”
“Kissing I can do. Kissing I understand. Not the . . . other.” She waved a hand over her torso, not possessing the vocabulary for salacious discussion.
She was yanking at her bodice, anxious to shield herself, but he wouldn’t allow her to hide.
“Why are you always attired in gray and black?” he asked.
“Because I’m poor, you oaf, so I can’t afford anything else. Besides, why would I need fancier garments? All I do is putter about the estate, trying to feed my sisters. That sort of existence doesn’t exactly require frippery.”
“How about wearing bright colors merely to look pretty?”
“Oh, yes,” she sarcastically retorted, “personal grooming is my biggest worry.”
“I think I’ll buy you a new gown, just to see how fetching you can be. It might improve your mood.”
“You’re being ridiculous, and I wish you wouldn’t—”
He bent down and sucked on her nipple.
“My goodness,” she breathed.
“Hasn’t any man ever touched you like this?”
“No, when would anyone have?”
“I’m the first?”
“Of course you’re the first.”
“Let me show you something.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Let me show you anyway.”
Working her skirt up her leg, his fingers were at her thigh, her hip, and he slipped them into her drawers. As he slid them into her sheath, he was delighted to find her wet and ready.
He smirked. The prospect of staying at Stafford was dreadful, but he’d stumbled on the ideal way to amuse himself. Emeline would provide hours of raucous, ribald diversion.
He stroked back and forth, back and forth, and she fought the deluge that was coming.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You don’t know?”
“No, you lout! I don’t know.”
“Almost there,” he coaxed.
He flicked with his thumb, as he laved her nipple, and immediately, she was pitched into a potent orgasm. She shrieked with astonishment, making such a ruckus that he had to kiss her to swallow the sound. He held her as she spiraled up, then down, and as her ecstasy waned, he was on the verge of ravishment.
Typically, his base impulses were effortlessly controlled, yet with her, he was so titillated that he was about to violently take her against her will. He refused to hurt or scare her. She had to be eased into the notion of surrendering her virginity, so they could spend weeks satisfying their mutual passion.
If he acted like a bully, he would wreck their affair before it began.
Drawing away, he covered her with a blanket so he couldn’t view what was driving him wild.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, struggling to calm the lust pounding through his veins. He had to get a grip on his riotous ardor, on his urge to have her at any cost. Then he would start in again.
“What was that?” she inquired.
“What was what?”
“What you did to me . . .” She looked very young, very innocent. “What was that?”
“It was sexual pleasure.”
“Am I all right?”
“You’re more than all right. In fact, you’re magnificent.”
“Am I still a . . . a . . . virgin?”
“Yes.”
“Am I . . . with child now?”
Her naïveté was humorous, and he nearly chided her for it, but at realizing how inexperienced she was, he felt like the worst libertine. Why was he taking advantage of her?
He’d never lain with a female who was so clueless about carnal matters. He dabbled with whores and doxies who knew what he wanted and how to accomplish it without any fuss. He’d forgotten that there were women like Emeline, women who were chaste and virtuous and uncorrupted.
The poor thing! Having to endure his callous seduction! He was a ruthless, unprincipled bounder, and she’d rue the day they’d crossed paths.
He shifted onto his side, and she shifted too, so they were facing each other. She peered at him, wide-eyed with shock.
“No, you’re not with child,” he said.
“How does it happen?”
“It begins with what we just did, but there’s quite a bit more to it. Perhaps I’ll show you some time”—he grinned—“if you’re very, very nice to me.”
“As if I’d let you do that to me again!”
“You liked it. Don’t deny it.”
“You overwhelm my better sense. If I’m not careful, there’s no telling what I might allow.”
“Lucky me,” he murmured, and a wave of tenderness swept over him. His heart made the oddest flip-flopping motion, as if it had grown too large and didn’t fit under his ribs.
“I should leave,” she said.
“In a minute.”
He pulled her to him, his arm holding her close, her cheek pressed to his chest.
He was comforted by the scent of her, by the warmth of her skin nestled to his. Before he knew it, inebriation took its toll, and he dozed.
When he woke, it was morning, and she was gone, with not so much as a hint in the room that she’d been
