Then his hand moved from her face as she felt him guide his manhood and slowly, slowly, he entered her.
She had expected pain. Was that not what her mother had warned her about, had told her was an inevitable part of the process?
But she felt no pain. Perhaps her body was still aching with pleasure, and perhaps he had prepared her in some way. Priscilla did not know. She barely cared. All she wanted was to kiss him, to be kissed by him.
“You are not hurt?” Charles’s voice sounded concerned.
Priscilla shook her head. “Just love me.”
He needed no further invitation. One hand teasing a nipple, the other cupping her face, Charles kissed her as he gently removed himself – almost – from her, and then plunged back inside her.
“Oh!” Priscilla could never have guessed such a simple motion could create such joy. “Again, again, Charles – and harder!”
And he was, pounding into her, teasing her with some shallow movements before pushing into her so smoothly that Priscilla hardly knew what to do with herself. The wave was building again, as though it had barely left her, and as she looked up, she saw the gentleman she was going to spend the rest of her life with.
“We will do this every day,” she panted. “Oh, Charles, yes!”
“I love you,” he said. “Priscilla, look at me – look at me.”
Her eyes caught him, and something shifted in him.
“Yes!”
The frantic pace of his thrusts increased again, and Priscilla allowed the cresting wave of pleasure to overwhelm her with no thought of who could hear her.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“Priscilla!”
His shouts joined hers as he shuddered and thrust into her a final few times.
Then he collapsed onto her. Priscilla brought him close, reveling in the shaking of their chests, in tune, completely aligned. After a few minutes attempting to catch their breath, Charles gently pulled himself away.
No wonder ladies and gentlemen enjoyed making love! The scant descriptions she had heard, the small murmurs she had overheard, none of them encapsulated the sensation of being one, truly one with the person you loved.
Charles was lying beside her, this was it, this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
She curled into him and relished the sensation of his arms around her.
“So,” she said, her brain hardly working, “when are we going to tell her?”
Charles laughed. “You want to tell my mother about this?”
“No!” Priscilla laughed, for the idea was so ridiculous. “No, I meant Frances. Miss Lloyd.”
His laughter disappeared almost at once, as the name of his fiancée was spoken between them. The silence continued a little longer than she found comfortable, but when he did speak, it was in a low and reassuring voice.
“I will sort it all out in the morning, don’t you worry.”
Priscilla lifted her head and saw the truth in his eyes. She kissed him, her tongue teasing his until she claimed it entirely, and then snuggled back into his arms.
“I love you, Charles,” she said, sleep starting to claim her.
He probably replied. Priscilla did not know. Within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep.
Chapter Eleven
Charles’s eyes were bleary and full of sleep when they finally opened. Then they shot open.
Blue walls. Blue wallpaper? That did not make sense; he had chosen a dark green for the new hangings in his bedchamber only last year. Where in God’s name…
Sitting up quickly, he became aware he was naked as he clutched a sheet to him, looking around with tired eyes. His heart started to thump. This was going to be like that wild weekend in Paris all over again…
But as his eyes adjusted to the morning light and his mind woke, his heart rate slowed. He was not, as he had been that night three or four years ago, in a hotel master’s storeroom due to losing the key to his room.
No, he was home. Only five bedchambers along from his own. The Blue Room.
Charles looked down and saw the tangled sheets across the bed, the blanket having slipped to the floor at some point in the night. He glanced beside him. The pillow had the indentation of another, and there were some long dark hairs teased across the linen.
The memories of the night before rushed back. Priscilla, arriving at the door, absolutely drenched. Priscilla, shown upstairs to this guest room. Priscilla, holding her sodden gown just above her breasts. Priscilla…
Charles smiled as he leaned back into the pillows. Priscilla, utterly at his mercy, crying out his name.
“We will do this every day. Oh, Charles, yes!”
She must have slipped away in the early hours, knowing it would have created awkward questions if she was seen emerging from this room, along with the master of the house.
His smile broadened, his legs stretching out, feeling the ache of a good romping.
If he had known yesterday that the next time he awoke, it would have been after making love to Priscilla…
He had done it. He had chosen his heart rather than his head, leaving responsibilities by the wayside. Love and not duty had ruled him in the end, despite his better feelings, and Priscilla knew that. She knew he had chosen her over all others.
Over Miss Lloyd.
He sighed as he watched motes of dust dance in the growing daylight. Priscilla. She was everything he wanted and more. The way her eyelashes had fluttered when he had touched her.
He had never felt that power before – and never felt more helpless than when she was touching him.
“God in his heaven, but if you keep doing that, you’ll get no joy yourself.”
She had trusted him completely, given herself to him in a way he never knew ladies could. Abandoning all control, they discovered pleasure together, giving and receiving without restraint.
Charles closed his eyes, glorifying in his memories. He had waited, unlike most of his peers. He could not move for hearing
