Page 39 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
Pray God, that wasn’t far away.
“Oh, Gervaise…” she sighed and tumbled into his arms again.
It was considerably later when she let him out the back gate with a kiss and a whispered promise of tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
As Gervaise’s carriage rolled up to the pretty little manor house outside Windsor, Amy’s stomach churned with terror and anticipation.
“Second thoughts?” Gervaise asked gently.
She’d spent most of the drive from London silent and pressed close to his side. The warmth of his big male body had helped to counter her rioting nerves. It was another lovely day, and once they’d left London, rampant spring had surrounded them all the way.
“An army of them,” she admitted, firming her grip on his brawny arm.
“You can still change your mind.”
She cast him a doubtful glance, but that remarkable face under the curling brim of his stylish hat was serious. “That’s very sporting of you.”
“You look like you’re about to face the Spanish Inquisition.”
Her brief laugh was bleak. “That bad?”
He smiled with that hint of tenderness that always caught her on the quick and made her foolish heart cramp with longing. “Worse.”
“Kiss me.”
Those dark gold brows arched in inquiry. “Before I take you back to London?”
“Before I step out of this carriage, and you show me what all those wild women have taught you.”
His lips curved in appreciation—and a relief that soothed her fears. It proved he didn’t take her for granted. “We’ll need more than one afternoon for that.”
Before she could respond to his intriguing remark, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing her back against the brass rail behind the carriage seat.
She expected passion, but there was just more of that piercing tenderness. The sweetness seemed almost innocent. Absurd when she was about to give her body to a man who wasn’t her husband.
“Will you stay?” he murmured, breath warm on her face.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” He stared into her eyes, as if seeking out any lingering doubts. She knew he’d find them, but she was also sure he’d see her yearning.
Inevitably yearning overpowered her apprehension. Or she wouldn’t be here at all.
A faint smile kicked up the corners of his beautiful mouth, and he glanced toward the house. “What do you think?”
He’d kept their destination secret, although last night at the musicale, she’d tried to pry details out of him. The famous Italian diva had wasted her artistry on Amy, who had spent the evening in a daze. The only time she’d come alive to the moment was when she’d spoken to Gervaise. Even then she’d been jumpy and preoccupied, convinced every person in that worldly crowd must know of her imminent fall from grace.
This morning, Gervaise’s note had arrived on her breakfast tray. He invited her to luncheon in the country and asked her to be ready at eleven. Because she’d lain awake most of the night and only fallen asleep near dawn, she had to rush to dress.
She’d left the house without encountering her friends, thank goodness. Morwenna was walking in the park—Amy wasn’t nearly ready to confide her improper plans to her sister-in-law. Meg and Sally weren’t up yet, although Sally would guess the truth when she read Amy’s note about visiting the country with Lord Pascal.
Amy didn’t mind Sally knowing. She just didn’t want to talk about it.
When the curricle turned down a tree-lined drive, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. What she found was a pocket manor, like a full-size dolls house.
Now she studied the perfectly proportioned façade and smiled. “It’s lovely. How did you find it?”
