Page 44 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
Amy lay naked and shaking beside Gervaise, as those unearthly, shattering feelings slowly ebbed. The peak had flung her clear of the world and sent her soaring through blazing light. She still felt lost among the stars. She’d had no idea. No idea at all.
Now the world was made anew. And her principal reaction was poignant gratitude. That fate had seen fit to place her in Lord Pascal’s path. That she’d finally mustered the courage to act on the attraction. That she’d had a chance to discover the magic a man and a woman could conjure from two naked bodies in a bed.
She spared a moment’s pity for Wilfred, who had never known this ecstasy. The few times he’d come to her, their union had been quick, fumbling. Hidden, because he felt ashamed of wanting her, even though she was his wife.
There had been none of the unabashed enjoyment Gervaise had taken in her. And Wilfred’s discomfort with his physical needs had made her feel awkward and ugly, so she’d never asked more from him.
Now she looked back on her marriage and thought how sad it was that delight had been a stranger. Wilfred had been a good man. She was sorry this rich fulfillment had been denied to him.
The irony was that she’d felt a thousand times more shame, lying with her lawful husband, than with her dissolute lover.She was now a fallen woman, and she’d never known such happiness.
Clearly she was a brazen hussy.
“Why are you smiling?” Gervaise asked softly.
She turned to find him resting his head on his arm and studying her. “I think you know.”
When attractive amusement crinkled his eyes, his physical beauty struck her anew. She’d never seen his expression so unguarded. With a shock, she realized that even with her, he’d maintained a slight detachment.
Long ago, she’d guessed that Gervaise’s outstanding looks were as much burden as blessing. But she only now understood how he cultivated a constant emotional distance. Essential, she supposed, when the whole world wanted something from you.
“I can guess.” His kiss expressed a searching tenderness that made her toes curl against the rumpled sheets. “Or at least hope.”
The thread of intimacy spinning between them was too fragile to bear the weight of vows and plans. She drew him down for another kiss, trying to tell him without words how he’d changed her. Because after this afternoon, she’d never go back to being frightened, crippled Amy Mowbray, closing herself away from life and joy and danger.
He rolled out of bed and crossed to the washstand. How she admired his comfortable nakedness. Even now, after those extraordinary moments in his arms, she wasn’t quite so brave.
Amy was reaching for the sheet when he splashed some water from the ewer into a bowl and began to wash. Her hand stilled, and she lay transfixed. Something about observing this private activity strengthened the invisible net drawing them together.
Once he’d finished, he poured fresh water into the bowl and approached the bed. “Let me wash you.”
His seed was sticky on her stomach. She thought back to the fiery moments when she’d burst through into transcendent pleasure, followed by the faint disappointment, even then, when he’d withdrawn.
As a man of honor should, he’d protected her. But the abrupt intrusion of worldly practicality into that profound experience had tainted her wholehearted surrender.
A baby out of wedlock would be a disaster. During her marriage, she’d never conceived, but Wilfred had been old and mostly indifferent. She had a suspicion Gervaise’s seed was considerably more potent.
This chagrin was lunacy for a woman who wasn’t sure she wanted to marry again. Although if she were to choose a husband, she began to think Gervaise mightn’t be a bad option.
“Thank you,” she murmured, as he ran the cloth over her skin. She lay unmoving under his care, still not completely at ease with her nakedness. “For everything.”
“I don’t want you regretting anything we do,” he said softly, rinsing the flannel in the lukewarm water, then returning to his task. He parted her legs, and the water felt marvelous on the hot, swollen flesh between her thighs.
It was years since she’d had a man in her bed—and Gervaise’s proportions were considerably more generous than Wilfred’s. And he’d been much more energetic. She’d loved what he’d done, but now she felt stretched and a little sore.
“I should feel more remorseful than I do,” she admitted. “And shocked.”
“Yet you don’t?” He dropped the cloth into the water with a small splash and returned the bowl to the washstand.
“I must be irredeemable.” Amy pushed higher on the pillows and shoved the heavy fall of hair back from her face. She didn’t want anything to obscure the spectacular view. Femaleappreciation warmed her blood as her gaze traced his strong back and legs, and the firm globes of his buttocks.
When he turned to face her, the interest in his eyes echoed the interest his body betrayed. Late sunlight poured through the window and traced him in gold, as if even the sun couldn’t resist contributing to his splendor. “Oh, I hope so.”
She laughed. “You’re no use.”
His eyes narrowed with purpose. “I dare you to say that in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?”
