Page 41 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
“My campaign must be working.”
“Don’t rest on your laurels,” she said drily, as he carried her along a hallway. But it was impossible to cling to her level-headed self, when a handsome prince carried her away to ravish her.
They swung through an open door to a beautiful bedroom, done out in the style of last century. Windows opened onto the bright afternoon, and the air smelled of beeswax, and the fresh flowers ranged on every flat surface.
“Goodness,” Amy said faintly, her heart taking another dizzy swoop. “There mustn’t be a flower left in London.”
“Do you like it?” He stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at her.
She read the genuine question in those deep blue eyes. “I love it.” She stretched up to place a clumsy kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”
He angled his head to anchor the kiss. “Any time.”
Heat sizzled through her, promised more heat to come. Impatience set her blood rushing. The excruciating wait was over, and it was time to give in to her craving for this beautiful man.
The hands she linked behind his neck were steady, although she’d expected to suffer a storm of nerves when she yielded to him. “Take me to bed, Gervaise.”
“With pleasure.”
A few steps, and he flung back the covers to reveal crisp white sheets. Gently he set her down. The clean sharpness of lavender teased her senses.
“I love this house.” She pushed up against the heaped pillows. “How can you bear to rent it out?”
The fleeting silence held a strangely discordant edge. But she forgot that odd, bristling instant when she watched him tug off his dark blue coat and lay it across a brocade chair near the unlit fire. Excitement coiled in her belly and made her skin prickle with expectation. Soon, soon they’d be naked together, and she’d at last discover sensuality’s mysteries.
“I rarely use it. It’s very old-fashioned.”
“In a charming way.”
His eyes lit as he surveyed her, lying before him in her pink silk dress. “Speaking of charming, you look delectable.”
“Thank you.” She sent him a sheepish smile. “I know it was terribly romantic when you put me on the bed, but undressing will be easier if I stand up.”
He laughed softly and crossed to offer her his hand. “Let me help.”
“Thank you.” She accepted his hand and rose from the bed. In the last weeks, she must have touched his hand a thousand times. Now, the contact resonated like music with all that was to come. “I’ll help you, too.”
She reached up to untie his neck cloth, letting it drift to the floor. His shirt fell open, revealing a hard masculine chest beneath. Unable to resist, she placed her hand flat on that golden skin and felt him shudder in reaction. He was so warm. She raked her fingers through the curls of golden hair across his pectorals.
Even now he undressed, her courage didn’t desert her. She’d expected to feel shy and awkward and inadequate. But this unpretentious house and the efforts Gervaise had taken to please her banished her misgivings.
When Sally had suggested that she should seduce Lord Pascal, it had seemed a bizarre idea. But here in this quiet room on this sunny afternoon, it didn’t seem so outlandish.
This close, she caught his delicious scent. Clean male with a hint of healthy sweat. Lemon soap. Horses. Leather. Wilfred had smelled like an old man—an old, sick man toward the end. Gervaise smelled like a vital male in his prime.
Amy surrendered to wanton impulse and leaned into him, breathing deeply. She pressed her lips to his chest, tasting the salt on his skin. The tickle of his hair against her face reminded her that this was no fairytale, but a deeply carnal encounter.
Suddenly it felt like they had all the time in the world. He held her hips, but seemed content to let her continue to take the lead, despite her inexperience. Languorously, she stroked his chest, then unbuttoned his blue silk waistcoat. Her fingers remained steady and sure as they slid the waistcoat off his shoulders.
Gervaise reached for her, but she stepped out of reach. “Let me do this.”
“You’re driving me mad,” he groaned. Standing before her in his loose white shirt and fawn breeches, he looked disheveled and gorgeous.
“Good. I want you so much.”
His smile was wry. “Not as much as I want you.”
When she glanced up at his face, stern and beautiful as a Donatello carving, she almost believed him. “I’ve been plotting to get you to myself since I was fourteen.”
