Page 37 of His Scandal
She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. With a sigh, she leaned back on her elbows and lifted her face to the sun. The cap fell off and her auburn hair tumbled down her back. Alex felt a hitch in his breathing as he watched the sun highlight the red in her curls. The pace of his rowing slowed.
How could she not understand how truly beautiful she was?
He studied her face, devoid of the paint so many women used to whiten their skin. She glowed with health and a touch of the sun. Her nose was pert and her lips the perfect fullness for kisses. Leisurely his gaze traced a path down the long elegance of her throat. With her elbows backand the doublet gaping, the shirt was tight across her breasts, which she had not bound.
His throat went painfully dry as he stared at her dusky nipples thrusting against the white fabric. She was laid out like a feast before him, her legs spread apart, the line of her throat begging for his kisses. He imagined finding a tree at the water’s edge, its branches drooping to trail in the water and form a natural bower. He would row beneath, and the leaves would close over them like bed curtains. In the dim coolness he would rise above her, then settle between her thighs. He’d start with her magnificent breasts, suckling them to hard points until the damp shirt was transparent.
“You’re not rowing,” Emmeline said.
Alex gave a start and glanced about them, noticing that the city had given way to the sloping lawns leading up to the mansions along the Thames. Hellfire, he’d almost come in his breeches at the idea of merely touching spinster Emmeline Prescott.
It wasn’t as if he would take advantage of a drunk virgin anyway, he thought as he adjusted his breeches. He picked up the pace of his rowing.
Unable to help himself, his eyes were drawn again to her relaxed body. He couldn’t stop thinking about what her breasts would look like in a damp shirt. Mischievously cupping a handful of water, he splashed her chest. He thought she would jump up indignantly, but she onlylaughed, and he ogled the spreading wetness as it enveloped one breast and practically revealed her nipple. It tightened into a little point and he almost groaned.
She slowly lifted her head and smiled at him, a womanly smile full of promise and passion. Alex told himself she was unaware of what she was doing, but she might as well have kicked him in the stomach, for the effect was just as profound.
He watched the slide of her hair along her arms and neck as she slowly let her head fall back again.
She licked her lips and spoke. “I still remember your tongue on my hand.”
He stared at her and his voice became hoarse. “What are you talking about?”
“That night—in the stables. Your tongue touched my palm when I was trying to keep you quiet.”
“Yes. I…remember.”
“I would have thought such a thing to be loathsome.”
“Was it?”
She laughed. “Not at all.”
“Might I do it again?” he asked softly, seeing Kent Hall slide ever closer and wishing he could stop time. “I long to taste other parts of you, as well.”
She looked wide-eyed at him and he could see a shiver move through her. She made him feel so unlike himself. Where was his easy control?
The wherry bumped against the stairs leadingup to Kent Hall. Emmeline was the first to look away, and as she stood up, almost capsized them. Alex grasped her waist. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and they stared at one another a moment too long. When he let his thumbs rub across her stomach, she leaned over him, her hair a curtain about them. Would she actually kiss him? But her eyes went wide and she broke away to climb out of the boat.
“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared up into the garden.
Alex dropped his head to his chest, then gripped the oars and rowed as fast as he could away from Emmeline Prescott.
Emmeline slammed the door to her chamber and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. Her head ached—from the sun, she was certain—and her mind was racing a thousand ways at once.
The day had not gone at all as she’d expected, though she could put Alex’s gambling on her list of his shortcomings. She should feel embarrassed to be caught and escorted home by him—but she wasn’t. Even though the details of her wherry ride home seemed rather vague, she still felt like she’d won a contest of sorts.
And she wasn’t going to stop proving to herself—and Blythe—that Alex was not a suitable suitor.
