Page 33 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
And then she felt his tongue slide along her lips, and a jolt of something even more sinful shuddered through her. She hadn’t imagined—
She opened to him, and the kiss became so much more. It was dark and wild and forbidden, their mouths joined, their bodies straining against each other. He led and she followed, learning quickly. When his arms came around her, she clung to him tightly, as if her bones had disappeared, and she would sink to the floor.
Beneath him.
She gasped and boldly licked inside his mouth, tasting the warm rasp of his tongue. Her hands wandered across his back, feeling the differences between them; he was hard muscle, broad and strong.
His hands wandered too, lower and lower until they slid over her backside, cupping her. He pressed her against himself with an urgency that made her head spin. She wanted to feel everything, but there were far too many clothes between them.
And then suddenly he was gone, backing away from her, his mouth wet. She leaned against the door, trembling.
“You have to go,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t come here again, or I’ll prove I’m not a gentleman.”
She didn’t like the anger she saw on his face—it was directed at himself, not her. And this was all her fault. “Simon—”
“Just go, Louisa.”
When she was gone, Simon pushed the door closed and rested his head against it. Everything inside him raged at the loss of her. It had been so many months since he’d lain with a woman. His body was so eager he’d almost forgotten everything but burying himself inside her. A few more seconds and he would have lost all control.
He walked toward the hearth, feeling the warmth of the grate. His fingers skimmed along his bed, ran over the desk at the foot of it. In five steps he reached the wingback chair and sank into it.
Though it had been close, it was over, and he would not let it happen again. Who knew how many men she’d kissed like that? She’d tried to play innocent at first, but she could not keep up the pretense long. She might have done more than kiss those men. A beautiful woman like her should have had a husband by now. Why would no one marry her?
And was she so desperate that she’d come to him wanting to be compromised? She’d kissed him when any smart woman would have fled.
He’d stopped in time, thank God, and he’d never have to learn Louisa’s real motivations.
He remembered the excuse she’d used to follow him—that she’d thought him in despair. She’d sounded so convincing, so frightened for him. She’d said she was worried he’d do something desperate. Like hurt himself? It seemed so preposterous.
Yet there were nights, right after he’d lost his sight, that the world seemed such a bleak place that he could imagine the relief of not having to face another day again.
Was that what she was talking about?
He was over that self-pity. He’d proved that he was all right. He knew his family was worth overcoming his depression. But of course, he had not begun to eat with them, although he’d been practicing for that day long enough. It was time he do so, to ease his grandmother’s worry.
She had hired Louisa, obviously with Georgie in mind—and maybe Simon, too. Though he’d been suspicious at first, he didn’t believe that Louisa would have tried to enlist his grandmother against him. Grandmama thought she could heal her family, instead of letting time take care of it.
He understood and loved the old girl, but surely she didn’t know about the rumors that followed Louisa. And how could he tell his grandmother, spreading the rumors even farther? Yet Georgie was the one who could be hurt by association with Louisa. When Louisa had first broached the subject of helping Georgie to him, he should have explained why he refused.
But even now, he could not imagine telling a young woman about her reputation. Though tonight’s kiss seemed like a confirmation of it, he couldn’t be certain. All he could do was bide his time and see exactly what Louisa planned to teach his sister. He would be ready to step in when necessary. Georgie had to be protected.
But damn, he would have to spend even more time with Louisa. He would sit across a table from her at dinner every night, imagining how the candles gleamed on her skin, hearing her sultry voice. Over and over he would relive the memories of the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her body, the nagging certainty that she would have let him do more.
He wouldn’t allow himself such a weakness.
~oOo~
Louisa lay alone in bed and trembled. She didn’t know what to do with herself, with these sensations that only Simon had ever inspired.
She longed for him; she longed for more than just that kiss.
But she had made him angry—angry with himself. As if he needed another reason for that.
He was a man, and men always enjoyed the company of women. She was no fool—she knew men could allow themselves more intimacy than a virginal woman could. But Simon had locked himself away from society for so many months now. He wouldn’t let people watch him eat, let alone allow himself to…have a woman.
And she had just flaunted that in his face by kissing him. She felt embarrassed and angry with herself.
She suddenly wondered if she should ask for his forgiveness, promise that it would never happen again. She would have to find him alone, of course.
