Page 112 of The English Duke
She bent to nuzzle at his neck, placing kisses over his throat.
“You’re right,” she answered. “I should leave.”
But he neither pushed her from the bed nor did she move of her own accord. Instead, she rose up gently, slowly, allowing him time to reprimand her or alter their positions.
All he did was watch her, his eyes intent on hers, his hands gripping her hips.
She wanted him inside her. She wanted to claim him one last time. She wanted the bliss once more.
Condemn her as a harlot. Point her out in the village square. Castigate her in whatever manner you chose. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but him.
When he filled her, she closed her eyes for a moment, a gasping sigh leaving her. Was there anything so perfect as this surrender, this joining that had been ordained since time began?
She opened her eyes to find that he was still watching her, his gaze almost another penetration. He could see inside her soul, witness everything she felt for him.
She wouldn’t be able to see him after tomorrow. She couldn’t be in the same room with him without wanting to be embraced, without needing a kiss. Her entire body would go hot at his gaze and she would be able to recall this exact moment when he filled her, his hands caressing her breasts.
She wanted him to remember her. She wanted him to recall this moment, forbidden, sinful, and glorious.
Let him dream of this. Let her fill his nights.
No, she shouldn’t wish that for him. She didn’t want him miserable. Nor did she want him lonely. Then, perhaps, it would be better to wipe her memory from him, grant him forgetfulness. She would take on the burden of memory for both of them.
She would never forget.
When her body trembled with pleasure and she collapsed with her face beside his, tears came again and this time she didn’t try to stop or even hide them.
His hand reached up and cupped her wet cheek, soothing her. She turned her head, their lips meeting softly, gently. The tenderness in those moments was almost her undoing. But somehow, with the strength she didn’t know she possessed, Martha moved away from him, gathered up her clothing, and dressed behind the screen.
Neither of them spoke.
Only when she was about to leave the bedroom did he say something.
“Why did you come to my room that night at Sedgebrook?” he asked.
She looked at him, then away again.
“Must I pose the question again?”
“I thought Josephine had gone to your room,” she said. “I was trying to prevent her from doing something stupid.”
“I take it Josephine’s aim was to place me in a compromising position?”
She nodded.
“Are you certain the two of you are sisters?”
“Because she’s so much prettier than me, is that what you mean?” she asked, an edge to her voice that hadn’t been there earlier.
“I meant no such thing. I find your looks to be preferable to those of your sister’s, especially your hair.”
“My hair?” Her hand went up to tuck an errant tendril back into place.
“I’d like to see an end of that bun of yours. Do you ever release the mass of it to spring around your head?”
She stared at him, bemused. He liked her hair?
“And your lips. I think your lips are perfect.”
