Page 50 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
It was wrong—this desire to be alone with her.
Not as he had been on other occasions, in the library or orangery, but alone with the intent of holding her in his arms.
Of kissing her again.
Of burying his face in her neck and in her hair.
Of telling her how he felt.
Perhaps there was a way for them to be together—but she would have to give up a great deal. Could he ask that of her?
And what of his uncle?
Don’t think about it,said the voice in his head.Just be here, tonight, with her.
At last he caught a glimpse of her, coming through the trees this side of the lake. With her dark cloak wrapped tight and the hood covering her hair she wasn’t easily visible but he could tell she was hurrying—eager to reach the folly, to be with him.
“Rosamund.” He couldn’t resist calling her name softly, letting her know he was there, waiting.
Lifting her head, she saw him, and her eyes were alight as she ran up the steps. The next moment, her fingers were in his hair and she was pulling him down to meet her mouth.
"Sorry I'm late." Breathless, she spoke between their kisses. "I'd only laced one boot when Pom Pom carried the other under the bed and refused to part with it. I'm wearing one blue and one green."
"You're here now." Entwined, he knew only the feel of her—soft and warm—and the eagerness with which she pressed to him.
As their kiss deepened, teasing and tantalising, he wrapped an arm full about her waist, his heart racing.
"It's wicked, I know, but I want you to touch me." She dragged his other hand upwards, beneath her cloak—placing it upon her breast.
She must have dressed herself again after being in her nightgown, for there was no corset beneath her cotton blouse. His palm cupped her ripeness and he found the nub—taut between his fingers.
"Then I'm wicked too, because you're the most wonderful thing. Girl. I mean, woman. A goddess. One of the most beautiful. Like Aphrodite, or Athena. Except that you're real and—"
She cut him off with another kiss, moaning as he squeezed and caressed.
His breath came faster. He’d never taken liberties with a woman like this, but she was making it easy for him, making such sounds, deep in her throat, showing him that she didn’t want him to stop.
Her hands moved down his spine and, finding his arse, squeezed both buttocks.
He gave a sort of squawk, but the effect upon him was immediate. A rushing heat filled his groin and he thrust towards her belly, forgetting everything, wishing only for there to be no distance between them.
His brain was fogged by arousal, pleasure and need.
"Oh, Rosamund!" He reached for her skirts, lifting them on one side. To his shock, he found she wore no drawers. His hand was upon the curve of her thigh, encased in a light stocking.
"I'm right here." She bent her knee and he slid his palm all the way to where her stocking ended and her bare skin began.
She gave a small squeak and wriggled.
His hardness was no longer pressed to her stomach but lower, and he was aware of that part of him fitting the mould of her body.
If he hoisted her skirts completely, she would be utterly bare to him. The thought brought another roar of need and his manhood leapt.
Swollen and aching, he knew what came next.
Were they man and wife, he would free himself and sink into her flesh. Then, like every other mammal upon the earth, they would copulate. A few thrusts and his seed would be inside her—and the result of that would be offspring.
Though he’d never known a woman in that way, had never even kissed a woman as he’d kissed Miss Burnell, he knew how his physiognomy worked. Not that he comforted himself every night by the stroking of his hand, but a man had to release himself occasionally—and he knew of the sexual act. One could hardly run an estate of livestock without being aware of that.
