Page 50 of To Swoon and to Spar
He bore her weight down upon him, and she could feel him beneath her, stiffening in his trousers, and Jane was very, very grateful for all the reading she had done that was not at all appropriate for an unmarried lady, because otherwise she would not have had the faintest clue what was happening.
He drew back, placing a series of kisses along her jawline, and she tilted her head back, marveling at the knowledge thatshehad caused that ragged edge to his breath, the color riding high in his cheeks. She might not be at home in a drawing room or at a ball, butthis—this way of communicating, in which no words at all were necessary—
This, she liked.
His mouth continued its progress down her throat as his hips shifted beneath her, causing friction that sent a rush of sparks shooting down her spine. “Don’t you think it absurd,” she said, barely aware of what she was saying, awash in sensation, “that the only reason I know whatthatis”—she allowed her hand to drift, rather daringly, toward his lap—“is because I’ve read a lot of inappropriate books?”
Jane had always thought the word “splutter” was one of those things people did in books but not in actual life. And she would not have expected to use the word to describe the noise and gestures made by a man like her husband, collected and polite, every hair in place. And yet, in that instant, Penvale was decidedly spluttering.
“Are you having some sort of fit?” Jane inquired solicitously.
“I amnot,” he said after recovering enough to regain his powersof speech. “I’m just attempting to convince myself that we are actually having this conversation.”
“I don’t see why it should be improper, given what we were just doing.”
“Well, doing and discussing are different things,” Penvale said.
“One does not discuss the marital act, then, even with one’s spouse?” Jane frowned. It was very irritating when she found a topic shedidwish to converse about, only to be told that it wasn’t proper. “That feels a bit prudish, I must say.”
Penvale let out a huff of laughter. “It’s not that we can’t discuss matters of the bedchamber,” he began.
“Not only the bedchamber, apparently,” Jane felt compelled to note. “As we are currently in the library.”
“The metaphorical bedchamber,” Penvale amended.
“Oh!” Jane was extremely pleased. “Has your newfound appreciation for novels given you a love of metaphor?”
“Jane.” Penvale pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jane was disturbed to note that she liked it when he did that—she found it charming, in fact. Jane found few things charming and almost never anything about gentlemen. They tried far too hard to be charming—it made her naturally distrustful instincts rear their heads. But this was unintentionally charming, and Jane was finding that was an entirely different class of charm, one she was alarmingly susceptible to.
“It just seems to me that if one is removing one’s clothing with another person, the normal rules of polite society might not apply, which is why I was surprised to hear you say that one didn’t discuss such things!”
“That’s hardly what I meant.”
“So peopledodiscuss such things?”
Penvale reached up a hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. Why did the brush of his fingers against her ear make her feel as though she couldn’t take a deep enough breath?
“They do. You caught me by surprise, but you’re correct—there’s nothing wrong with discussing this. And there are plenty of things you could say in these situations that I’m quite certain I’d enjoy.” Something in his tone shifted as he spoke, his eyes sparking with a devilish light that Jane willed herself not to find appealing.
“Such as…?”
“A bit of lewd banter in the bedroom can be very enjoyable,” he said simply.
Jane regarded him with suspicion. “Lewd banter… in what way?” she asked slowly. She didn’t like to admit to ignorance, but there was no denying that he knew a lot more about these matters than she did.
“I could tell you what I’d like to do to you.”
“Oh,” Jane said, and she felt her pulse once again make its presence known in a delicate location. “And you’d… like that?”
“I would,” he said, and though he spoke easily enough, a certain renewal of interest on his part was impossible for her not to notice, given her position atop his lap. Hewouldlike it.
“But then what was it I said that was wrong?” she asked in frustration, coming back to the original reason the proceedings had halted—her expression of what she thought was perfectly reasonable indignation about the state of young ladies’ sexual education.
He regarded her, and she was tempted to look away, becausesomething in his eyes was too frank, too knowing, for her comfort. This was why she’d never liked to meet people’s gazes directly until she knew them very well—doing so always gave her the uncomfortable feeling that the other person was somehow learning something about her that she’d rather he or she didn’t.
“Nothing,” he said after a moment of this uncomfortable silence. “Nothing you said was wrong. It just— It surprised me. It was very… frank.”
Jane rolled her eyes in exasperation. “This is why I hate polite society! There are so many rules, and you’re always meant to be saying two things at once, but then half the time, something I say is wrong somehow!”
