Page 69 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
She’d relaxed in his arms, but she wasn’t asleep. Briefly, he hugged her tighter to get her attention. “So this is what? Your first fling?”
She didn’t immediately answer. Then she shrugged the shoulder not pressed to his chest. “It is what it is.” She paused, then more quietly added, “And I’m content with that.”
He couldn’t think of anything to say in response—nothing that he wanted, at that point, to say.
And while there were several other pertinent questions he wanted to ask—such as whether she would consider indulging again later—he didn’t feel now was the moment for such inquiries.
He thought, then murmured, “I’ll stay until dawn.”
“Yes. Please.” She settled deeper into his embrace. “Until then…at least.”
Another statement he saw no reason to challenge. Closing his eyes, he let his senses sink back into the satiation that still had a firm grip on his body, and was waiting, still, to snare his mind.
* * *
Lucilla left her room and headed for the dining room, eager to discover what effect the events of the night would have on more mundane interactions between Thomas and her.
She’d spent a lifetime following her instincts, even when they’d urged her to acts that, on the face of it, had at first led to what seemed like disasters. In the clearer light of hindsight, said disasters had always proved to be turning points leading to the correct path—not just for her but for all those involved.
Last night, she’d followed her instincts. They’d spoken loud and clear, and she’d surrendered herself to their guidance. She’d followed their insistent compulsion without question, without hesitation.
And had reaped a glorious reward. A reward that had been a great dealmorethan she’d expected.
She had thought she’d known, that she’d understood, but the clinical explanations and whispered confidences hadn’t prepared her for the sheer, glorious physicality of the act. At moments—such as when he’d first joined with her—her senses had nearly overloaded; she hadn’t had any notion of how it wouldfeel—what it would feel like to have him inside her like that, stretching and filling herlike that, with such strength and weight, such raw male power.
And the sensations associated with that fabulous muscled power had rolled on through the ensuing intimate engagement.
Lips curving, she paused at the head of the stairs as the memories rolled through her, leaving remembered warmth beneath her skin. Thus far, her instincts had proved correct, and a lifetime of experience reassured her that, in this instance, too, her instincts’ directives had started her and Thomas down the road they needed to take.
She didn’t know the details of how matters would work out, only that they would.
Serenely assured, and in exceedingly fine fettle, she swept down the stairs and on toward the dining room. She and Thomas had slept until dawn, then they’d woken and indulged in another bout of lovemaking, one much slower and gentler, yet regardless, the moments had left her feeling as if sensation had been lavishly burnished over every inch of her skin.
When she’d woken again, not long ago, he’d been gone. While she’d been washing, she’d heard his door open and close. His footsteps had paused outside her door, but then he’d walked on.
Now, seated at his usual place at the table, he’d heard her footsteps; he was looking at the doorway when she walked through. His gaze locked on her face, searched her features.
She smiled—for one instant, let all the effervescent joy and delight bubbling inside her show—and saw his gaze—indeed, all of him—still, then he blinked. Then, eyes widening a fraction in warning, he glanced at Niniver and Norris, who were seated at the table with their backs to the door.
By the time Niniver turned and smiled a shy welcome, Lucilla had muted her smile to one of mere contentedness.
“Good morning,” Niniver said. “Did you sleep well?”
Lucilla turned to the sideboard to mask her grin. “Excellently well, thank you.” She laid two pieces of toast on a plate. “And you?” Turning, she glanced at Niniver—then raised her eyes and met Thomas’s gaze.
Niniver shrugged. “I always sleep well, but it is my own bed. I thought you might have been more unsettled.” Niniver moved the teapot to within reach of Lucilla’s chosen place as, circling the table, she took the chair Thomas rose and held for her—the one beside his.
She settled her skirts, intrigued to discover that her awareness of him, of his nearness as he resumed his seat, although still strong, seemed to have a softer edge, a more gentle impact.
Niniver stirred her tea. “I wanted to ask…have you seen Papa yet? Was he improved by your tonic?”
“I haven’t yet seen him.” Lucilla glanced at Norris, but other than a vague nod in her direction as she’d sat, he seemed thoroughly absorbed with the food before him. If he had any interest in his father’s health, she could see no sign of it. Transferring her gaze to Niniver, who was much more transparently concerned, she went on, “The Burns sisters’ funeral is to be held this morning—I expect I’ll examine him before we leave for that. I’m sure he’ll want to attend, and indeed, I hope my tonic will have done enough overnight to make the occasion easier for him.”
Thomas relaxed beside Lucilla and listened with one ear as she and Niniver discussed the details of the joint funeral. Niniver knew the clan’s habits as well as all those involved…Thomas knew, too. He didn’t really need to refresh his memory. That left him free to continue puzzling over all that had happened since he’d retired to his bed the night before.
So much had changed between then, and when, this morning, he’d returned to his room, albeit not to his bed. Lucilla and he…he still couldn’t quite understand why he’d acquiesced to her necessity, acceded to her demands and stepped so far from the path he’d been so determined to tread.
What he understood even less was why, even now, even recognizing what had happened, he still did not feel the least perturbed.
