Page 44 of The Virgin and the Viscount

“We did, on occasion. But we went north rather than south.” As he assisted her over a particularly rocky part of the path, she said, “It’s warm here with the sun shining today.”

“Yes. Unseasonably warm.” He helped her step over the tangled vines covering the ground. “When we were kids we’d take days like this and go swimming.”

She glanced over at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. “In the sea?”

“Indeed.”

She looked aghast. “Is the water not freezing?”

He chuckled. “Yes, it generally is. But when you’re a boy, you do not care about such things.”

“I suppose I was less concerned with my comfort when I was a child. I remember plenty of times I played in the rain and my mother would fuss and fuss about me catching my death, not to mention all the mud I got on my clothes and in the house. But splashing in those puddles was the very best.”

“Indeed.” But thinking of his childhood only reminded him of his brothers, which led him back to Thomas. The man who’d betrayed their entire family, Sullivan was certain about that, and yet the man who obviously still held Tilly’s heart. Jealousy, black and thick, coiled through Sullivan’s body, and he dropped her hand as they reached the beach. He started them on a course, walking down to the shoreline.

They walked in silence for a long stretch down the sandy expanse. Every so often, Tilly would bend and reach down to pick up something. After repeating this several times, he stopped walking and reached for her hand. Clutched in her palm were bits of sand and broken shells. Confused, he looked up at her face.

“Freckles, you are stepping over complete and lovely shells for these fragmented pieces?”

She gave him a shy smile. “I suspect people always overlook these because they are not perfect. I find beauty in them regardless.” She held one up to him. “See all of the colors in this one? No, the shape is not complete, but it is still wondrous to behold.”

He longed to pull her to him, to hold her close to his chest. He wanted to tell her how perfect she was in his eyes. But then she spoke again.

“This is like your relationship with your bother,” she said, holding up one of the shell pieces. “Yes, it’s broken in some places, but still valuable. You need only try to salvage it.”

He shifted away and closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he be the one to reach her heart? Why couldn’t she see his brother for the bastard that he was? Indignation pumped through him. Well, she might prefer Thomas, but the reality was she was Sullivan’s wife. Which meant he was the only man who could touch her. The only man who could bring her pleasure.

The next moment he pulled her to him and crashed his mouth down onto hers. Though she was obviously surprised by his ambush of a kiss, she took it in stride and met his tongue, stroke for stroke. Gently, he lowered them until they were kneeling on the sand and then lower still until he loomed over her body. And the kissing never stopped.

He reached a hand down to her ankle and slid it up her leg until he cupped her mound. She squeaked in response and pulled her mouth away from his.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Touching my wife.”

Her eyes rounded. “Here? Won’t someone see?”

“It’s unlikely, but I don’t give a damn.” He threaded his fingers through the slit in her drawers then found the dewy softness of her curls. She was already wet from their kissing. He moved his hand back out from under her skirts and worked at the bodice of her gown until he could free her breasts. Her nipples were hard little points and he lowered his mouth to suck one in as his hand went back between her legs.

He moved slowly, making languid circles over that hidden nub, then around her entrance. Back and forth he went until she was writhing beneath him.

“Oh yes,” she hissed.

He slowed his movements, taking his fingers away from her sensitive skin. He lifted his head from her breast and eyed her.

“Please,” she said.

“In due time.” He was in charge of her pleasure, no one else. She needed to remember that. Again, he brought her close to release, then pulled back. He stilled his hand and kissed her mouth and she wiggled under him, whining at the back of her throat.

He was so damned hard in his trousers it was a miracle he hadn’t already spilled himself. But he ignored his painful erection and went back to her pleasure, circling her nub, sucking her nipples, sliding his fingers in and out of her.

“Please don’t stop, please Sullivan.”

But he did stop. Twice more. She was so frustrated she was nearly in tears. He was close to drilling a hole through his pants. Finally, when he built her back up so she was right at the cusp of the climax, he let her slide over the edge.

She screamed, her body twitching with pleasure, her back arching. When the last waves of her orgasm stilled, she opened her eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks into her hairline. She inhaled, the breath ragged.

She said nothing, but she did reach for his trouser fastenings. He stopped her hand and shook his head. He stood, then reached down and assisted her to her feet, fixing the bodice of her dress so she was properly covered.

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