“I have enough. The thief took my purse, but when I travel I keep a little elsewhere about my person.”
This close, with him wearing so few clothes—it was too much. The vision of him kissing her closed in until she could feel his lips on hers, his breath warming her. Her face heated and she leaped to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Then kiss me goodnight and leave. Will I see you tomorrow?”
She ignored his request. He was probably a natural flirt. “If I can. I’ll tell Young George to bring you something to drink. Or it might be his father, Old George. But you have to be quiet during the day when people are about.”
“George is a strange name for a Stuart adherent.”
“Old George says that his family was always called that and he wasn’t about to let some upstart prince take it away from him. He had it first, and he’s keeping it.”
His shout of surprised laughter made her step forward, arm outstretched. “Shhh!”
Near enough for him to grab her hand and overbalance her, so she fell into his lap.
Damn, he really didn’t have any clothes on. His limbs hardened against her, and something else, something intimate.
She’d seen men naked before. After all, she was a country girl, but she had never come so close to a cock in its tumescent state. The heat of it burned through the blankets, and hotter than ever, she tried to lever herself up.
He wrapped his good arm around her and hauled her up so she sat sideways on his lap. Her robe and night rail covered her decently, but without her stays she felt bare, vulnerable.
Even more when he kissed her.
Sparks and tingles shot from her fingertips to the most intimate parts of her, and she fought an urge to squirm. All that from a closed-mouth kiss of friendship and their close proximity. He didn’t mean it.
He thought her a poor servant girl. He probably thought she’d done this before, kissed a man so intimately, because servant girls did. At least hers did, the impertinent madams.
Now she knew why. His lips were warm on hers but with an underlying tenderness that revealed his true nature. His chest, hard yet so secure, was a wall she could rest against. The temptation was too great not to do so.
With a sigh she gave in, and as if she’d given him some kind of signal, he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to her lips.
Hesitantly, she opened and let him in. Gently he traced the edges of her mouth and licked inside with quick forays, like a bee collecting nectar from between the delicate petals of a flower. He tasted of apples and beer, an intoxicating combination.
He shifted her so she lay more securely against his chest, his uninjured arm holding her safe, while he explored her mouth with an abandon that was anything but safe.
His caresses grew more daring. He licked the roof of her mouth, then her tongue, teasing it with his until she responded, moving it to stroke him back. They played, and when he moaned into her mouth, the vibrations pulsed all the way to her toes, pausing at the place between her legs that began to throb. Innocent she might be, but she recognized arousal. The speed of it floored her. Her capacity for reason went on holiday.
As if he sensed the beat, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, darting it in and out with an insistence she found instinctive to follow. Accepting him, she responded in like mode, daring to dart her tongue between his lips. He sucked on it gently, like a special treat.
She was lost. She nestled into him and feasted.
His shaft burned into her backside, a hard rod that reminded her of his essential masculinity, and she responded, softening and heating, her body preparing itself for his possession.
When she shifted to move closer to him, she must have moved something under her because he moaned and finished the kiss, but kept her cradled close.
He gazed into her eyes. The darker blue lay around the outside, and the brightest color was at the center, surrounding the pupil. He had eyes the color of the sky on a summer night.
“I never meant to do that,” he murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I meant it to tease, or as a kiss of friendship. Not this.”
He kissed her again. This time he kept it light, but it still affected her.
He gave her a crooked smile. “What is it? You’ve never been kissed before?”
“Not like that.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said it, but it was true. Paul had kissed her, and she’d enjoyed it, although he hadn’t used his tongue and he’d kept it much less—lavish. Another man had kissed her, grabbing her in a corner at a ball when she wasn’t prepared for it, and he’d bestowed a wet and sloppy kiss on her mouth. Horrid. She’d shoved him away, ensuring he wouldn’t come near her again.
Nothing like this, but then, what could be? How could she have imagined anything like this?
When she stretched up and curled her arm around his neck, he held her off, firmly but gently.
“No, I won’t do that to you.”
“Even if I want you to?”
His smile turned rueful. “Don’t tempt me, sweetness.”
With a shock, rationality returned, slamming back into her brain.
She sat up, making him groan again, but this time with an edge of pain. Scrambling off the bed, she stammered her apology. “I’m sorry, so sorry!”
He cupped his tender parts over the blanket. “It’s what I deserve, to have an elbow in the balls. I’m only surprised you didn’t do it earlier. Please accept my apology.”
She still wanted to do it again. That was why she kept her distance. Instead of going closer, she busied herself sorting out the fruit so he could reach it from the bed and stacking the rest of the food on the chest, covering it with a linen cloth. She should really have brought more to drink. Her fumbling covered the few minutes she needed to get some semblance of calm into her ravished senses.
“Don’t worry. I’ve foraged and found worse,” he said, as if he’d forgotten her kiss already. “I have the juice from the apples and plenty to eat. You’re not imprisoning me, are you?”
She lifted her head from her self-imposed task and stared at him in alarm. “No, but don’t try to get out. The gallery outside is all timber, and if you don’t know which board to tread on it creaks like a ship at sea. During the day people use the gallery to cross from one side of the house to another.”
“I see. So I am in effect a prisoner?” He shot her a sudden grin. “No matter. I’m in no state to go far for a day or two.”
“I must get back.” Unable to stay another moment in this room with the man who had become overwhelmingly attractive, Imogen turned and left.
* * * *
The rustle at the door jolted Tony out of sleep. He sat up in bed, suppressing his groan as pain shot through his arm. He’d slept fitfully, but better than in many campaigns, and should have felt able to cope, but weakness still excoriated him, turning every part of his body to leaden lethargy.
Despite that, he reached for the knife she’d left behind, which he’d shoved under his pillow. He felt uneasy without a weapon, and his would-be assassin had taken his pistol and sword, but he had this table knife. At least it had a sharp point, and he could do a great deal with it, even in this state.
The panel moved, letting in a blinding shaft of light. He’d become used to the dim light in here.
He half closed his eyes until something blocked the source of it. The shape of a man, bent and shuffling.