She threaded her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. All the wine they’d consumed made her languorous—and loosened her control. ‘Tell me something else about India.’
‘I remember the streets of Calcutta being crowded and noisy and alternately perfumed and putrid.’ He paused. ‘I remember elephants and camels and scantily dressed men charming snakes.’
‘Snakes.’ She shuddered.
He went on talking about spices and tigers and Hindu gods. His voice lulled her and her eyes grew heavy. It was so comfortable to hold his arm, to lean against him.
To not be alone.
He stopped and put his arm around her. ‘You are falling asleep. Time to take you to your home.’
Leave him? She should never have agreed to walk along the river with him. The alchemy of the setting sun turned the sky into yellows and oranges, making the water appear to sparkle with gold. She felt its riches and dreaded going back to the emotional deprivation that was her life.
‘Not to my home,’ she murmured.
‘Where to then?’ His voice vibrated inside her.
‘To your hotel.’
Cecilia knew precisely what she was saying to him. What she was offering. She wanted to pretend a little longer. She wanted everything that she thought she’d have with her husband, even if for only a night.
‘Are you certain?’ he asked. ‘This is not the wine speaking?’
The wine had given her courage. ‘I do not want our night to end, Oliver. I want all it can offer us.’
She did not want the magic to end.
They crossed the Place Louis XV, which had been called the Place de la Concorde after the Revolution, and walked to Rue Saint-Honoré to where Oliver’s hotel, Le Meurice, was located. A doorman opened the huge wrought-iron door for them and the attendant in the hall greeted Oliver by name. Other guests passed them without comment.
In London, a gentleman would have had to sneak a woman up to his room or risk being asked to leave the hotel. In Paris, no one took any notice.
Oliver led Cecilia up the three flights of stairs to his room. It was a comfortable space with a sitting area and a separate bedroom and dressing room. His valet stayed in a room next door and would come only if Oliver summoned him.
Oliver opened the door and stepped aside for Cecilia to enter. She walked to the centre of the room and stood as if uncertain she wanted to be there.
He closed the door and removed his hat and gloves. ‘Are you wishing I had walked you home instead?’
She turned to him, looking surprised.
He softened his voice. ‘It is not too late, Cecilia. I will take you home if that is what you desire.’
She pulled off her own gloves and removed her bonnet. ‘I do not desire you to take me home.’
He stepped forward to take her shawl. His fingers skimmed her determinedly squared shoulders.
‘Then tell me why you suddenly seem as taut as a bowstring.’
‘Do I?’ She attempted a smile, which disappeared as quickly. ‘I was remembering something...unpleasant.’
He put his arm around her and guided her to the sofa. ‘Come sit and do not think of unpleasant things. I will pour us some champagne.’
He was filled with desire for her, which had surged when she proposed coming to his hotel. He’d been on fire ever since. But she was different from other women he’d pursued. She was not a conquest; he liked her too much.
She was mysterious and sad, but strong, as well. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know everything, so he could make her smile again.
She gazed around while he opened and poured the champagne. ‘This is a lovely room.’
He recognised, after this whole day, that she relied on typical society conversation when her guard was up. He knew many women who knew of no other kind of conversation, no matter what.
How was he to put her at ease?
He handed her the glass of champagne. ‘It looks remarkably like a room in the Clarendon Hotel on Bond Street, but then, Le Meurice is known to cater to British visitors.’
‘It is quite comfortable.’
Oliver felt as if he was losing her.
He sat next to her on the sofa. ‘Cecilia, nothing will happen here that you do not want. I have enjoyed this day with you. I will not spoil it now.’
She smiled wanly. ‘You must think me very absurd. To offer myself so blatantly, then to act like the silliest ninnyhammer.’
He met her gaze. ‘Explain it to me.’
She glanced away and her breathing accelerated. ‘I—I do not frequent the hotel rooms of gentlemen by habit.’
He was glad of that, even though he could not say he did not occasionally entertain women in hotel rooms.
She finished her glass of champagne, and he refilled it.
Then he put his hand on top of hers. ‘You have promised nothing by coming here, except to spend time with me.’
She gazed at him sceptically.
He smiled. ‘Nothing.’
Her eyes softened. ‘May I truly believe you?’
He looked her in the eye again. ‘I do not lie. I abhor lies.’
She held his gaze for a long time.
He took the champagne glass from her hand and set both glasses on the table next to the sofa. ‘So...how do we begin?’
Her lashes lowered and then opened again. She looked directly into his eyes. ‘With a kiss?’
He smiled. ‘I believe I can comply.’
He gently lifted her chin with his fingers and moved slowly, coming closer and closer until his lips touched hers.
Her lips were soft and warm and they trembled under his. With all his resolve, he held himself back when every fibre of his being wished to pull her body against his and deepen the kiss.
It was she who moved. She wrapped her arms around his neck and came closer. He leaned back and she slid on top of him. Her lips had become hungrier, and he was only too glad to appease her appetite. She opened herself to him, straddling him and pressing against his groin. He was already hard, wanting all of her. He pressed her to him and parted his lips to allow her tongue access. She tasted of champagne, but more intoxicating. His senses reeled.
He could take her here, he realised. Merely unbutton his trousers and free himself to enter her, but he wanted so much more than a speedy release.
He lifted her off him and stood, sweeping her into his arms. ‘The bedchamber?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He carried her into the bedchamber and lay her on the bed. Making short work of removing his coat and waistcoat, he leaned down for another kiss, which she willingly accepted.
She watched him as he next pulled at his boot, trying to remove it. The boot stubbornly stuck to his foot and he cursed it beneath his breath.
She laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that made his insides quake in joy for it.
She reached for him. ‘Let me pull them off for you.’
He climbed on the bed, and she took hold of his boot, twisting and wiggling it before finally