Will must have recognised the fact, for his hand tightened on her shoulder, as if he could lead her away from the past. ‘But you still have your sister.’
‘Her name is Margot,’ she said, relieved. ‘She is in school.’
He opened one eye and glanced at her. ‘At this time of year?’
‘She spends summers and holidays there as well,’ Justine said. ‘I have no money to help her and must tend to my own work. It is better that she remain there, if there is nowhere for her to stay.’
He had opened both eyes to stare at her now. ‘You have somewhere now,’ he said, shaking his head in disappointment. ‘You are mistress of a house that is more than large enough to hold a young woman, no matter how extravagant her needs might be. Tell me, how old is little Margot?’
‘Nearly twenty,’ she admitted.
‘And still in school?’ he said, surprised. ‘Is she not out yet?’
‘There was no money for a Season.’
‘There is now.’ He settled back into the pillows again, as though there would be no further discussion. ‘She will stay with us until we can arrange for her come out. Let Penny settle everything. She might appear to be a wallflower at times, but she is quite good at organising things. And she is a duchess, after all.’
‘Well...’ she said, running through the list of reasons that such a trip would be impossible, to search for one that made sense.
Will was staring at her again. ‘You want to see her, do you not? There is no estrangement between you?’
‘I want to see her more than anything else in the world,’ she admitted, feeling the tightness in her heart when she thought of her sister ease a little.
‘Then you shall write to her first thing tomorrow and we will have her here, while the weather is still good.’
‘Thank you.’ She would find a way to change his mind in the morning.
But then it occurred to her that she didn’t have to. She could summon Margot and have her in Wales before their guardian knew a thing about it. Once she was part of the duke’s family, he could not threaten her or attempt to remove her without admitting who he was. If he attempted it, Justine would threaten to sacrifice herself and reveal what he had done. She did not know much of chess, but she suspected this was what players called a stalemate.
She looked at William Felkirk again, a smile spreading slowly across her face. He had that slightly puzzled expression she associated with men in the jewellery shop who had been surprised when a word or gesture held more significance than the gems they were offering. With one casual suggestion, the man in the bed beside her had the power to reorder her world. ‘Thank you.’ She said it with more feeling so he might know she was truly grateful. Then, to stop further conversation, she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.
She had been kissed often enough. It had been unavoidable. But had she ever kissed a man before? Certainly not like this. It was wet and open mouthed, as though her happiness could not be contained behind closed lips. His mouth was surprisingly sweet, as though the ice cream he had rejected was still on his lips. She tasted the flavour. She quite liked it and the feeling of his firm lips against the tip of her tongue.
She could tell her sudden boldness had surprised him. He was still at first. Then his hand settled into the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, pulling her body up on to his chest. Then, everything about him seemed to relax, his mouth falling open against hers, his tongue easing into her mouth to caress hers.
Such kisses had always seemed like an invasion. But this was very different. Will Felkirk’s touch was gentle, as though he were learning her from the inside out. She probed gently in response. It was different to respond. She did not feel desire so much as curiosity. What harm would it do to indulge that, as long as it kept him from asking any more questions?
He tasted different. The shape of his mouth was different as well. She could feel the playfulness of his smile, the fullness of his lips and the smoothness of his cheekbone as she stroked it. She moved her hands lower, to his bare chest, which was no longer as sunken and hollow as it had felt while he slept. With a little sunlight and solid food, the health was coming back to him. His heart beat fast and strong under her fingers. She could feel it beating even faster as she touched him. And there, on his arm, was the strange smooth skin of the burn scar.
While she might admit that the duke was the more handsome of the two brothers, he was a trifle too perfect to look at. This man, with the crease in his skull and the scars on his body, was so much more real and she knew him almost too well.
He sighed at her touch and his kisses became a sudden opening and closing of his lips as though he was taking a bite of fruit. Then he sighed again, in satisfaction as if he needed her to feel complete, as one might need air or food.
She stilled for a moment, not sure she liked it. She understood being desired. She understood what it was to be used. She had understood his need when he was too helpless to care for himself. But now the feeling was different. She wanted him to be stronger for her help, not more dependant.
Suppose, when she finally managed to escape from this place, she left him feeling less than whole. She had expected to lose some of herself by this joining. But suppose she grew to depend on him? She could not afford such feelings, if she was ever in her life to be free.
Perhaps it was simply that it had been so long since lying with a man that she had forgotten how to behave. The trick was to disengage one’s mind from the activity, so that it might be somewhere else, while the body acted. She tried it now and found it strangely ineffective. The feel of his skin under her hand, was too real to ignore. Instead of hiding from it, she wanted to lose more of herself to him, to be more deeply entwined. In a daring moment, she ran her hand down his chest, following the trail of hair on his belly until it slipped beneath the sheet to grip him.
He inhaled sharply at the touch, taking her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
This was interesting. She had never felt this sense of control before. She took advantage, running a fingertip lightly across the opening at the head of his member.
He pulled away, ‘I do not think...’ Though his member stirred at her touch, his body moved weakly under hers, a reminder that he was still not fully recovered.
She had but to release him, with an apology for her forwardness. She would be safe from intimacy for another night, or more. Perhaps he would even let her return to her room. Instead, she kissed his lips again and murmured, ‘Let me.’ Then she moved her hand on him.
As she watched, he settled back into the pillows, but did not relax. His eyes were shut tightly, his mouth shut so tightly that his lips went white. Did her touch hurt him? She thought not, for he made no move to stop her. His nostrils flared as he took a slow steady breath as though struggling to maintain control of his own body and prolong the climax.
Did she really affect him so? The idea that she could award or deny his happiness with a single touch was exhilarating. She gripped him tighter, stroking slowly from root to tip, and felt him growing under her fingers.
He was longer and thicker than she’d expected. Silky skin stretched tight over blood and muscle, growing slippery with the first drops of his seed. She wondered what it would be like when he entered her. Probably not as pleasant as she was imagining. In her experience, real life seldom lived up to imagination.
But the current moment was satisfying enough. As she moved her hand on him, his whole body seemed to tighten, tension building like a coiled spring. His eyes were open again, head had arched back so that he could stare at the ceiling and his lips worked, almost as though praying. In this moment, he was hers in a way that no man had ever been. It made her wish that she could keep him. Or, at least, that she could keep pretending for a lifetime.