She had been weak. Weak and foolish. The whole house must know of it now, for he had shouted apologies through the door for nearly an hour. Well, not shouted, perhaps. But with that voice of his, even quiet declarations of his innocence had seemed embarrassingly loud. Once the door was shut, she had found the strength to refuse him that she had lacked while in the parlour. She had told him to go away.
But he had not. He’d stayed for dinner and she had stayed in her room. The aroma coming up through the floor smelled suspiciously like roast goose. Her hunger must be affecting her senses. There was nothing of the kind in the larder. Succulent flesh, crispy brown skin, stuffing with chestnuts, gravy, smooth on the tongue...
Foolishness. Why did she insist on longing for things she could not have? And why did her stomach ache so for missing just one meal? She refused to believe that she missed anything else enough to lay awake pining for it.
Then the door of her room opened. And it was him, whispering, ‘Generva, may I come in?’
‘Yes.’
No. The answer was supposed to be an unequivocal negative. But she’d answered with her heart and not her brain, and now she could hear the sound of garments dropping to the floor and feel the weight of a man sitting on the edge of her bed. At last, she remembered that she should be outraged. ‘Your Grace, what are you doing?’
‘When I first arrived, you offered me your bed. I have decided to accept it.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
‘You know this is not what I meant,’ she whispered. ‘I was not planning to be here with you.’
‘It will be much warmer if you remain,’ he announced, and ran a pair of startlingly cold feet along her bare leg.
‘Stop that.’ She tried to pull the sheet up and her nightgown down simultaneously, only to feel his arm slip around her shoulders.
‘This is much better,’ he insisted into her ear.
He was right. This was better. She shivered from head to toe, not with the cold, but the utter delight of feeling that deep voice rumbling against her temple.
It was also wrong. He could not toy with the affections of her or Gwendolyn. She would tell him so and send him from the house. And she would do it...
The arm on her shoulders slipped to the small of her back.
...in the morning. Her conscience grumbled. But common sense answered that she would have to wake the whole house if she wished to turn him out now. If he was gone after breakfast, he could do no more harm. And until then? It was Christmas. This would be her gift to herself.
She stretched against him in welcome. In response, she felt him smile. ‘Now, will you allow me to explain the events of this afternoon?’
All he wished to do was talk? ‘If you must,’ she said, sounding as cross as she felt.
‘Before I kissed you, I spoke to your daughter and we agreed a union between us would be quite impossible. When we parted, she kissed me on the cheek and I kissed her hair. It was all quite innocent. But apparently Benjamin witnessed it. Boys, being what they are, he could not wait to tattle.’
‘Oh.’ That was one worry removed, at least. ‘Thank you,’ she added. ‘Now, if that is all...’
He laughed. ‘You know that was not my only reason for coming here.’ He rolled so that she was on top of him, and she felt the solid weight of his member settle between her thighs.
‘I cannot,’ she said, not wishing him to know how easy it had been to accept his seduction. Her voice was the only firmness in her, for her entire body seemed to be melting at his touch. She grew slick at the gentle nudge of his arousal, her body opening to it, eagerly awaiting that first push that would join them.
‘Perhaps you will change your mind once I have told you the rest of my plan.’
He was still talking? Why would he not simply kiss her so that she might surrender?
‘Next Season, your daughter will be in London. She will be the most eligible catch at Almack’s because she will have my sponsorship.’ His fingers were playing with the buttons of her nightdress. ‘You will be there as well, to chaperone. And I have promised Ben that he shall fish in my trout stream.’
Her mind struggled to understand what he was suggesting. Did he expect her to trade her honour for his patronage? Now that they had got to this point, it was hardly necessary to bargain. She had not felt the touch of a man for a full six months before John had died. Since then, there had been no offers, only the pitying looks of other women and the encouragement from the vicar to immerse herself in good works. As though that was any protection against the need she had felt on long winter nights like this.
She did not want or need Montford’s help. She was not the sort of woman who would spread her legs for a trip to London. The idea that she might sell herself so cheaply was disgusting.
But that did not change the way she felt about the act itself. To be held and cosseted and kissed, for a few hours at least, would be wonderful. It had been so long that she had lost hope it would ever happen again. How long might it be before another such offer came? And that it should come from a man so good and kind, and so thoroughly attractive...
‘Let us not speak of the future. I cannot bear to think about it tonight,’ she said, for it was perfectly true. ‘It is late.’ To encourage him, she arched her back, pushing her hips gently into him.
‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘We can discuss it all on the way to church tomorrow. But tonight...’ He kissed her, again, and it was a question. Was he permitted to continue?
It had been good in the parlour. It was even better in bed, when she was spread over his naked body like a blanket, soaking in the heat of his skin. To answer him, she ran a cautious hand down his arm, and back up, along his side. It was different than what she was used to. He had a thicker torso with both muscle and wealth. Not youthful, but still firm. His arms were strong; she could feel the muscles bulge in them. The thighs beneath her legs were strong from riding. She widened hers and settled her legs around them.
Satisfied that she was willing, his hands swept down and up her body, stripping the nightdress away, so that there might be nothing between them. It felt so good, she wanted to scream with pleasure, and they had not even begun. ‘We must be careful,’ she whispered. ‘I would not want to do anything that might wake the household.’
‘I would be...very...very...quiet.’ A trail of kisses punctuated his words. They travelled down her chin, to the hollow of her throat, and lower. He slipped his hands beneath her arms and slid her body higher so that he could nuzzle her breasts. His lips closed on a nipple and sucked gently.
She had forgotten how good it was. The tightening in her breasts. The readying of the muscles deep inside her. In the dark, she could imagine the smile on his face as he kissed her, and the fire in her heart, banked low for so long, was blazing again. It took only a moment, and a single touch of his thumb between her legs, and she was spiralling into a short, sweet climax.
Against her breast, she felt him laugh.
He must think her the most simple kind of trollop to succumb so quickly. ‘I am not the sort of woman who...’ she began.
‘I rather think that you might be,’ he said, licking the underside of her breast. And then his hands travelled down again, stroking more persistently, spreading her, fingertips dipping inside.
She was losing control and was quite unwilling to tell him to stop. At least not until he had finished what he was doing and that sweet bubble of pleasure burst in her again. She clamped her thighs against his hand and pushed, giving herself over to it, taking selfishly from him.
He gave her a moment’s peace then, to collect her thoughts. ‘Do you still wish me