‘May I remove your chemise?’ he asked.
She nodded and bit her lip.
Despite his body’s protest, he paused. ‘Are you sure?’
Again she nodded, her gaze drifting down his body. ‘Are you?’
‘Oh, yes, my sweet. Very sure.’ He drew the filmy fabric over her head and gazed in awe at her loveliness. A tiny waist hollowed beneath ribs he could count, his gaze lingered on peach-sized breasts with skin so translucent the blue veins shone beneath. He swallowed and let his gaze wander her elegant length, springy curls at the juncture of her thighs, already bedewed with her moisture, just waiting for him, strong legs that would wrap his hips when finally he rode her to bliss.
The grey woollen stockings held up by sturdy garters hid her calves and feet from view. He ran his forefinger under one stocking top and smiled at her. ‘These too must go.’
The hiss of her indrawn breath tightened his balls. He almost lunged at her as desire clawed at his vitals. Not yet. Hand shaking, he rolled the garter down her leg and off, then tugged on the stocking until it slipped down her leg, inch by inch. He kissed each and every bit of beautiful skin thus exposed until he reached her toes.
Before he could say her nay, she stripped off the other stocking and tossed it aside.
Naked, she lay back. Her voracious gaze roved his body. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. A shudder ran through him.
‘Take off your trousers,’ she said.
It was only fair. He stripped them off, grateful to be free of the confinement; his erection rose hard against his belly.
‘Oh, my,’ she whispered. ‘It is lovely like this.’ She reached out and touched the head of his shaft.
It jerked in response.
‘Oh.’
He groaned. ‘Any more of that and I will disgrace myself.’
‘Then hurry up.’
‘Demanding, aren’t we?’ In any other woman, he would have hated that demand. From her, it made his heart swell. ‘Then I must obey, my lady.’
Careful not to crush her delicate form, he covered her with his body, took her lips in a kiss that demanded attention and heard her moans with deep satisfaction.
He caressed her, and kissed her breasts. She kissed him back, licked his ear, nibbled at his neck, her thighs open, her hips arching up begging for his attention. ‘Soon, little one,’ he crooned.
He stroked her hips, her swell of thigh, and suckled at her breast, until she became wild, her small fists beating at his shoulders, demanding what she wanted. Finally, he allowed himself to enter her body, to stroke the pulsing inner flesh with his shaft, to bring her to the height of passion, where he called on all of his skill with his hands and mouth to keep her trembling at the brink.
‘Please, R-Robert,’ she moaned.
Raging desire ran rivers through his blood. He could not hold back any longer. He drove deep into her warm depths, pounding into her in fierce possession. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop. God, if she didn’t reach her climax…He shifted his weight, found the little nubbin of her pleasure, circled his thumb.
She shuddered, moaned his name, shattered around his shaft.
He wanted to die inside her.
Some small scrap of sense exerted itself and he pulled free, shuddering to a finish on her belly while she lay boneless beneath him.
He cleaned her up with a corner of the quilt and pulled her into his arms.
What the hell had just happened? One second he’d been in control, the next he’d been a raging animal. He pulled the quilt over her sleeping form, glancing down into her pale face, still blissful.
This was what she’d come for, of course. Not the drawing. Like all the other women in his life, he’d seen it in her eyes. And he’d not been able to turn her away, despite his good intentions. He’d have been a lot less susceptible if he hadn’t been celibate for nigh on two years. He’d never been without a woman for so long since he’d first discovered sex at the age of fifteen.
No excuses, Robert. Apparently, Father was right. He was nothing but a dissolute wastrel. He’d risked everything for a few moments of satiation and the warmth of woman’s arms.
He felt like the worst kind of cur. He’d wanted to protect her, but he’d been unable to protect her from himself. This must not happen again.
On a slow, pulsing tide, Frederica’s spirit returned to her body. For long moments she floated on the heat of passion, listening to her heart, hearing his breathing slow, his hand warm about her shoulders and hip. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had drifted into a harbour, safe from all the storms of her existence. How much time had elapsed? Hours, minutes? She had no idea. She only knew she wanted to remain here, cradled in his arms for ever.
Yet it could not be. Following her destiny required leaving England.
The breathing at her side was not the deep measured rhythm of sleep, just a steady rise and fall. She glanced up to find him watching her, his expression unreadable.
‘I thought you were awake,’ he said, his voice rumbling in his wide chest against her ear. ‘I must get you home before you are missed.’
Conscious of her nakedness beneath his steady gaze, she sat up and pulled on her shift. He helped her with her stays and began fastening her gown.
He looked at her with eyes so bleak she shivered.
‘I’ll see you to the bridge,’ he said. ‘I won’t come any farther, in case we are seen from the house. And whatever you do, promise you won’t let anyone see that drawing.’
‘I won’t. I’ll bring you the money for the sitting as soon as—’
‘No. I don’t want your money. Consider it another gift.’ He pressed the book into her hands, opened the door and looked at her coldly. ‘Do not come here any more.’
The words sounded as chill to her ear as the sleet felt on her face.
The next morning, Frederica set the portrait on an easel. She’d risen early to draw in the hands, and changed the cot into a roman divan and the rough blanket into a dark velvet throw.
In her eyes, he looked gorgeous. She shifted the easel to catch the north light and squinted at the drawing, trying to view it with dispassion, when all she could think about was his hands on her body and the beautiful, terrible passion.
Had she captured the spirit of the man?
A scratch at the door. She jerked around, standing in front of the picture as Snively stepped in. ‘Good morning, miss.’ He raised a brow at the easel.
‘G-good morning, Snively. W-what can I do for you?’
‘A letter came from Dr Travis.’
‘Oh, good.’ She stepped forwards to take it, then stopped. ‘Er…would you put it on the desk?’
‘Certainly, miss. I hope it is good news.’
‘So do I,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, wishing he would go.
‘Should be a nice little nest egg when all’s said and done.’ She’d told Snively about her contract with the doctor. She hadn’t wanted the letters ending up on her uncle’s desk to be opened without her knowledge. Snively, as usual, had been more than happy to help.
‘As