Chapter Ten
The rest of the evening went beautifully.
Belle was a happy debutante, which made Susanne giddy with delight.
Giselle met several eligible young men who might have interested her.
Might have, if she weren’t completely absorbed with Jonathan.
She knew her feelings were not to be trusted.
She knew he had abandoned her, for whatever reason.
But she couldn’t hold the anger in her heart.
At least not toward him.
It was his father who had destroyed things. And his father who was threatening him now. And so she tried to enjoy the evening, but by the time they departed, she was grateful for the escape.
Enough polishing her social graces. Now it was time for her to do what she did best: send those caught between life and death on to their next step. And once that was done, she would turn her thoughts and her heart toward Jonathan.
Or away.
Whatever the answer, she could not face it now.
Except, of course, when he showed up at her bedroom door, just as she’d asked. His cravat was off, and his jacket gone. He stood in his shirtsleeves with his hair mussed and his eyes bright. And she felt powerless against him. Mostly because she had no desire to fight him.
“Come in,” she whispered as she stepped back.
He entered, his gaze hot as he took in her unbound hair. She was still in her ballgown, but her slippers were off and the ties in her hair were gone. It felt decadent, allowing him in here. Scandalous, decadent, and just like when they’d stolen kisses when they were teenagers.
“Giselle,” he breathed as he shut the door behind him.
She heard the yearning in his voice, and it felt like he thrummed the same string of desire inside her. The two of them playing each other’s notes.
“One kiss,” she said. “That should be enough.”
“Enough for what?” he asked as he went to her.
“To upset your father and bring him out,” she said. It was the truth. She fully expected the old viscount to come roaring in the moment their lips touched. But it was also a lie. She said one kiss was enough because it should quell her need for him. One kiss, for memory’s sake. Nothing more.
But, of course, she’d never been satisfied with a single kiss from him.
Whatever the truth of it, she was kissing him now and there was nowhere else she wanted to be. Memories flooded her, quickly replaced by the delicious sensations of here and now.
She had been kissed by other men in the last ten years.
Not a one had meshed well with her. But Jonathan knew her.
He responded to her. When she felt urgent, he held her tight, drawing her up to him even as he pressed down into her.
Then the moment she resisted, the moment the arch to her back grew too hard, the angle of her neck too sharp, the slightest pressure away had him pulling back to search her face.
“Enough?” he rasped.
“Never,” she whispered. But when his gaze brightened, she held up her hand. “But we should wait.” She did not want to be absorbed in Jonathan when his father decided to make problems.
He nodded, and they stood there. She was still in his arms, the heat of his body adding to the inferno inside her. They kept looking around, wondering when the furniture would start flying about the room.
Nothing happened.
Nothing except time when her mind returned to the feel of her body pressed against his. Of his mouth so close to hers.
“What makes you so impossible to resist?” she asked.
His lips quirked. “I was thinking the same thing.” He caressed her cheek, stroking back and forth with his thumb. “I never forgot you.”
She could say the same, but there was more. He was more. More powerful, more confident, more understanding than when they were teens.
“I talked with your sister this afternoon,” she said. “She told me everything you’re doing in the Cotswolds.”
He blinked as if trying to focus on her words, but his gaze kept returning to her mouth.
“The school,” she said. “You’re funding a school.”
“Oh that. Yes, education is the only way the human species will ever grow. We can’t have every generation rediscovering what we’ve already learned. We need to evolve.”
He said it absently, as if educating the lower class wasn’t such a radical idea among his set. And she knew—against his mother’s expressed wishes—that he was paying families to let their young attend school rather than send them out for work.
“When did you become a radical?” she asked.
It was a teasing question, not really meant to be answered, but his expression darkened.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you know what happened after your family left?”
“No.”
“My father handpicked the next vicar. Made sure the man preached exactly as my father wanted, everything my father wanted. Obedience, humility, gratitude. An attitude appropriate to everyone except my father and the vicar. They never obeyed their own rules, much less Christ’s.
Humility and gratitude weren’t in their vocabulary except when railing about the villagers.
” He grimaced. “I never thought about what your father preached until someone else preached differently.”
She winced. “That bad?”
“That enlightening. It made me think. It made me choose what I wanted to believe, what I thought the Scriptures meant. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That’s what I focused on.
” Then he flashed her a smile. “And I wanted to be educated, so I did what I could to give that to my people.
She smiled. Her own father hated hypocrisy in all its forms. Clearly, that message had found fertile ground in Jonathan.
“So you’ve made changes. I’m pleased.”
“There’s a lot I can’t do as a viscount, but what I can change, I am.”
What a perfect man. If her father had taught her what could be accomplished with nearly no resources, she was excited to learn what one man could accomplish with all of Jonathan’s purse.
She stroked her fingers across his jaw, feeling the rough brush of his beard. Eventually—inevitably—her fingers landed back on his mouth.
“You have become everything I hoped you would,” she said.
“Hardly.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “But I’m trying. And I always felt—I feel—more powerful when I’m with you.”
She knew what he meant. He strengthened her on a level that she couldn’t even name.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“Let me kiss you again. Please.”
She smiled. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
And so they kissed. Deeply. Passionately. And without thought to anything else. She was swept away on a tide of sensation. She gloried in the thrust of his tongue. How amazing to feel the grip of his hands on her hips as he pulled her higher on his body.
She knew what would happen when he lifted her up in his arms. She knew even as he carried her to bed that she wanted it, too. But before they went further, she needed one thing from him.
She pressed him back, her gaze going to his eyes. “In my satchel,” she said.
“What?”
“Get it.”
He did, his expression confused but accepting. And when she pulled a French letter from the contents, his eyes widened in shock.
“How do you have that?”
She always had that with her. “Do you know anything about my father’s flock?”
He shook his head.
“He’s a curate of Stepney parish.” Not quite as poor as St. Giles, but close.
“I go with him as much as I can. We all do as he ministers to the poor, the beggars and the tarts. We carry supplies to give them. Medicines and these.” The French letters.
“Many of the women won’t talk to him, but they’ll come to me.
For these. They know it prevents disease and—”
“Pregnancy. Yes.” Jonathan took the item in question. “You carry this with you?”
“Ladies need them as well. It is better to be prepared then caught unaware.”
“You have these. All the time.”
“As often as Father can afford them. Though,” she said as her cheeks heated. “I have never used one before now. I’m not exactly confident with how it’s applied.”
He touched her arm, then he closed the distance between their mouths, kissing her with a fire that stoked a blaze within her. And when he pulled back, his gaze was troubled.
“I know what to do,” he said, “but are you sure? We just found each other again this morning.”
Didn’t he understand? She didn’t regret the things she’d done in her life.
Even their impetuous coupling at sixteen.
What she regretted were the times she had run away or remained silent.
The times when she didn’t take her chance.
She had no idea what might happen between them tomorrow, but this was what she wanted now.
She’d already given him her virginity. It was nothing now to love him again. Especially if she could prevent unwanted consequences. Without risk of pregnancy or disease, she intended to enjoy every second of their time together.
She smiled as she twisted herself around in his arms. “Will you help me undress?”
He didn’t hesitate. He was exquisitely gentle as he undid the buttons of her gown. Slow and sweet as he kissed down her spine with every button undone. By the time her dress had slipped off her shoulders, she was trembling with desire. But that was nothing compared to when they unwrapped her stays.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs as his hands came around her torso to cup her breasts.
Such exquisite delight as she felt his hands, so large as they held her. His callouses abraded her skin. His fingers twisted her nipples while lightning burst through her senses. Her breath grew short, and her body stretched into every new delight.
She kicked aside the last of her clothes. And when he looked at her naked body, all her doubts disappeared. For this moment, she would have him. And she would be glad of it.
As he had done with her, she helped him undress. She kissed every inch of flesh revealed, stripping away his clothing.
He taught her how to put on the French letter. Finally, she got to see, got to touch what the women in his father’s ministry knew so well. And when he slipped a hand between her thighs, she opened for him.
His every caress had her crying out at the intensity. So much to feel! So much to experience. And yet the moment he eased back, she wanted it again. And more.
He pressed her onto the bed. He kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts. And when she spread her thighs for the very act she’d dreamed of, he was the one who hesitated.
“Be sure, Giselle. We can wait—”
She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him down. Then she tightened her heels against his legs and pulled him into her.
He went where she led. He thrust into her, and it was perfect.
The penetration, the stretch, the fullness! She remembered. And she loved it.
“Good?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she answered. “You?”
“God, yes!”
Then he began to move. The arch of his back created a slide away. Then a single flex, and she felt sparks at the impact.
Again and again, while each explosion grew inside her. Tighter, higher, hotter.
More.
More!
Bliss.