Chapter 2 #2
He flipped off her shoe and ran his hand reverently down her calf, still in her white silk stocking. She gave a little push, even though his touch had sent a white-hot jolt of lust through her.
This time he obeyed with some speed. His clothing would be in a terrible state; his breeches were inside out, she was sure she’d heard ripping when he pulled off one stocking, and everything was crumpled on the floor. Then he stood there for her inspection, arms raised. “Like so, madam?”
Evangeline almost moaned with desire. Good Lord, he was a handsome man, and perfectly made, save for an inch-wide scar that ran just above his hip.
He was lean but solid, his shoulders just the right width.
His skin was as sun-bronzed as his hair, all the way down his lean hips.
She pictured him swimming naked off some tropical shore. “Yes,” she whispered. “Like that.”
She caught a flash of feral smile, and then he was above her, his hands on her, then his mouth, then his weight. It made her gasp, to have a man like this again, and then he made her gasp, with his leisurely, relentless exploration of her body and how to make it sing.
He brought her to climax twice before he hooked her leg over his arm and slid inside her to take his own pleasure, riding her with hard, long thrusts that scrambled what was left of her brain.
When he finally growled in his own release, her face was wet with tears from her unprecedented third ecstasy.
Not even Court, who’d been a skillful and passionate lover—before their wedding, at least—had played her this well.
“Merciful God in heaven,” she gasped faintly.
He turned his head to press his lips to the inside of her knee where it curled around his neck.
Evangeline hadn’t even known her body could still bend the ways he’d made it do.
She hoped she could walk in the morning.
“Ja, God is very good to us, is he not?” He uncoiled her from around him and held her close, full length, and kissed her. “You are spectacular.”
She laughed. “I must say the same to you!” On impulse she kissed him back, much harder. “Never have I benefited so much from one of Lord Allen’s parties!”
“Nor I.” He grinned lazily. “Who cares for a journey through Moscow when there are such wonders to be found in London?”
“I daresay you won’t think of it once you are besieged by the daughters of Russian Cossacks,” she replied in amusement.
He snorted softly. His hand was around her breast, just cupping it lovingly while his thumb stroked her nipple, and Evangeline thought she could become addicted to that simple pleasure alone. “I have no longer any desire to go to them. Not when you are here.”
She laughed. “Nonsense,” she said with a contented sigh. “You spoke so eagerly of it! I am astonished you haven’t already left.”
“No.” He kissed her shoulder, his mouth lingering. “I never want to leave this bed, let alone London. I am your conquest.”
A small chill went through her. She only wanted one night of pleasure from him—and oh my, had she ever got it. It had never occurred to her that he might want more.
Of course, a man said many things he didn’t mean when he was naked and still slick with sweat from making love. In the morning, they would both pretend he’d never said them.
“Nonsense.” She adopted a brisk tone. “I don’t need any flowery seduction.
This is enough.” She gave a small laugh.
“More than I expected, even! Of course you will go on your expedition, just as I will go on with my own life.” She twisted in his arms to press a kiss to his jaw.
“And this night shall be a treasured memory for me,” she whispered with a smile, tracing the edge of his jaw with one fingertip. “As I hope it will be for you.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “This night only?”
She put her hand on his cheek. “Darling,” she said in surprise. “Of course.”
The thin line between his brows deepened into a frown. “No. I do not understand. Why?”
She blinked. “Why? Why not? What else can you possibly want?”
“This.” His hand moved down her side to caress her hip. “You. Again and again. Do you not want me?”
“Well, I won’t deny that,” she admitted, unconsciously pressing into his hand. “But this is really all it can be, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t see.” He sat up, looking more puzzled than angry. “Have you no interest in me other than lovemaking? You listened most attentively to my presentation and invited me to call. Was it a pretense?”
“No, of course not,” she protested, blushing a little. “I find your adventures fascinating.” She paused. “I find you fascinating. But it’s tempting fate to spoil this . . . this one beautiful thing we shared.”
He stared at the lamp for a minute, the light gilding his sharply cut features with gold.
Then he glanced at her, his expression easing.
“I see. You do not trust me. That is understandable. You do not know me.” He rolled back over her, brushing the hair from her face tenderly.
“I will prove myself to you,” he murmured.
“I will be your friend as well as your lover. You will see.”
“Oh my,” she burst out a little uncomfortably even as her stomach leapt at the feel of him atop her again. “That’s not what I was trying to say . . .”
“No, no.” He smiled. “I will call on you. I will bring my journals and tell you about my journeys down the Nile, through Tripoli, into the Alps, and about Switzerland, my home. I will show you my sketches and tell my stories. I will sip all the tea and eat all the dry biscuits, and we will talk for hours.”
“Oh my,” she said in surprise. “Have you really been all those places?”
He smiled. “Yes. Since I was ten years old, I have been driven to explore—first the area around my home, then farther and farther away. It is a thrill beyond compare to see the glorious variety of people and creatures around the world.”
“I can only imagine.” That was true. Cunningham had dragged her away to Scotland, but not to Edinburgh or even Glasgow; he’d taken her to his old and drafty fishing lodge.
Court had never stirred from London. But she’d read about such places in books and magazines—stories likely written by people like him, she realized—and they sounded amazing.
He had been running one finger along her collarbone, and now he pressed a kiss to her jaw. “I will listen to you as well. You intrigue me. I want to learn everything about you.”
Court had said such rubbish, when he wanted to get under her skirts. It was a little unnerving that Sir Richard said it after he’d achieved that, but no less reliable.
“Goodness,” she said with a forced laugh, still striving to brush off the whole thing. “Of course you don’t.”
“I do,” he said calmly. “I know you are a widow, with no husband to make jealous. I know you are beautiful and sensuous, and also independent and clever and good-hearted.”
“I—what?” She was disconcerted by his words.
He nodded. “Allen told me you are a widow. Naturally I asked him, because I was fascinated by you the moment we met. The rest, I saw for myself.”
Good Lord. Allen would have told him she was scandalous and evil, a wanton widow with a large fortune, courtesy of two prematurely dead husbands.
Suddenly Evangeline wondered if Allen had encouraged Sir Richard to seduce her, with an eye on getting her to financially support his travels. She wouldn’t put it past that man.
Again she made herself laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m much too old to fascinate you! How old can you even be?”
“Two and thirty,” he said, jarringly. He was ten years her junior. An entire decade. She’d been married before he was out of short pants.
She didn’t want to hear more. She didn’t want to argue, or talk at all. With a sudden motion, she pushed him over and sat atop him, straddling his hips. “I must take advantage of such rash, impetuous youth.”
“I—I accept,” he gasped as she took him firmly in hand. He was already swelling again, growing hard and ready.
This was all she wanted from him, she told herself as she moved above him, reveling in the touch of his hands on her skin, in the concentrated desire in his face, in the exquisite pleasure he wrung from her body.
This time she made love to him until he could barely speak, holding down his arms and staving off her own climax until he was thrashing beneath her, begging to touch her in a jangle of English and German.
When she relented, he returned the torture until she gasped in release.
He pulled her into his embrace and mumbled something against her shoulder as he fell asleep. Evangeline gave in to temptation and rested against him for a while, savoring his close embrace, his body warm against hers and his hair soft against her cheek.
But when she heard a distant clock strike three in the morning, and his breathing was slow and deep, she slipped out of bed and left, determined to end things her way.