Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
This is a non sequitur, because I’m thinking of mothers and daughters. Our mother died just after your birth, but she already adored you, Rosie. And me. And our father. She hated dying, not from fear of the hereafter, but because she had to leave us.
When Godric and I walked into my bedchamber, I dropped into one of the chairs by the fire, stupefied. “Did you have any idea that Mima was Burnsby’s first wife?”
“Burnsby would have relished saving the money,” I agreed.
“That means he hired the current household, including the coachman and butler, with the express intention of hiding Mima and Sophonisba in the abbey. Oh, and once your parents had passed away, you and Lance as well, and then, finally, Ophelia.”
“What an ass,” Godric said.
“I shall feel terribly guilty if scandal ruins your career.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “I have you, and that’s enough. Won’t you sit on my lap, Evie?”
I landed on top of him in a distinctly unladylike fashion.
Godric’s arms wound around me like a wall between the world and its shocks. “Your hair reminds me of skeins of glossy silk. You are all I think about. I don’t give a damn about that judgeship.”
He ran his hands down my face. We kissed until I didn’t have a shred of shame left in me. I took his hand and placed it on my breast, loving his hoarse chuckle.
We both watched as his fingers ran over my nipple, visible under my gown. “Your breasts drive me mad,” he said hoarsely, flattening his palm into a rougher caress.
It felt so good that I had to take a gulp of air before I could collect myself enough to answer calmly. “Oh?”
(Yes, that was all I could think to say.)
His hand slid to my jaw, tipping my face toward his.
He kissed me feverishly, as if my mouth were honey.
My last coherent thought was the realization that a kiss can be tender and carnal at the same time, blending two emotions that feel as if they belong in different worlds.
Loving and sensual. Affectionate and hungry.
His fingers caressed my throat, rounded my breast, and the world faded away. Delight was a song that sprang from the beats of my heart. I writhed under Godric’s thumb rubbing over my nipple again and again, until he picked me up and moved to the bed.
My gown came off easily this time, and I didn’t mind as much. I sank onto my back, and he came down on his side next to me.
I wasn’t capable of thinking very clearly, except for the surety that Godric’s husky croon had never been heard in a court of law, and no woman had ever seen this gleam in his eyes, the tremble in his fingertips, the delight on his stern face.
Those expressions? They were mine.
After a while he kissed his way down my neck. I startled when he gently tugged my chemise down and drew one of my nipples into his mouth.
It felt so good.
Desire was building in waves, racing up from my thighs. Through the haze, one thought came clearly: I had to do more than lie on my back.
“I can’t stop kissing you,” Godric said. “Your lips are so beautiful, kiss-stung and swollen.” His tongue drove into my mouth at the same time one of his hands ran up my leg.
When he pulled back from our kiss and stood, a plaintive sound slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
“Sit up, Evie,” he commanded. Then he crouched before me, nudging apart my legs, his eyes fixed on mine. “I want you to watch this time.”
“Again?” I asked, incredulous. “You already did it once today.”
“It’s all I can think about,” he said, his voice dropped. “All the time people talked, the animal part of my brain was thinking about how sweet you taste, and the sound of your little cries.”
I felt myself turning red. How embarrassing.
“I loved it,” he said, reading my expression. “I’m obsessed with it, Evie. With pleasuring you. Please,” he added.
“You’ll have to allow me to do the same to you,” I blurted out. “It can’t just be one way; it doesn’t feel right.”
“Once we’ve left the abbey,” he said, smiling, “my body will be yours.”
Somewhere deep inside me, I relaxed. I wasn’t quite ready to put my lips on his person. That part of his person.
“At the moment . . .” His lips followed his hands up the sensitive skin of my thighs, drifting toward the heart of me and then veering away. A few meandering caresses and dusted kisses later, I was mad for something more—more focused, shall we say.
“Godric,” I said warningly.
He raised his head, grinned at me. My chemise was at my waist, and he’d pushed his way between my legs, but he still hadn’t touched me where I wanted. “Yes?”
I cleared my throat. “Please?”
“Wives need to be clear about their desires,” he drawled, eyes alight with mock piety.
“Kiss me there,” I commanded, and thankfully he accepted the order. His tongue curled against me, and I let out a yelp. Pleasure bloomed between my legs and then spread through my body like a molten wave.
(Two metaphors for the same feeling. I know! But I don’t have language for the experience.)
Five minutes later, I was draped across the bed like a boneless being. My husband rocked back on his haunches, his eyes shining.
“Again?”
“You must be joking,” I mumbled. “Don’t you want something for yourself?”
He shook his head. “Not now.”
I eyed his breeches; the silk might split at any moment. The sight was so embarrassing that I decided to take him at his word and rolled over so I could hide my face in the pillow.
He rose and sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking down my back. “All right?”
“It’s too much,” I said into the sheet.
“Too much intimacy?” His voice sounded guarded.
“Not too much, just a lot. I’ll get used to it.”
“One does feel vulnerable, making love,” Godric said.
“You said that you’d never made love before,” I pointed out, turning my head so I could see his face. “Just the other thing.”
“I’m making love to you.”
“To as opposed to with?”
His eyes shifted from tender to confused.
“You are making love to me,” I prompted.
“Someday you will make love ‘to’ me, and later still, in England, we will make love ‘with’ each other.”
“Semantics,” I grumbled, my eyes drifting shut. He lay beside me and fell asleep, an arm wrapped around my waist. I felt so safe that I slept soundly all night. If ghosts were singing hymns, I didn’t hear them.
I woke up in the morning to the lovely smell of fresh brewed tea. Godric was sitting in a chair, reading a book.
(Not Les Liaisons; after the first few letters, he had put it aside, declaring the characters deplorable. Godric sees enough of that behavior in daily life.)
He wore a linen shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders and made desire simmer low in my stomach. After brushing my teeth and putting on my chemise, I poured myself a cup of tea and sank into the chair opposite him.
He smiled and put away his book.
My mouth fell open. “Not again!”