CHAPTER TEN #2
It didn’t take long before instinct took over, and she twirled her tongue with his.
The dance felt like joining a ritual as ancient as time.
He opened his mouth wider, tilted his head, and deepened the kiss, startling her.
Her body, her mind, and her soul yearned to become one with him.
She fought the urge to climb onto his lap and press her body against his.
Sensations she’d never known before called out to her.
When she could no longer handle the intensity, Oliver broke the kiss; it was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and feeling.
He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply. When had the clasp to her cloak opened? When he exhaled, his whole body trembled. “Phoebe. You unman me. You make me want to fall to my knees and beg for any scrap you’re willing to share.”
He placed barely there kisses down her neck and across the swell of her breast peeking over the top of her round neckline. The sensation traveled up and down her entire body and settled between her thighs.
“Everything I have is yours for the taking,” she murmured. Her mind was foggy, her body tingled, and she never wanted the sensations to end.
His lips claimed hers again, this time gently. Reverently, as if he worshipped her. His hands slipped inside her cloak and roamed up and down her waist, his thumbs brushing her breasts, making her moan and arch into his touch.
“Do you like that?” he murmured into her ear, then took her lobe between his teeth and gently bit down.
“Ohhh,”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Good.” He did it again, and wetness pooled down below along with a heaviness.
“I knew from the moment we first touched that you would respond to me. That you were a sensual being. That we would be good together, better than good. Does this terrify you?”
“Hmm.” His hand tugged the front of her dress and chemise down, exposing her to the chilly night air. Her nipples pebbled. His warm tongue swirled around and around one taut nipple, then the other. “Yes. No. I understand how coupling works. Even if I’ve never experienced it.”
He chuckled into the valley between her breasts.
“Before the coupling happens, a considerate gentleman, such as myself, dallies with his partner. It’s important to prepare a lady’s body for a man.
Perhaps you’d like a taste of what’s to come.
” He pulled the top of her dress up, confusing her.
Until one of his hands reached beneath her skirts and caressed its way up the inside of her calf, over her knee, and up the inside of her thigh, where he paused.
Breathing heavily, he said hoarsely, “May I continue?”
Between what his tongue and lips were doing to her neck and his hand, she had lost control of her body. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop. Not when she was so close to discovering something . . . “Yes,” she exhaled. “Don’t stop.”
His hand moved. His fingers explored her womanhood. Her heart, her mind, and her body froze for what was to come.
And when it happened, she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming out.
Oliver prevented her from injuring her lip by taking her mouth and kissing her screams away as her legs shook, her body trembled, and his fingers did things to her she never wanted to end.
As she regained herself, she felt her cheeks heat, and she buried her head into Oliver’s chest.
“Do you think you can move, my love? We should probably head back. Hudson made his bird call, signaling that our time is up.”
“Oh.” She lifted her head, touched her hair, and sighed. “Thankfully, my hair isn’t mussed.”
He smiled at her, helped her to stand, and walked around her, smoothing her clothing. “You look perfect.” He stepped in front of her, fastened her cloak, and kissed her cheek. “And beautiful. You steal my breath away. “Will you let me into your room tonight?”
The idea of being back in Oliver’s arms tonight had her body humming. “Should we not wait until our wedding night?”
“I still fear your aunt interfering in some way. She does not appear to be a woman who gives up until she gets her way. If I compromise you in the eyes of society, she will have no recourse but to let us marry.”
“What if you are caught sneaking in?”
“I won’t be.”
“Then yes. I will meet you at the servants’ door at one.” With her cheeks burning, arm-in-arm with Oliver, they strolled back through the gardens. It wasn’t until they neared the veranda that they came upon several guests milling about, including Lord Hudson speaking with Emma.
They joined them on the veranda. “Thank you,” Oliver said to Hudson with a nod.
“Any time.”
Oh my. She hadn’t truly realized when Oliver said Lord Hudson made a bird call. Now she understood that he had been watching out for them. She should have known Oliver would take precautions with her and wouldn’t let anyone witness their rendezvous.
Phoebe sensed Emma’s gaze on her. “Mother wishes to leave.”
Emma curtsied. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Hudson.” She looked at Weston. “Until next time, Your Grace.”
Both men bowed and wished her a good evening.
Phoebe curtsied. “Good night, Lord Hudson, Your Grace.”
Lord Hudson bowed. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Windham.”
Oliver took her hand, and it was then she realized they had left their gloves on the bench. He realized it too and said, “I will retrieve them and give them to you later.”
“Thank you.”
As they entered the drawing room, Emma whispered, “You must tell me everything.”
“Oh dear, I’m not sure if I can find the words.”
The short carriage ride home was spent in silence, which Phoebe appreciated. She had expected questions from her aunt. Silly of her for thinking such things. One would have to care for someone to be interested in their evening. Something her aunt clearly did not do.
She knew Emma wanted details. But by the time they arrived home it was nearly one, so she bid Emma goodnight.
She needed to get down to the servants’ door undetected.
Barefoot, still in her gown, Phoebe silently slipped out into the hallway, holding one candle since the servants had already put the sconces out, a good sign that everyone was in their rooms for the night.
She just hoped she didn’t trip, fall, and announce her presence to the entire household.
Arriving at the servants’ door without seeing a soul, she opened it. Oliver slipped in as quietly as a mouse. “Follow me,” she whispered. With wobbly legs, she tiptoed to her bedchamber. Once inside, she locked the door and winced as the click of the lock echoed in the dark, still night.