Chapter Ten #2
His own hands, which had started at her waist when he’d reached down and pulled her closer, now stroked her back, locking behind her head to bury in amongst those silky strands of hair that had tempted him before.
Her skin was soft against his inquisitive fingers, pliant and warm.
She smelled oddly of brewed herbs, distantly of alcohol, and something that was uniquely Abigail.
It would be strange to think that it could be a blend of sea salt and chalk, dust and books, and oddly enough, Robert could not think of any scent as more appealing.
Now he just wished to know if all of her might be similarly bottled and carried with him always.
The kiss continued, all-consuming as it drove out any recollection of what Robert should be doing. Propriety, the navy, his orders about being here, gone in the soft touch and taste of her lips.
Water to a dying man.
The luxurious voluptuousness of kissing without a rationale, as Abigail clung to his shoulders, her body pressed up against his, abandoned to whatever sensations the two of them might create together.
They stumbled backwards, still kissing. He pressed his eager body against hers, consumed with the taste of her and desperate for more. The pair of them banged up against the wall of the bedchamber in their ferocity to get closer to one another.
It was addictive.
Now her tongue touched his own. What remained of Robert’s control slipped further away.
The need to taste her. Devour her. Savor the feel of skin, under his mouth. When his lips darted away from her own, Abigail gasped, her breath heavy and uneven in his ear.
The sound sent blood from Robert’s head pulsing through his body, hardening his cock as his free hand shifted from her waist to her hip, encouraging her limbs to part so he could push between her legs.
He wanted her. On his bed. Naked. Under his body. Crying out with her provocative, scholarly mind given over to pleasure. In whatever position he dragged her into. Into whatever pose might give them gratification. To claim her, again and again until…
She stroked down his body, with none of the reservations he might have expected from her, seeking information, contact… When the curious fingers brushed against the front of his breeches, Robert pulled away and took a hasty step back from Abigail.
Both of them were breathing heavily. Even in the moonlight from the partly open curtain, and despite his poor eyesight, he drank in the sight of her.
The loosened hair, pouring over her shoulders. The bright eyes, and parted lips. The almost jumpiness of her reaction. It was pleasing, nay something more than that, to know this was how he rendered her.
Certainly, it was better to dwell on her, than on his own reaction, as the possessive need he felt for her shocked him.
Drawing to the nearby seat of the high-backed armchair, he steadied his own breath as he watched. He practiced the way he had calmed himself when at sea and under attack, watching her all the time, awaiting her response. No one surely could be unmoved after such an interlude.
Abigail leaned back against the wall, at least five feet from him, her left hand lifting to tentatively touch her lips. Her mouth twisted. Robert needed to know more than anything else in the world what it was she was thinking.
“Does that satisfy your curiosity?” he forced himself to ask. An earnest hope beat in his chest, although he made sure his voice was steady and measured.
She moved forward, stepping closer until she reached the table and the opposing armchair to his own. “I have read about relations between a man and a woman.”
This reveal did not surprise Robert. After all, Abigail would have read about everything else. Why not this? It might not be deemed suitable for young ladies, but when did Abigail give a fig about this?
“Indeed, and how did the reality compare to your books?”
“The scientific monographs and studies…they did not…compare.”
Robert could not help smiling at this.
She added, “Of course, they went a great deal further than we did.”
“A gentry bred—”
“I know there would be a risk of pregnancy were we to continue,” Abigail cut him off. “In fact, they stated that was the primary function of the…activity.”
Clearly, her books had not detailed any means of preventing such an outcome, and somehow Robert did not think now was quite the time to bring up such information. If nothing else, his own surging desire was only just starting to decline. Having an in-depth discussion did not seem wise.
“Were you to engage in such activities,” Robert forced himself to say, “There would be an expectation on my part of proposing marriage to you.” In fact, he rather fancied most gentlemen of his acquaintance would have already offered.
Of course, given his lies so far, it would be not possible.
Besides, he might have belatedly realized his attraction, his burning desire for Abigail Fossey, but that did not mean he wished to marry the woman.
“Oh,” Abigail said, as she sank into the nearest armchair. “No, you’re quite right. I wouldn’t want to marry you.”
Despite himself, Robert felt a start of annoyance. He was playing an eligible young gentleman. Who’d boasted of a tidy fortune. With good connections. He would have been seen as a far greater marital opportunity than Miss Fossey. “Is that so?”
“Oh, quite. How am I to continue my work if I am married? No, no, no. I don’t want that.” Abigail smiled brightly. “I very much liked the kiss. The kisses I suppose would be a better summary. I thank you for the experience. But no, I would not marry you.”
“I did not ask.”
“I am saving you the trouble,” Abigail said. “Besides, my sister has already told me she wouldn’t approve of the match. So, it would never work.”
Robert, who felt as if his head was spinning, tried to cling to the knowledge that this was at least what he wanted.
He hardly had a desire to be berated by the shrewish Miss Fossey into wedding her younger sister.
Besides, if he were to, he would have to reveal his true name and intentions in coming to Lyme, thereby ruining any chance of catching the smugglers.
It would never work, if he had any interest in marrying Miss Abigail Fossey.
“I suppose that settles the matter entirely.”
Abigail suddenly put out her hand and grabbed his fingers, giving him a pat as if he were a dismissed animal. “I am glad we can remain friends.”
She shot to her feet as soon as Robert turned his hand over and tried to interlock their fingers. In great haste, she rushed toward the door.
“I hope we can remain friends, no matter what. As it is important we continue our search tomorrow.”
“Surely your injuries—” Robert knew her ankle must have been sore, although in his rush of desire, it had been forgotten. Abigail had made no mention of it.
“If I can kiss you, I can certainly search the site, especially given what the landslip may well have turned up. Goodnight, Robert.”
And then she was gone, leaving Robert with a muddled mind, a body desperate for release, and no idea what his next steps should be.