She hesitated, but he must have taken that for a yes, because she felt his hand on her thigh, sliding up over her warm bare flesh and finding the lacy edge of her pantaloons.
You are not behaving like a respectable and well-brought-up young lady, the voice in her head told her.
No, but if I don’t practice my feminine wiles then how will I be able to use them with any accomplishment?
The voice had nothing to say to that.
Or maybe she’d stopped listening, because now his fingers had found the opening between the legs of her pantaloons and slid inside. At the first brush of his fingers over the swollen, damp folds of her flesh she whimpered. Then he touched her again, more firmly, finding a particularly sensitive place and exploring it with a thoroughness that made her tremble and gasp.
“If I had time,” he said, as he stroked her, “I would use my tongue.”
“Your tongue? How…” she moaned.
He smiled.
After a moment she said, “I feel—I feel…”
He pressed the heel of his hand against her, sliding his fingers inside, and a bolt of such pleasure went through her she arched upward, her body rigid, unable to speak or breathe. A moment later waves of warm release washed over her, and she collapsed against him, breathing hard against his bare shoulder.
He was murmuring endearments, but she hardly heard him. As soon as the intense feeling of pleasure began to fade the voice in her head was back, and it wasn’t saying anything nice.
“What must you think of me?” she said to Valentine, her voice stiff and formal, and out of place after what had just happened.
He lifted her face and smoothed back her hair, gazing into her eyes, no doubt reading the turmoil within them. “I think you are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in years. But you are an innocent, Marissa. This isn’t what your grandmother meant when she told me to take care of you.”
“Valentine, I assure you I do not expect you to take blame for what just happened. I am quite capable—”
But he wouldn’t allow her to finish. She could see the self-disgust in the twist of his mouth. “You are no compliant widow or Covent Garden slut. You are an innocent young lady from a respectable family. You are my brother’s…friend.” His gaze dropped from hers and he sighed.
George. She’d forgotten all about George. How could she do that? How could the man she loved and wanted to marry slip her mind so conveniently?
Nevertheless she had been in full possession of her senses when she made the decision to cavort with Valentine, even if those senses had led her seriously astray.
“I liked what we did,” she said. “You asked me and I said yes. There’s no need to apologize. We are equally to blame.”
“Nevertheless…”
She climbed off him and began to button up her bodice, feeling hot and flushed, her fingers trembling. “This was between you and me,” she said gruffly, “and has nothing to do with anyone else. We will not mention it ever again.”
He snorted. “That just shows how innocent you are.”
“Oh rot!” she burst out, her eyes flashing with anger.
“My behavior is more than reprehensible,” he went on, rising to his feet and standing over her. “I deserve to be flogged.”
She stared at him a moment and then she began to laugh. His reaction was such a contrast to a moment ago, from one extreme to the other. Her laughter only seemed to antagonize him and angrily he untangled his coat, before pulling it back on.
“I think when you have considered the matter you will see that the only option left open to us is for me to ask—”
“Don’t you dare!” she burst out. “Don’t you dare propose to me!”
He stared at her, openmouthed.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said in a low, shaking voice. “We’d both be miserable, forced into an intolerable situation. We’d end up hating each other. Besides, I would refuse you, so don’t even bother putting the question.”
“Marissa—”
“No.” She was searching around for her hat.