His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “How do you feel?”
“Ethereal.”
“Hmm. We’ll have to bring you back to earth then, my angel.”
He began to kiss her, deep kisses that made her toes curl, his body heavy on hers. The tight bodice of her dress restricted her, confined her, and her breasts were aching, longing for his touch. When he began to unfasten the back of her dress she almost wept with relief, and then he was caressing her, his mouth hot and open against her soft flesh, and the pleasure was so great that she almost reached her peak then and there.
His hands were beneath her petticoats, and she felt them on her thighs as he lifted himself over her and slid inside her.
The sunlight through the window caught in his hair, on his naked chest and shoulders—when had he undressed; she didn’t remember it. Suddenly he was more than a man. She couldn’t look away from him. It was as if he had cast a spell on her, and with each thrust of his body into hers, that spell bound her tighter.
“Darling,” he groaned. “My darling girl.”
Intense pleasure spiraled through her, making her cry out more loudly than she meant to, but she couldn’t help it. She felt him deep, deep inside, as if he wanted to lose himself in her as much as she wanted to lose herself in him. And then he was shouting her name, spilling himself inside her, his face pressed to her shoulder.
He was heavy, and hot, but she didn’t tell him to move. Francesca realized, with surprise, that she felt quite tender. She wanted to cuddle him close and kiss him. She
reached for the truant lock of hair that had fallen over his face, tucking it back where it belonged. He opened one eye and looked at her, and the wicked gleam was full of carnal thoughts.
“Francesca,” he rumbled, “you are the woman of my dreams.”
“Am I?”
“Oh yes, there’s no doubt about it.”
“Even though my nose isn’t quite straight?”
He shifted slightly, releasing her from his weight, and kissed the tip of her nose very gently. “I wouldn’t have a straight nose for any amount of gold. This is the nose for me.”
She giggled. She felt light-headed.
Downstairs, the street door slammed shut.
Sebastian’s eyes widened in shock, and then he was swearing, leaping off the bed and dragging on his clothing. “Martin,” he said breathlessly. “Damn and blast it, he’s back…”
With shaking fingers, Francesca began to try to make herself presentable. Watching Sebastian hopping around the room attempting to pull on his stockings made her giggle again, and she was still helpless with laughter when he rolled her over and began to refasten her dress. He stood her up and allowed her skirts and petticoats to drop back into place.
“Your hair,” he said, running his fingers through the heavy weight of it.
“I’ll have to pile it up under my bonnet. Unfortunately”—she narrowed her eyes at him—“my best bonnet was run over by a cab.”
He grinned. “Should happen more often. I like this one better.”
They were out in the other room now, Francesca busy with her hair. Sebastian glanced down and swore, and suddenly grabbed something up into his hands, just as the key rattled in the lock.
He turned his back, moving to the bookcase in the corner, and Francesca saw him stuff a cotton garment into a gap behind the books, and realized with a frisson of delighted horror that he was hiding her drawers.
She choked. He turned and frowned at her, and she flopped down into a chair, folding her shaking hands tightly together and composing herself as best she could.
By the time Martin entered the room, they were both perfectly respectable. The manservant’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Francesca assured herself there was nothing to see. She might be a little flushed, a little disarranged, but that could have been the walk to Half Moon Street.
“Miss Greentree,” he said, with a glance at his master. “I didn’t know you were expecting a visitor, sir. I would have delayed my return.”
“That is perfectly all right, Martin. We’re finished now.” Sebastian put down his glass and reached for Francesca’s hand. “Come, Miss Greentree, it is time you went home.”
Outside, the breeze cooled her cheeks, but she still felt wonderfully replete. The contented feeling made up for the knowledge that what they had done was very shocking indeed. Then why did she still feel like giggling?
“Why do you fear being Aphrodite’s daughter?” he asked suddenly, harping back to a previous comment she had made.