Her eyes were wide and he could see himself reflected in them. ‘But it was only a hour or two ago –‘
‘There are no rules about it.’ Blake bent his head and kissed her cheek, then roamed down to her jaw line, down to nip at her chin. ‘I intend to start to make up for eight weeks apart from you.’
‘Blake.’ Her voice had an edge that was part panic, part an excitement that stirred his own arousal. ‘We are outside, in the open. Anyone might come along.’
‘Who?’ he asked, intent on the soft skin beneath her ear, the scent of sweet soap and sweeter woman a delight in his nostrils. A faint musk from their lovemaking still lingered on her skin. He felt himself harden with fierce desire.
‘A shepherd, a soldier, someone going for a walk… Oh, Blake...’ He caught her whisper with his lips as he lowered himself to the rug, bringing her with him so he could roll over and trap her with his elbows. Despite her skirts Emily moved to cradle him between her thighs. That morning she had seemed to fit so perfectly with his body, as though she had been made to measure for him. Was it simply luck or did she instinctively know how to mould herself to his bigger, broader frame?
‘Are you sore?’ He kissed her ear, holding himself in check.
‘I don’t think so. I just feel rather… strange.’
Blake lifted himself, his lips clinging for a moment. ‘I’ll be very careful. And there’s no-one around,’ he promised her. ‘Just sheep.’
‘We’ll shock them,’ she murmured, but she was already stirring against him, her mouth soft and welcoming as he bent to take it again.
It was not warm enough to strip her naked, he thought with regret, wishing he could see Emily, pale and rounded and slender, sprawled on daisy-spangled turf under a blue sky, watching him as he undressed. The beauty of her body had taken his breath and her innocent shyness had touched him, but he must not hurry her.
He remembered from his boyhood that there was a slope that was thick with wild flowers below the woodlands at Greystoke. When they returned he could weave blooms in her hair, he thought, his body heating at his imaginings.
‘What are you thinking of?’ she asked him and he realised he was still looking down at her.
In answer he rolled to one side and slid her skirts up, his fingers snagging slightly in the silk of her stocking, up to the garters, up to the smooth warmth of her thighs, up until he could brush the nest of springing curls. ‘Threading wild flowers into your hair.’
She blushed, as he expected she would when she caught his meaning, then turned her head a little. ‘There are some here,’ she offered. ‘I do not know what they are. Tiny white and blue ones.’
‘Emily, you are a constant source of delight to me.’ Blake reached out and picked some sprigs. ‘And a constant surprise.’
‘Why?’ She was lying, wantonly exposed, her gaze fixed on the clouds above them, her fingers spread, spearing into the grass. Her shyness had vanished, replaced, he thought – hoped – with trust.
‘I thought I would shock you.’ He began to place the flowers, their earthy, herbal scent mingling with the musk of aroused woman, and felt his body clench with desire.
Blake dipped his head, nuzzled, and she arched up, an incitement to his lips, his tongue, to taste and to caress. He doubted it had ever occurred to her that this might be part of lovemaking, but she did not try and stop him. Instead Emily’s fingers locked in his hair and she cried out as he found her centre. ‘Blake.’
He wanted her, had wanted to bury himself in her, but her pleasure, her reaction, was so powerful that he found he could control that need and focus just on her, on her delight. He used his tongue and his lips and his teeth and every ounce of skill he possessed to drive her wild. Long, lavish strokes of his tongue, wicked probes with its tip, gentle nips along the soft folds that opened to him, revealing her hot, honeyed core. He felt intoxicated as though he was drinking rich, sweet wine and all he wanted to do, all his desire, was to make love to Emily.
‘Oh, Blake,’ she sobbed and went rigid under his hands as he felt her convulse against his mouth and he steadied her, his mouth gentle, until she shuddered and was still. Then he raised himself, brushed down her skirts and lay beside her, cradling her until her eyes opened and she blinked up at him, bemused.
‘That was… Blake, is that allowed?’
‘Of course. Why should it not be?’
‘Because it is quite indecently wonderful.’ Emily turned her face to rub her cheek against his chest. ‘But not for you.’
‘Emily,’ Blake said, finding his voice oddly husky, ‘You have no idea.’
That must mean he enjoyed it too. Was it possible that if Blake could kiss her so intimately that she might reciprocate? His long body was loose and relaxed beside hers although a hard ridge of flesh pressed against her thigh and she realised that he was still very aroused.
She stifled a sigh. Loving him was very difficult. She was so proud of his courage and his sense of duty but she was afraid for him too and selfishly afraid of losing him to that duty. He was considering selling out and that was nothing to do with his marriage. So her conscience could be clear about that and she would not need to fear for his safety from French muskets again. But he had gone back once, might he not obey another order that sent him into danger if one came again? And underneath those thoughts was the unworthy disappointment that he had said his decision would be nothing to do with his marriage. She could not keep him at home, then.
Emily swallowed hard, opened her eyes and sat up. ‘Blake.’
‘Hmm?’ He was still sprawled in casual abandon. His hair had come loose and she gave in to the urge to run her fingers through it.
‘We are being watched.’
He sat up, then laughed at the sight of half a dozen sheep warily eyeing them. ‘So long as they do not have a shepherd.’