‘I am not exhausted, vulnerable or frightened now,’ Eva said deliberately. And waited.
His reaction seemed to take for ever. He put both feet on the ground, then levered himself up on his elbows and finally sat up, looking at her. The sunset painted gold and rose across his face. ‘What are you saying, Eva?’
‘That I feel myself now. More myself than I have for nine years and I can see clearly what I need and what is important to me. I have been chaste since my husband—’
‘I know. I could tell almost by looking at you. Eva, you do not have to—’
‘Let me finish.’ She smiled at him, smiled at the serious expression in the grey eyes.
‘Here, I am not the Grand Duchess. I am not a widow, I am not a mother. I am just Eva. And I am alone in a beautiful place with a man I desire and I trust and I like.’ Jack moved abruptly, as though he was going to stand, and Eva held out a hand to still him. ‘I am just a woman, asking a man if he would like to make love to me. If you say no, if I am wrong about what I see in your eyes, what I feel when you are close to me, then I apologise. If you lie to me, I will know and that will hurt far more than you explaining that you do not want to do this.’
‘Not want? I have wanted you since I first set eyes on you.’ The breath, so painfully held, left her lungs in a soundless sigh of relief. Jack pushed himself up so he knelt on one knee, the movement bringing him close enough to take her hand. ‘I desire you so much it hurts, but I fear hurting you far more than I fear that pain. Eva, have you thought about this?’
‘Idiot man,’ she said roughly, tears forming behind her eyes. ‘I have thought of very little else since I turned and saw you in my bedchamber, brought there by magic.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Jack said. Oh, thank God, he is smiling…
‘Well, I admit I think a lot about Freddie, and Philippe and the Duchy and how we are going to get back safely and whether I have a blister on my behind. But in all the gaps between I think of you and how I want to be in your arms and feel your mouth on me.’
‘Do you want to sleep on it?’ He was still regarding her with questioning eyes.
‘No,’ she declared roundly. ‘I want to sleep with you.’
Chapter Thirteen
Jack searched the wide brown eyes looking so candidly into his. She meant what she said, and he could believe that she had been thinking about it, seriously, all day. Something like this, for Eva, was not to be taken lightly. And for him, after an adult life treating such encounters as either a matter of amicable business, or simply a fleeting moment of mutual pleasure, the responsibility of what she was offering felt as heavy as the duty laid upon him to keep her life safe. She, for some bone-deep reason he could not understand, and was afraid to analyse, was different from all the women before.
‘Well, that was definite enough.’ He smiled at her decisive declaration, fascinated by the play of colour under her creamy skin. She was shocking herself, he could tell, seeing the soft pink ebb and flow in her cheeks. But she was enjoying that sensation at the same time. ‘Eva, we are out of our real worlds here, for as long as this journey lasts. What happens when we get back to England?’
‘I do not know,’ she said frankly. ‘I do not care.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I do know—it must stop then, I cannot risk the scandal. But we may never get there, for all your skill and courage. I do not want to add losing this to the list of my regrets.’
‘Come, then.’ Jack stood up with a sensation that he had cast the dice, laid his bet and that his life would change for ever with the fall of those fickle white cubes. Which was madness. She was right; this liaison, whatever it was, could last only as long as it took to feel the swell of the English Channel under their boat’s keel. How could that change his life?
He held out his hand to Eva and she took it, with a certain formality, and got to her feet. ‘Let me put these together.’ He shook out the two bedrolls to their widest, laying one upon the other and raked the fire, adding a thick log. He did not want her becoming chilled; he sensed she was nervous enough, despite the strength of her declaration.
When he turned, she was balanced on one foot, tugging at her boot. ‘I’ll do that,’ he promised, ‘and you can help me with mine. Let’s start at the top.’ The neckcloth he had tied for her that morning was still firmly in its knot. Jack untied it, unwrapped it from around her neck and folded it carefully in his hands before raising it to his face and inhaling. He held her startled gaze as he filled his senses with the fragrance of her skin.
‘But I didn’t wear any scent this morning,’ she murmured.
‘I know.’ Jack put the neckcloth into his pocket. ‘I can smell gardenia perfume any time I want. I cannot bottle the scent of you.’
Eva reached up and began to untie his neckcloth, her face serious as she fiddled with the knot. He ached for her to hurry, desperate to ignore clothes and simply pull her to the ground and take her here, now, while he still felt he had any control left. But this was Eva, and for her this night was not something to be taken lightly, and for him his whole focus and pleasure must be her delight.
She had managed the knot and was untangling the neckcloth, pulling it free and bunching it in her hands, burying her nose in it in imitation of his gesture. ‘Man, warm cloth, bay soap—Jack.’ She folded it and put it in her own pocket. ‘For nights when I may need courage to sleep,’ she said simply, starting on his waistcoat buttons, her lower lip caught between her teeth in an agony of concentration. Jack imagined her applying the same intensity to touching his body and shifted, uncomfortably aware of the constriction of well-fitting breeches.
To hasten matters he threaded his arms through hers and began work on her waistcoat. The effect as their release allowed her bosom to swell free was far more interesting than the equivalent result in his case, he was certain.
‘This feels very odd,’ he observed, his fingers grazing against fine suiting cloth. ‘No ribbons or bows, it’s like undressing myself.’
‘Indeed? Her eyebrows went up in mock-outrage, then, as though teasing was too dangerous a step into intimacy, she slid her hands up hurriedly and pushed his coat from his shoulders, then his waistcoat. The warm air was delicious through the fine linen of his shirt. Jack felt his eyelids grow heavy as he contemplated the effect of that breeze on bare skin. His, hers.
Jack copied her actions, pushing off her coat and waistcoat, and studied the result. The breeches, which he had chosen with some care, moulded her rounded hips and thighs,
but were inevitably too big in the waist. She had cinched it in hard with a leather belt and her hands were hovering, uncertain, over the buckle.
Jack reached out, brushing her fingers away and undid it. He had to stand closer to do so, no longer able to see the whole of her, but close enough now to observe how her pupils had dilated, and trace the flickering pulse under the fine skin at her throat. His own pulse was thundering in his ears as though he had run full tilt up a flight of stairs as he drew the length of plaited leather slowly through the belt loops. It dropped away, a warm snake in his hands.
With a snap of his wrist he flipped it around her again, this time lower, around her buttocks, catching the free end in his left hand and using it to pull her in against him. With both hands holding the leather he could not hold her, but she leaned in of her own accord, her face tipped up for his kiss.