Instead of picking up his clothing as she expected, Guy took the document from the table and handed it to her. ‘So far am I certain that I have driven to London and back to obtain this from Doctors’ Commons.’
‘Doctors’ Commons?’ Hester unfolded the stiff parchment and read. ‘The Faculty Office? Guy, this is a special licence!’
‘Well, I sincerely hope I have not picked up the Archbishop’s laundry list in error.’ He was standing, hands on hips, looking down at her. ‘Hester, will you believe I love you and I want to marry you, because I am not sure what else I can do to convince you and I really do not want to have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off to church on Christmas morning.’
‘Oh.’ Hester stared at the document in her hands, then up at the man waiting so patiently at her bedside. ‘Oh, yes, Guy, I-’
She got no further before she was in his arms, being held so tightly she thought she might faint. His face was buried in her hair; through a haze of happiness and desire she could feel his mouth moving as he murmured words of love into the thick brown curls.
Everything inside her seemed to be liquid, hot, aching. Hester wriggled until she could hug him in return, flatten her palms against the muscled back through the thin linen of his shirt, inhale the spicy male scent of him, nuzzle her lips along the line where his hair curled into his frost-cold nape. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’ He pulled back to look at her. ‘May I show you how much?’
There was no doubt and no hesitation, although she could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she moved across the bed to make room for him. Guy shucked off his shirt and began to unbutton his breeches. Hester closed her eyes, cracked them open a fraction, took one look and then closed them again with a little gasp. The reality of an unclothed, aroused man in one’s bedroom far exceeded anything her fevered dreams had conjured up.
The bed dipped, the covers flipped back over her and she was pulled down against a long, hard body. There was a second of breathless stillness then Hester gave an outraged shriek and recoiled. ‘Your feet are freezing!’
Guy regarded her solemnly, only the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying his amusement. ‘You know, Hester, in the frequent, heated and very detailed fantasies I had entertained of making love to you, the need for a hot brick in flannel or a pair of bed socks never occurred to me.’
Hester collapsed on his chest, helpless with giggles. ‘I… could… find a brick,’ she managed to gasp only to find herself rolled over in a very masterful way.
‘Never mind,’ Guy growled in her ear, ‘I will simply have to find a way to heat my blood up.’
After that she found she had little opportunity, or breath, for giggling. His lips were slow and tormenting on hers, demanding, teasing, nibbling until she was gasping for some sort of release. Even then he kept his mouth on hers, biting gently on her full lower lip as his hands caressed down over her breasts, pushing away the thin lawn that covered them.
Hester arched to meet him, her own hands clinging, kneading, stroking down the long back muscles, down over the narrow waist to the flat hips, up to the curve of his buttocks.
He rolled her again, holding her for a moment balanced on his body as he pulled the nightgown free to float disregarded to the floor. Her whole body pressed against his, every inch of it hot now, every inch of it frighteningly, magnificently male.
‘Don’t be frightened, sweetheart.’ His voice was soft in her ear, coming from a long way off as she felt his weight on her, found herself parting instinctively for him, gasping in shocked wonderment as he entered her.
She had not expected it to be like this. Not to feel utterly one with him, certainly not to be swept up in a ravel of overwhelming sensation that was winding tighter and tighter until she felt she could not bear it any more until it burst and she cried out against his mouth, only to feel it swallowed in his own cry of triumphant release.
It was not possible to move. She did not want to move, except that she did not think she could breathe. How long had they lain here, tangled within the cradle of each other’s limbs? ‘Guy?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Can you move, just a little bit?’
‘Mmm.’ He rolled on to his side, bringing her with him to lie in the crook of his arm. His breath tickled her ear as he nuzzled gently along the soft skin of her temple. ‘You taste of vanilla and cream and woman.’
Hester stretched as best she could, then snuggled back. ‘You taste of cinnamon and dark honey and man.’
‘Sounds like a recipe for syllabub,’ he murmured. ‘My feet are warm. Shall we try that again? I feel that practice is essential and I am sure there must be at least six places on your body I have not kissed yet.’
‘Again?’ Hester opened her eyes and blinked at him in the candlelight. His eyes were heavy with a dark heat that stirred new longings deep inside her. ‘Again, tonight?’
‘And again, and again and again.’ Guy’s dark head dipped below the edge of the bedcovers. ‘So soft…’
Hester woke in the clear light of morning and lay unmoving, listening. But there was no one else breathing in the room, and when she stretched out a questing arm the bed beside her was empty. But the hollow in the mattress was still warm and the pillow, when she rolled over and buried her face in it, smelled of cinnamon and dark honey and Guy.
There was a scratch at the door and Susan came in with a cup of chocolate. The two young women eyed each other uncertainly.
‘About last night…’ they began together.
‘I was going to tell you about Ben Aston,’ Susan blurted out, setting the cup down and going to find Hester’s dressing gown to put round her shoulders. ‘Only I thought he ought to come and tell you himself and he said he was bashful.’
‘Bashful? Aston? Well, if you say so, Susan. Do you love him?’ A vehement nod of the head. ‘And he wants to marry you?’ Another nod. ‘Where will you live?’