“What are you doing?” she gasped as he molded himself to her buttocks.
“Furthering your store of knowledge,” he murmured as he carefully slipped inside her.
Gillian’s sharp intake of breath signaled her pleasure as he began to move behind her. In and out and faster and harder until his final thrust sent water cascading over the edge of the tub and across the bedroom floor, and they both collapsed against the rim of the bathtub in an explosion of rampant desire.
“This is the first t
ime I’ve ever bathed with my lady’s maid,” Gillian quipped when Colin disengaged himself and helped her to her feet. She stood ankle deep in bathwater as she turned to face him.
“As you’ve shown such an affinity for it,” Colin retorted, “I can promise you it won’t be the last.”
“Lavery is in for a surprise,” Gillian teased.
“Not if she’s French,” Colin replied with a wink.
“Oh?” Gillian arched an eyebrow in a very good imitation of the gesture Colin used.
“I’ve spent a great deal of time in France over the years,” Colin said, reaching for a length of toweling. “The French are far more adventurous in the bedchamber than are the English.”
“Is that so?” she asked a bit more sharply than she intended.
Colin grinned as the green-eyed monster of jealousy settled on Gillian’s shoulder. “A man can learn a lot from a French lady’s maid. I added a great deal of information to my already impressive store of knowledge in some of the finest houses in Paris.” He smiled as he trailed the towel over her sensitive flesh from her belly button to the triangle of dark curls between her thighs.
Gillian shivered beneath his erotic touch. “Well, I, for one, have always felt that good solid English girls make the best lady’s maids.”
“They’re adequate,” Colin agreed. “Some are even exceptional, but most lack the true adventurous and playful nature of a French lady’s maid.” Colin caressed her with his finger as he pretended to ponder her words more closely. “And none, I think you will find, will ever be as adventurous or playful or knowledgeable as the lady’s maid you have currently engaged.” He lowered his voice until his words seemed to rumble in his chest, becoming a husky, seductive growl. “Or as trustworthy or as loyal.”
Gillian held her breath in anticipation. “No?”
“No,” he replied.
“Then, I see no reason to change,” she told him. “For I am more than satisfied with the lady’s maid I’ve currently engaged.”
“Then, I’ve no need of references?” He teased her with the towel, retracing the path his fingers had taken with the soft cloth.
“No,” she managed, her breath ragged with need. “For I have great need of you.”
“Now?” he asked.
“And for a great many years to come,” she pronounced with a sigh as he lavished her aching center with attention.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Let me take you a button-hole lower.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Love’s Labour’s Lost
Gillian entered her bedchamber to find her lady’s maid had laid out an evening gown and undergarments for her to wear.
“I thought we’d dress for dinner and give the staff a chance to get a look at my bride.”
Gillian turned to find Colin lounging in the doorway. He was already dressed in evening clothes. “You were hiding me from the staff this morning,” Gillian quipped. “Things have changed beyond recognition in the passing of a day.”
“You weren’t dressed to meet the staff this morning,” Colin reminded her. “And I wasn’t hiding you.” He winked. “I was shielding you.”
“And tonight, you wish to show me off,” she concluded. “I’ve kept you in bed all day.” Colin leered at her. Gillian batted her eyelashes at him. “Not all day,” she said. “I did spend a pleasant hour or so in the bath.”