Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

As a man of honor should, he’d protected her. But the abrupt intrusion of worldly practicality into that profound experience had tainted her wholehearted surrender.

A baby out of wedlock would be a disaster. During her marriage, she’d never conceived, but Wilfred had been old and mostly indifferent. She had a suspicion Gervaise’s seed was considerably more potent.

This chagrin was lunacy for a woman who wasn’t sure she wanted to marry again. Although if she were to choose a husband, she began to think Gervaise mightn’t be a bad option.

“Thank you,” she murmured, as he ran the cloth over her skin. She lay unmoving under his care, although she still wasn’t completely at ease with her nakedness. “For everything.”

“I don’t want you regretting anything we do,” he said softly, rinsing the flannel in the lukewarm water, then returning to his task. He parted her legs, and the water felt marvelous on the hot, swollen flesh between her thighs.

It was years since she’d had a man in her bed—and Gervaise’s proportions were considerably more generous than Wilfred’s. And he’d been much more energetic. She’d loved what he’d done, but now she felt stretched and a little sore.

“I should feel more remorseful than I do,” she admitted. “And shocked.”

“Yet you don’t?” He dropped the cloth into the water with a small splash and returned the bowl to the washstand.

“I must be irredeemable.” Amy pushed higher on the pillows and shoved the heavy fall of hair back from her face. She didn’t want anything to obscure the spectacular view. Female appreciation warmed her blood as her gaze traced his strong back and legs, and the firm globes of his buttocks.

When he turned to face her, the interest in his eyes echoed the interest his body betrayed. Late sunlight poured through the window and traced him in gold, as if even the sun couldn’t resist contributing to his splendor. “Oh, I hope so.”

She laughed. “You’re no use.”

His eyes narrowed with purpose. “I dare you to say that in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Maybe five.” His smile deepened. “Tell me what you feel.”

She stretched against the bedhead, luxuriating in how his eyes focused on her breasts. Her bashfulness receded under his blatant admiration. Nakedness had its advantages. “Naughty certainly.”

“That’s a start.”

Her voice lowered to seriousness. “I never imagined I could feel like I did in your arms. You have a gift, my lord.”

Unexpectedly, her heartfelt praise displeased him. “It’s not just me. It’s the two of us together. You’re incomparable, Amy. And the only person who doesn’t recognize that is you.”

She didn’t want to ponder her shortcomings. After all, the afternoon would soon be over, and she’d have to go back to London and pretend she was the same pragmatic creature she’d been before today. She stretched out her hand. “I’ll tell you something—I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world when you touch me.”

His smile filled with the sweetness that always turned her mind to soup. “Then it must be time to touch you again.”

“An excellent suggestion,” she said, fearing that she smirked. Difficult to resist smugness when he looked at her like that. Like she was a piece of Turkish delight, and he wanted to snap her up with one bite of his straight, white teeth.

Gervaise took her hand, but didn’t yet push her down for another passionate wrestle. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this? I’m not a brute. I can wait until next time.”

Her eyebrows arched in taunting inquiry. “Next time?”

“I don’t want a passing conquest.” He lifted her hand, and the graze of his lips across her skin made her quake with anticipation. Stronger than before, now she knew just what she anticipated. “If I had my way, I’d whisk you away to some secret haven and sate every appetite. Day after glorious day.”

For a dazed interval, she stared into those intense, perfect features and imagined what that would be like. Hour after hour in Gervaise’s bed. Night after night. Taking their pleasure, until they collapsed with exhaustion in a tangle of naked limbs. Then seeking pleasure anew. Nobody nearby to interrupt or observe or judge.

And endless time to talk to him. She wanted him. Of course she did. But more than that, she longed to see into his soul. He was such a compelling mixture of rake and hero.

A bird called from a tree outside and shattered the alluring fantasy of escape. It was impossible. She wasn’t some starry-eyed milkmaid in thrall to the amorous plowboy. With fishing rod or not.

She had responsibilities, obligations. If she forsook her reputation, she’d damage her family’s future. Silas and Helena and Robert all had children who would suffer from gossip about a notorious aunt.

Amy beat back the sudden wistfulness. Regret held no sway in this room. What she had was the fulfillment of a dream. Asking for more was greedy.

She rose to lace her arms around Gervaise’s powerful neck and draw him down for a bold, open-mouthed kiss. When at last he raised his head, she smiled and told herself to be content with the present.