Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

Except he sliced through every attempt to defend herself. He left her terrifyingly vulnerable, as though she’d lost a couple of layers of skin. She’d never felt at anyone’s mercy, the way she did with Gervaise.

To hide her powerful emotion, she bent to retrieve her drawers. “I’d better take these. Otherwise Lord Shelton will get a shock tomorrow morning.”

Her voice emerged unnaturally high, and she avoided Gervaise’s eyes, although some instinct told her he watched her closely. “Amy?”

“Please turn around.” She knew she acted like a ninny, but she felt horridly uncomfortable. The stupid fact was that she’d felt so alive and happy and safe with him pounding into her like a hammer. Now it was over, she was frantic for some privacy to gather her composure. If she appeared in the ballroom, surely everyone must guess exactly what s

he’d been doing.

She chanced a glance at him. A faint frown marked his face.

“Please,” she said with a small, imploring gesture.

His lips compressed with impatience, but he cooperated.

Because her hands shook so badly, she took an age to tie her drawers back on. “You…you can look now,” she said in a husky voice.

She’d hoped some poise would return, once she’d got her undergarments off the floor. It didn’t.

When Gervaise turned, the eyes that met hers were somber. “I didn’t withdraw.”

Of course he didn’t. Perhaps that was why she was so on edge. Except she’d gloried in that luminous moment when he’d given himself up to her.

“I know,” she said in a thready voice.

“I should apologize,” he said with a hint of grimness. “But in truth, I don’t think I can. It was the most perfect moment of my life.”

She searched his face for insincerity, although she was sure he’d always been honest with her. “Really?”

“I know it’s a disaster.” He sighed and ran his hand through his rumpled hair. “But it doesn’t feel like one.”

Amy examined her heart. She found confusion, and the constant yearning that by now felt almost like an old friend. But strangely, no regret. Even more unexpected, no fear.

“It doesn’t feel like a disaster to me either,” she said slowly.

He started to smile. “Well, then.”

She frowned. “Well, then, what?”

Gervaise stepped forward and caught one of her gloved hands. “Amy Mowbray, will you make me the happiest man in London and marry me?”

Her heart began to crash about like a drunken sailor. Whether with horror or excitement, she wasn’t sure. Probably a turbulent mixture of the two. “Because you’re worried about a baby?”

He shook his golden head, and his blue eyes were grave. “I’ve wanted to marry you from the first. I said so. Don’t you remember?”

“I…I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I told you I was wooing you.”

“Into bed.”

“Into my bed.” He paused. “And my life.”

“Oh,” she said, wishing she could come up with something more coherent. Tenderness softened his features, and she closed her eyes to delay the inevitable yielding.

“May I kiss you?”

She opened her eyes and pulled away, needing to think. And stupidly missed the contact, the moment it was broken. “You don’t usually ask.”