Untouched

She watched his dazed fog of pleasure recede. Guilt lacerated her. She had no right to spoil this occasion for him. She hadn’t expected him to demonstrate great skill. She’d wanted to make love to Matthew Lansdowne, not some practiced rakehell who knew how to touch her body but had no interest in her soul. Well, she’d got what she wanted. He was a man. He’d done what men do. Clearly he’d liked it.

Good for him.

She smothered the sour thought. She’d set out to give him pleasure. His delight should offer recompense. Perhaps it would have, if dissatisfaction didn’t gnaw at her like a hungry dog on a bone.

He lifted himself on his elbows and studied her with what she’d dubbed his botanical look. She resented feeling like a scientific specimen. She resented that those clever eyes might look closely enough to discern the unhappy, inadequate soul she hid beneath her sniping.

“You’re angry,” he said neutrally.

“No, I’m not!” she snapped then wished she’d kept quiet as one black brow arched in disbelief.

“My mistake,” he said in that same even voice. It sliced at her taut nerves like one of his grafting knives.

“Please get off me,” she choked out. If she stayed under him much longer, she’d start crying. Then he’d comfort her and she’d feel even more like a peevish witch than she did now. A peevish witch and a failure as a woman. Self-hatred knotted her stomach.

He pulled free and rolled over to lie on his back. She took her first full breath in what felt like hours. Her throat was tight with tears she refused to shed. Gingerly, she sat up, aware of aches in places she’d forgotten.

Face it, Grace. The deed is done, however disappointing it was.

She’d irrevocably lost any right to call herself a virtuous woman. Her father’s dire predictions when she married Josiah had finally come true. She’d given herself to a man who wasn’t her husband. She was now a daughter of sin.

If only sin had been slightly more…sinful.

She glanced across at Matthew, expecting him to look annoyed or triumphant. But he stared at the ceiling and frowned as though he worked on a horticultural problem. She’d seen that expression when he tried to resurrect a rose that wasn’t shooting with the vigor he expected. The memory was an unwelcome reminder that she genuinely liked the Marquess of Sheene. She liked his courage, his forbearance, his kindness, his curiosity, his honesty.

And heaven help her, even after what had just happened, she liked how he looked.

Lying against the pillows with a thoughtful expression on his striking face, he was every woman’s dream. Her gaze traveled down his lean chest and his flat stomach to his member lying loose on his thigh, to the long, straight athlete’s legs.

He shifted his regard from the ceiling to her. His organ wasn’t quite as flaccid as it had been.

She blushed. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t admire his body and he returned her interest with interest of his own.

Then she recalled he wasn’t the only naked person in this room. If she wasn’t careful, he’d have her on her back again. Hurriedly, she scooped the crumpled nightdress from the floor and clutched it in front of her.

“I have to wash,” she said nervously as he hardened before her eyes.

How could he recover so quickly? Apparently vigorous young men were less easily exhausted than tired old ones like Josiah.

“Then wash, Grace.” Unbelievably he smiled, a slow curve of his lips. That sweet smile tugged at her, made her recall why she’d done this in the first place.

No!

This was what had got her into trouble last time.

Never again. Never, never again.

She wished she could say she walked to the screen with a queen’s composure. But she knew she skittered for cover like an antelope sighting the lion she’d compared him to earlier.

She snatched the ewer of warm water and poured some into a bowl. Her hands trembled so badly that she splashed the wooden floor under her bare feet.

/> Calm, Grace, calm.

She picked up a flannel and soaped it with unnecessary violence.

Why had she imagined sex with Matthew would be better than sex with Josiah? Just because she wanted Lord Sheene in a way she’d never wanted her husband. Just because he was young and handsome and when he’d kissed her, the pleasure made her think she’d die.

Kissing must be where pleasure stopped for a woman.