Her fingers clutched at his co
at, kneading the muscle and sinew beneath, begging him to never stop what he was doing. She wanted to wrap herself around him and hold him here, with his mesmerizing mouth and his deliciously wicked seduction.
Her life thus far had been a misery. Why not find the happiness where she could, when she could?
She was lost, awash in sensation and longing, her need for this man primitive.
“Persephone.” He said her name as if it were the highest praise. As if she were a deity and he was worshipping at her altar.
His mouth moved, bestowing kisses wherever it went. Over her breasts. He kissed her there, too, where the peaks were stiff and hungry, rising beneath the layers of fabric separating her bare skin from his lips. She ought to have been ashamed of her response, the obviousness of her desire, but she forgot to care entirely when his lips opened over the tip of her breast, and he sucked her nipple.
“Oh.” The lone word left her, all she could manage. Scarcely coherent.
With each draw, an answering desire tugged between her legs. She pressed herself against him, needing to be closer. No amount of proximity seemed as if it could ever be enough. His eyes were closed, the fan of his golden lashes falling over his cheeks in perfect symmetry. The hand that had been on the small of her back slid to her waist, then glided upward. He cupped her other breast, his thumb swirling over the nipple as he continued to tease her with suction and then light, little licks.
Softer than gossamer, the play of his tongue over her. His tender care, like his championing of her, turned Persephone’s insides molten. No one had ever touched her with such reverence, and she knew instinctively that no one else ever would.
Nor would she desire them to.
What was it about this man, Rafe Sutton?
It hardly matters, does it? He is not for you. This stolen, forbidden moment in the pre-dawn library is all you shall ever have.
She was taunting herself. Her mind knew this was wrong, but her heart wanted it to go on forever. Her heart longed for when she was five-and-twenty and Cousin Bartholomew did not loom over her, a menace from which she could not escape.
Rafe released her nipple, kissing the side of her breast before raising his head, his eyes opening to meet hers. “Bleeding hell, I can’t be doing this with you. You’re an innocent, a governess. I’m no better than Gregson.”
She was about to argue when the sound of voices and the telltale creak of footsteps in the hall reached her. A frantic glance toward the windows overlooking the street showed the undeniable glow of morning light filtering in. Heavens! She had been kissing him for so long she had lost all sense of time.
And now, the servants were moving about.
Which meant…
“Fucking hell,” Rafe swore, keeping his voice low as he set her apart from himself. “I can’t be caught here with you like this. It’ll ruin you.”
His concern for her would have warmed her at any other time, but now that his mouth had ceased weaving its spell over her, rational thought was beginning to return. She needed this position. She needed to remain hidden here, out of Cousin Bartholomew’s reach, for another two months. Everything depended upon it.
“I will go first,” she said, desperation taking command. “Wait until you can be certain no one will see you, and then you can leave.”
How calm she sounded, when inside, she was anything but. Kissing the sinfully handsome brother of her employer was not a habit of hers. Nor was such recklessness. She would have given herself to him. And she would not have regretted it, either.
But she had no wish to lose her post. Forging another letter of character and finding a new situation was more trouble she did not need to invite.
“Forgive me, Miss Wren. I never should ’ave touched you,” he rasped, looking as torn as he sounded.
The loss of his h was telling.
His reaction would have crushed her had she not been so desperate to flee. She took up the brace of candles and bolted without offering him a proper farewell, desperate to leave the library and return to the haven of her rooms, where no one could find fault with her actions.
It was only when she was safely within that she allowed herself to wonder which was worse, her willingness to be ruined, or his regret over what they had done.
CHAPTER 7
Regret filled Rafe’s mouth with a bitter taste as he stalked along the pavements. There was no excuse for what he had done. None worth a damned scrope. No denying it or trying to make it sound any better than what it was.
He had lingered in the library long enough to make certain no servants saw him leaving the same room she had exited. Ruining a governess was out of the question. He’d avoided the parson’s mousetrap thus far, and he’d continue evading it. And after what she had endured at the hands of Lord Gregson at her previous post, how could he defend all but seducing her this morning?
He could not. Nor could he excuse the start to the day. In lingering with Miss Wren, he had failed to realize the sun had risen, and it was past time for his arrival at the club. The work awaiting him would not finish itself.