emotion, thought, and hunger in full, vivid detail. Now that she had tasted the Bordeaux, she would never settle for the ratafia again.
Cradling his face, she gave him a reassuring kiss. “No, you did not hurt me.” A different kind of heat spread across her cheeks. “It’s been a long time, is all.”
He covered one of her hands, lifting it enough to kiss her palm. “You needn’t be brave. Allow me to share your burden, so that we may both enjoy the moment.”
The ache in her throat returned. But not for long. He transferred those decadent lips to hers while he eased his shaft back a few inches. Then he pushed forward until her muscles tautened around him again.
Lifting his head, he locked his gaze with hers, repeating the action of his lower body over and over until finally he settled fully between her hips. “Ready?” he whispered.
She nodded, wrapping her arms around him. The first three long strokes were more exploratory than passionate. By the sixth stroke, Catherine couldn’t breathe. The twelfth stroke started an avalanche of sensations that had them both burying their faces in the other’s shoulder to muffle their cries of pleasure.
For several heart-pounding seconds, they stayed locked in each other’s embrace, enjoying the aftershocks of their lovemaking. And then he lifted his head, kissed her with a reverence that surprised her, and drew away, protecting her modesty with an expert flick of her skirts and pressing a clean handkerchief into her palm.
Giving her some privacy, he swiveled away to refasten his trousers.
“Thank you,” she said.
Without a word, he held out his hand to assist her off the table and waited until her legs regained their strength. The process took much longer than it should have. “Perhaps I should sit for a minute.”
He did not leave her side, and she found it impossible to meet his eyes as she settled into a nearby chair. She stared down at the wrinkles in her black skirts, at what both represented—the wrinkles and the color—and experienced a moment of conscience. What was she doing having intimate relations with the man who might have ordered her husband’s death? What wickedness had invaded her soul to make her crave the ecstasy of his caress?
If word got out about their indiscretion, she would be ruined and her daughter would be mocked. The home they’d made for themselves at Winter’s Hollow would be destroyed by a single act of idiocy.
He traced a finger down her cheek. “How do you fare?”
She made to cover his hand and lean into his caress, but stopped herself. Even now, her body hungered for his touch again. But she could not allow herself to fall under this man’s spell. Not now. Maybe not ever. From this point forward, she had to consider how her actions would affect her daughter. No more mindless pleasure.
Smiling up at him, she said, “I’m very well.”
He kissed her again, and Catherine closed her eyes. She would be strong next time.
When he finally pulled away, he tapped her nose. “I did warn you.”
His arrogant comment penetrated the mist of pleasure he’d cast around her. She eyed him with displeasure a moment before she raked her chair back and clipped his toe. He grunted, his leather Hessians providing little protection against a stout oak leg. Rising, she glanced at his injured foot. “Pardon, my lord. I should have warned you.”
His grimace turned to an appreciative grin. “Touché, madam.” He waved his hand toward the door. “Shall we go meet with your army of craftsmen? I vow to act like I care.”
“See that you do, my lord.” As she rounded the chair, she ground the heel of her walking boot into his injured toe. In a flash, he grabbed her waist, twirled her around, and kissed her hard before setting her away.
Indicating the door again, he said, “After you, my dear.”
She stared, surprised by his playfulness. Then her eyes narrowed.
“Your retribution shall have to wait,” he said. “We have repairs to see to. You don’t want Mr. Hayton’s cottage to flood again, do you?”
The tenants. She had to focus on the tenants, but not before imparting her own warning. “I have a long memory, my lord. You would do well to remember that fact.”
Catherine tucked a stray hair behind her ear and strode from the room, wishing for a looking glass and delighting in the earl’s uneven gait.
Eleven
“You had an urgent matter you wished to discuss, my lord?” Frederick Cochran eyed his companion with thinly veiled