Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,51
three years, and suddenly everything had changed.
She no longer felt overtall and gawky. She felt sleek, sensual, her skin exquisitely sensitive to the feel of the sheets, the remembered feel of his hands that went places they should never have gone.
His mouth had gone there as well.
He'd taken her every way he could, he'd said, and she was exhausted, sensitized. And hungry.
Hungry for the smell of food beyond the thick curtain, the unmistakable scent of coffee and toast and bacon. Hungry for the touch of his hands, his long fingers, his body pressing hers down into the mattress.
She was mad. She'd disgraced herself, been ruined into the bargain, and the only way she could possibly redeem herself would be to scramble from the bed, wrapped in whatever she could find to preserve what was left of her modesty, and insist on being released.
She didn't want to be released. She wanted to stay in that bed all day, within the touch and the scent of the sheets. She wanted to make sure she didn't forget any of it—her fear, her anger, her shattering delight. It wasn't going to happen again, he'd already assured her of that. One night was all he'd wanted.
And there was no one else she'd even consider going near. What she'd done in the darkness with Adrian Rohan, what had been done to her, was so private, so darkly wonderful, that the very thought of one of her occasional elderly suitors trying the same thing was horrifying.
No, this would be enough for a lifetime. Even if she was greedy enough to want more, this would do. As long as she could keep things clear in her mind so that she could relive it.
When she returned home she would write it all down in exquisite detail, just so she wouldn't forget anything. She grinned in the darkness. Did women ever write of such things? There were countless French novels on the subject, hidden in rich men's libraries, and she'd always been unaccountably curious, but if Lina's husband had ever possessed such a thing it was long gone.
Besides, reading someone else's experiences would be almost as bad as lying beneath a stranger. She only wanted her own, to relive over and over when the need arose later in life.
She heard footsteps approach the bed, and she swiftly shut her eyes, feigning deep sleep. She could feel him watching her for a long moment, and she would have given anything to see the expression on his face. Whether it was boredom, distaste or impatience.
She was being pathetic—she was determined to open her eyes, but by the time she did, the curtain had closed again, and he'd moved away.
"Will you be attending the picnic this morning, your lordship?" The servant's voice was clearer now that she was paying attention. "Your cousin has requested that you join his party."
Adrian's laughter was without humor. "I imagine he has. I suppose he asked you all about my partner for the night?"
"He did, sir."
"And you told him...?"
"Nothing, sir. A good servant knows when to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut."
"And you're a very good servant, Dormin,” Adrian said lazily. "You may tell my cousin that I'm intending to stay incommunicado for the remainder of the Revels. My partner is more than sufficient for my needs."
There was a dear hesitation from the servant. "And if Lady Whitmore should ask? She's already sent two housemaids out to inquire about her friend."
"We've already agreed that you know how to keep your mouth shut, haven't we?" Adrian's voice was silky with menace. "It would distress me to dismiss you after all these years."
"I've served you well and discreetly for many years, my lord. I would be more disturbed to know I had failed you in any way. No one will discover anything from me." His voice was growing fainter, and she guessed he was moving toward the outer door set in the thick stone wall. "Is there anything else you require from me, my lord?"
He was leaving, Charlotte thought. Her chance of escape was leaving, while she lay abed like an eastern houri, awaiting the return of her pasha. Get up, she told herself impatiently. For God's sake, say
She didn't move. She heard the heavy door close, shutting out the outside light, enveloping them in candlelit darkness once more. Heard the ominous click of the lock. Felt the ominous flow of relief.
He said he wasn't going to need another partner for the nest few days. It sounded as