until his own body suffused with a paroxysm of wracking shudders. He buried himself inside her as he climaxed, coating her womb with warm jets of his seed. His body locked inside her as wave after wave seemed to curl his spine, drawing raw, low, harsh sounds from somewhere deeper than his chest.
Perhaps, from his soul.
Eventually, his forehead fell against hers, and they stayed like that for an eternity, sharing breath and heat and a relieved sort of peace that had eluded them for months.
Sex with him was nothing like she remembered, and everything she’d wanted.
Perhaps it was different every time.
Oh, she hoped so…was it wicked of her to want to do it again when he remained inside of her?
Smoothing a featherlight caress down the soft cotton shirt covering his arms, she gave him an affectionate nudge with her nose.
That was all the encouragement he needed to gather her closer, lowering his head to kiss and kiss and kiss her until she thought she was in danger of another swoon. He took his tender time with her now, his lips pulling and tugging at hers. Exploring and soothing, nibbling and sampling as he allowed her to caress his jaw, the intricate fibers of his finely tailored vest, and wrap around to the silken panel on the back.
“One of these days,” she whispered, “we’ll make love in a bed.”
He released a breathy sound of mirth, but still seemed unable to summon words.
Heartened, she nuzzled him. “Do you know what I think?” she asked rhetorically. “I think, if we tried a little, that we could make a go at love.”
He pulled back from her. Out of her.
Prudence wanted to cry, to clutch at him, to plead with him not to retreat back behind his damnable façade. What had she been thinking speaking her mind out loud? She should have known better than to ruin the moment with sentiment. Not with a heart as fortified as his.
This had been her lifelong problem. She was never just happy with what people deigned to allow her.
She always demanded more.
His expression became guarded as he swiftly rearranged himself and righted her as well. “If I’ve learned anything from watching the successful relationships in my life, it’s that love takes trust. And that, we do not yet have.”
Though his words stung, she had to accept the veracity of them. “Friendship then… comradery at least?”
When he didn’t reply immediately, she reached for him, feeling him slip through her fingers like the fine silt at the beach.
“This isn’t nothing is it? It isn’t empty.” She tugged at him, needing him back against her, if only for a moment. “Because it doesn’t feel empty to me.”
When she worried he’d resist her, he didn’t. He rested his temple against hers and took in a deep breath, as if he could lock the scent of her in his lungs. “This…isn’t nothing,” he ceded. “That is what makes it dangerous.”
Pru did her best not to beam. It was something to him. She was something. Something she could work with. Could expand upon.
“Well…that’s a start, isn’t it?”
He nodded carefully. “You could say it’s a start.”
She kissed him and wriggled until he stepped back to help her down so she could smooth at her dress and hair. “Now that we’ve established that, I’ll leave you to examine the evidence I’ve brought you. Perhaps if I can help you prove me innocent of murder, you’ll think me worthy of your heart.”
Chapter 14
Morley couldn’t believe he was thinking of fucking his wife in church.
It wasn’t even her fault. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She dressed as modest as a nun and adopted the visage of a saint for nobody’s benefit as they occupied the front pew and no one but him could see her.
He’d not even had to mention that her Sunday best wouldn’t do for a parish in Whitechapel. She’d emerged from her room wearing a gold and green striped high-necked morning gown that might have been the simplest in her trousseau. Her hair was pulled back into an uncomplicated braided knot and her hat and veil were suitably staid. Still she was the most superbly dressed woman in the congregation.
And the most desirable.
The sermon had nothing to do with the pleasures of the flesh, or the sins of seduction. Indeed, it was a rather sedate ecclesiastical exploration of personal generosity that’d set his libido to humming like the ceaseless vibrations of bumblebee wings. Not overshadowing things per se, but always there on the periphery, waiting to