that despite the cloth she’d used she’d managed to bite her lip. She pulled the cloth from her mouth and hid her face from him, pressing it against his shoulder even though it was too dark to see. He was going to say something horrible, she just knew it. He was going to mock her pathetic reaction to his practiced touch, he was going to make her feel…
“Lovely,” he whispered against her ear, smoothing her tangled hair. “Perfectly lovely.”
And she wanted to weep.
17
She lay in his arms, trembling like a virgin, and he tried to stifle his guilt. In truth, she hadn’t said no. She’d even asked for more, and there was no way he was going to stop with just that small climax. Because he was fairly certain that in some ways Melisande Carstairs was a virgin. It seemed she’d never felt any pleasure at all in bed, much less the most exquisite pleasure of what the French called le petit mort. The little death.
Right now he would have surrendered himself to that little death quite happily, but there was a time and place for everything, and this wasn’t the place. He smoothed her skirts back down as he held her, breathing in the sweet scent of her, flowers and feminine arousal, and he wondered how his life had gotten so complicated. He’d come to London to find a wife and to have sex, and so far he’d failed at the first and not done terribly well at the second. No one seemed to interest him. Except for the enigma that was Charity Carstairs.
Just as well he’d changed his mind about Miss Pennington. That had been her brother out there in the corridor, talking with Lord Petersham, and he already had one brother entangled in the Heavenly Host. He didn’t want to rescue two.
Slowly, slowly, her trembling had stopped. Her face was still pressed against his shoulder, hiding from him, hiding from herself, but her hands had released their bruising hold on his arms and fallen back. He wondered if she’d marked him. He expected her hands would ache later on. She’d realize why and she’d remember, and she’d presumably feel angry and shamed and ridiculous. But her body would remember and warm at the thought.
Jesus, he needed to start thinking of other things—and right now—or he was going to flip her skirts back up and take her there and then. He had no doubt he could persuade her. She was still in that slightly dazed, postorgasmic trance, but before long strength would return to her limbs and she’d be ready to slap him again. He was already going to have a difficult time dealing with her after this delicious moment of intimacy. If he actually tupped her she’d probably come after him and shoot him.
He slowly released her, setting her back against the corner of the little cave. He knew what it was for, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice the restraints that lay about the place. He wanted her to think of the room fondly.
“I’ll make certain they’re gone,” he whispered against her ear.
She nodded, and closed her eyes, and he wanted to kiss her eyelids. But she was already withdrawing, and if he tried she’d probably clout him.
There was no sign of the two men, though they’d left torches burning, so presumably they were coming back. He wondered if they’d found the cave-in yet. Would they come running back here once they found it, or would they stay to investigate? Did he have time to get Melisande out of this place before they returned?
What was the worst that could happen? He could always pretend someone had told him how to get here, and he’d been enjoying Lady Carstairs. What would they do, report him for trespassing?
But it would destroy any advantage they’d gained. He’d considered trying to persuade them to let him join, but he had no idea whom to approach, and he suspected he’d be blackballed. He’d never had much of a reputation for unbridled lechery—he found he preferred one partner at a time, and that should be a willing female. Not what the Heavenly Host seemed interested in nowadays.
No, his best bet was to get Melisande out of there before they were found out, and the longer he hesitated the less likely he was to succeed.
He ducked back into the cave. She was sitting up, and she’d made an effort to tidy her hair. “Time to go,” he said, and scooped her up. “I