the narrow hallway and then up the stairs.
Thomas appreciated the sway of her lush hips. Upon reaching the bedchamber, they made straight for the canopied bed. Grace fell back onto the mattress. With a quick tug of her hand, she pulled him down atop her.
Lips met, open and hungry, tongues tangling in wet demand. In no time, clothes lay scattered across the carpeted floor. Just as Thomas had guessed, Grace was insatiable in her lust, clutching his buttocks and moaning loudly minutes later when he slid his length into her.
For Thomas, it too had been a long two weeks. He plucked at her peaked, dusty nipples, wringing a string of whimpers from her lips, her head twisting in abandon against the bed linens as he pounded relentlessly into her. She came with a wail of pleasure, the high-pitched sound reverberating off the walls as she convulsed helplessly, endlessly beneath him. And while she still trembled in the aftermath of her orgasm, he found his release with a harsh grunt and clenched teeth.
Spent and sated, Thomas flung himself from atop Grace’s limp form and onto his back, his chest falling and rising as he luxuriated in the pleasure of his release. From the corner of his vision, he saw her turn slowly on her side toward him, and felt the languid slide of her hand over his chest. She was in the mood to cuddle, and now satiated, he yearned for his own bed—alone.
Then in his head, Lady Amelia’s voice rang out crystal clear in that scathing tone as she announced to everyone within hearing range, that he was too self-involved to care for anyone else’s pleasure. So, with her words rattling about in his brain, instead of bounding to his feet, throwing on his clothes, and going home as he was wont to do, he lay acquiescent under his mistress’s caresses.
“Will you stay the night?” Her voice purred with satisfaction.
“I can’t. Tomorrow I will be leaving for Devon,” he said, turning his head on the pillow to face her. “That was my other reason for coming. To tell you in person.”
The moment her hand stilled just above his navel, Thomas knew he had made a mistake. Grace bolted upright, her plump breasts bouncing against her ribs.
“You are going to Devon?”
Thomas suppressed a wince at the shrillness of her voice. Lord, why hadn’t he simply sent her a note once he’d arrived?
Raising himself to a sitting position, he dragged his hand through his hair. “I told you when we started our arrangement that I routinely go home this time of the year to tend to my business interests.”
However, his reminder was to no avail. For the next several minutes, Thomas listened with half an ear while Grace bemoaned the fact that his visits to her had dropped off over the past few months. She complained of feeling neglected. The bloody woman sounded more like a wife than a mistress. And truly, he had no idea what she need fret about. He’d set her up in a quaint townhouse in a fashionable part of London. Each month he parted with a good sum of coin to pay for her creature comforts, and he had opened accounts in her name at some of the best shops in town. She possessed a healthy supply of jewelry and he escorted her to some of the best entertainment to grace this side of the Atlantic. What more could she possibly want? Well, except for more of his time, which he had no inclination to give her, and she had no right to ask of him.
“Would you rather my visits not decrease but stop entirely?” He asked the question in a world-weary voice that conveyed his impatience all too clearly, while shooting her a look that said he was within minutes of ending their arrangement.
By the speed at which Grace ceased her fretful prattle, her expression immediately becoming contrite, she had taken heed of his warning. Soothing him with her hands, they fell back onto the bed, her fingers wrapping around his cock as she worked to coax it back to life.
Thomas stilled the movement of her hand and brought it up to his mouth for a kiss. At the moment, he had no desire for another bout of lovemaking. And once again, Amelia Bertram assailed his thoughts.
Clayborough might have won her affections, but Thomas sincerely doubted the baron had been able to elicit in her one iota of passion. A task surely more difficult than wringing