all braggadocio. I have seen no proof that you are such a rake. None of the servants run from you. Nora Kendrick is a widow, a wealthy widow, and you never approached her.”
“As you said yourself, Beatrice, this house party is a protected world. It is not London. Once you are there you will hear the truth. There have been too many,” he repeated, “but never someone as young and untouched as you are.”
“Untouched is such an unappealing word.” She angled her head and looked up from under her lashes. “Could we not touch a little so that I am not quite such a threat to unmarried men?”
He shook his head and, with one finger, raised her chin.
“You are impossible.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth.
“Not really,” she whispered against his lips. “Only curious.”
He was the one who was seduced. He had been so determined not to take but now found it was so much easier to give. Her joy and his surrender took them far beyond the touch of lips and tongues. The trees and shrubs around them were every bit a bower, he thought, nature’s summerhouse where they could be as private as they needed or wanted.
“I want to lie on the grass with you, right here,” he murmured between kissing her neck, then her throat. “I want to unpin your hair.” He did so as he buried his face in it and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing them closer to each other.
“I want to see you dressed only in the shade and shadows of summer.” He cupped her breast through gown and stays and then reached to rub the tip of it with his thumb. He ran his hand down to the soft spot between her legs and pressed his fingers, through her dress and shift, into her just enough that she pressed her legs together to hold him there and gasped with the pleasure of it. He scooped her up and carried her. She buried her face in his neck, pressing kisses, licking him and pressing her teeth against the vein that throbbed.
The summerhouse was buried in the shade. A table and chairs sat on one side of the room, and a long sofa that was more of a day bed with scrolled ends and no back was on the other. He laid her down on it and she raised her arms to draw him over her. They kissed and touched and soon his fall was undone, his manhood upright and hard with arousal. Beatrice’s dress was pushed up to her waist, the sweet tangle of hair between her legs wet with welcome.
Lying beside her he used his hand again to bring her to pleasure without costing her the virginity that, to the ton at least, was her most valuable asset. She turned her head into his chest to smother the cry as waves of sensation pulsed through her, and then gave in to the final sweep with her back arched as if she wanted every last bit of what he gave her.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms for a long while. It did little to ease the ache in his loins but she held tight to him and he wanted only to make her happy.
And when had he ever thought that before? You love her, a little voice whispered and he let the truth flood through him.
He moved to sit up. She shivered and held him to her.
“No, Jess, I cannot leave you so frustrated.”
“You can and you will.” He pushed away from her, smoothing her dress down around her legs.
“Let me—” she began.
“No!” He stood up and turned from her, welcoming the chill of separation. His body began to recover. He was not sure his heart ever would.
“I feel so very selfish and I do not feel quite so complete without you holding me.”
He turned to look at her. “You know this is only headed for disaster.”
She opened her mouth and then bit her lip in that gesture she had of holding back more. Standing up, she brushed her skirts down and pushed her hair back and looked exactly like what she was, a woman who now understood the pleasure of sex.
“There is no point in discussing this with you when you are not quite yourself,” she said. “And since you will not allow me to do anything about it I am going to the house for a few minutes to try to tidy myself.” She was going to