“I did, thank you very much.” In fact, he’d had the best sleep of his life.
His slumber had been deep, likely born from the utter exhaustion that came from bringing a woman to orgasm many times while denying himself release, and when that release had been permitted, he’d nearly torn the centuries-old house apart with the force of it. He’d never had a climax so devastating. He’d loved it, but it left him a shaking husk, so after kissing Jess one last time and escorting her back to her room, he’d collapsed in his bed.
When he had dreamt, his dreams had all been of Jess. Not frustrating images of what he wanted and could not have, but memories of them together, heaving and panting and lost in pleasure.
He’d been aloft on clouds of contentment, though awakening this morning without her beside him had been somewhat lowering. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to wake with her in his arms and ask about her dreams, if they had been restful or unsettling or silly.
He wanted that—every morning.
The thought made him pause. “Damn.”
“Now what?” McCameron demanded. “You came in here whistling like a ruddy ship’s bosun and now you’re keeping me from the ham.”
“Choke on it.” Noel handed his friend the serving fork. “Cantankerous bastard.”
“You’d be chewing iron, too, if your room had been right next to Lady Farris’s.” McCameron and Noel made their way to the table, where several other guests, including Mr. Walditch, Lady Haighe, and Baron Mentmore, already sat, quietly eating their breakfasts.
“Let me guess, she read poetry aloud into the small hours.” Noel took a bite of toast. “Practicing and failing at juggling marble busts.”
“Nothing like that,” his friend said sourly. “But I could hear her. Moving around. Doing . . .” He waved his hand.
“For a tactician, you’re being remarkably vague.”
“She went in and out of her room all night. God only knows what she was doing. Nothing orderly or appropriate.” McCameron poked his fork moodily into his eggs. “There’s a proper way of doing things, a rightness and order. Not her.”
“You’re out of uniform, Major,” Noel said gently. “Regulations and discipline don’t apply in peacetime.”
“They should.”
Noel regarded his friend. Something needed to be done for McCameron—he was too tense, too rudderless.
Curtis and Rowe came into the dining room, and Noel called, “Good morning, gents.”
“Morning,” Rowe mumbled, but Curtis said nothing. Both of them wore tight, distracted expressions, and they seemed determined to keep a distance of several feet between them. They wordlessly filled up plates, and Curtis took a seat a good four chairs down from where Rowe sat.
Dear God, what had happened to everyone last night?
Well, he knew what had happened to him. He’d had the most incredible sexual experience of his life. Hell, it had been the most incredible experience, regardless of whether or not it had been sexual. He’d allowed himself to be completely exposed—and she had kept him safe.
He had never dreamt of the pleasure that could come from being sexually dominated. But it wouldn’t have felt right with anyone other than Jess. He’d felt her strength, and rather than fight against it or feel the need to be the one in charge, he’d ceded to that strength.
It was like falling backward into the air, knowing that she would catch him.
As if his mind had summoned her, Jess entered the dining room. She looked exquisite in a pale green gown trimmed with coral ribbon, as if she was the living embodiment of a summer day. The moment he saw her, his mouth flooded with her taste of sun-warmed honey.
Like the other men, he rose when she came into the room. Hell, he would have floated up to the ceiling with the pleasure seeing her gave him.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
A few mumbled “Good mornings” answered her, but Noel said in a clear voice, “Good morning, Lady Whitfield.”
Her gaze held his, and she smiled a full, genuine smile. That smile sank into his chest like a thrown knife, but instead of wounding, the blade invigorated him.
Last night had exhausted him completely, and yet he never felt more energized. It was as though yielding to her and giving her everything had in turn nourished him in a way he’d never experienced before. It had been more than sex and physical pleasure. For the first time in his long history of making love, it had been a communion.