She rocked against him, her cries escalating. He pumped his hips as she drove herself down. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, his fingers were holding her hips, each of them holding on for dear life. He’d never experienced anything this intense.
He had to hold back, for her, for her—
But his body wouldn’t be held back. He bucked beneath her, his deep feral groan nearly drowning out her cry of satisfaction, her back arched, her face carved in an expression of awe and wonder. Shudders wracked his body as the pleasure coursed through her.
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She went limp, falling to his chest, spent. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength to wrap his arms around her, but he wanted to hold her close too much not to find the energy. He thought he could lie there forever. If he died this moment, he’d die content.
Never in his life had he ever known such peace, such joy. He’d thought once more with her would be enough. But as he held her, and listened to her breathing, he feared he might never have enough of her.
18
They walked from the house in the early hours of the morning, with him carrying a picnic basket, while she carted a blanket. She wore a servant’s dress that he’d located for her in the servant’s quarters, because she’d brought so little of her own clothing. It wasn’t confining and in a way, she preferred it to her usual attire. She was surprised that she could feel so relaxed knowing what awaited them.
That morning, after another rousing session of lovemaking, Claybourne had tried to convince Catherine to go to the village and wait for him there, but she’d brought them to this moment. She wasn’t about to retreat now. He thought it would be another day or so
—possibly longer—before Avendale made an appearance. Catherine wasn’t certain that he’d show at all.
But she was delighted with the prospect of having a picnic with Claybourne.
They walked for some time before they reached a pond. While Claybourne spread out the blanket, she asked, “Are there fish in there?”
He stilled, looked at her, looked at the water. “I think so.”
“Have you never fished in it?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head. “I don’t think so. No.”
“Is your head bothering you?”
He opened his eyes and smiled. “Only a bit. It’ll go away.”
“I wonder what makes it hurt.”
“People have headaches all the time. It’s nothing in particular.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you’re very fortunate.”
He took her hand and helped her to sit on the blanket. She glanced around. “Are you certain we shouldn’t be more alert?”
“We’ll become more vigilant this evening, and I have men watching the roads. For just a bit longer, let’s pretend that all is right with the world.”
He poured them each some wine and removed a block of cheese from the basket.
She took a sip of wine. “Do you want to hear something silly?”
Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss. “I’d never consider you silly.”
“It could just be wishful thinking, but I don’t think Frannie would find fault with all that’s happened between us.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t intend to tell her.”
“No, I wasn’t expecting you to. It’s just something she said.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
