Her body seemed to know. She was suddenly aware of her own hips, rocking against his breeches, riding his extended leg in a way that sent a strange trembling through her body.
He did not push her away. Instead, he responded by clasping her bottom with both hands, urging her to continue and sucking her lip between his teeth.
The sensation of that bite travelled directly to the place she was so eagerly stimulating and she moaned in surprise. The feeling was wicked and wonderful, and she should put a stop to it immediately. But for some reason, it was quite impossible. It was as if she was no longer in control of her body.
She heard him chuckle against her mouth and he pulled away from her, staring into her eyes with a devilish grin. Then there was a rustling as he pushed her skirts up even higher, letting his hands roam freely over the bare skin of her hips and thighs.
She froze, shocked. ‘What...’ It was all she could manage to say. The rest of her thoughts were drowned in a gasp as he bent his knee and held her hips still so he could stroke her between the legs with the top of his thigh. She did not know what was happening to her. But by the look in his eyes, it was clear that he did. Now, he was urging her to move, pinching her to make her squirm against him. And suddenly, her breasts, still constrained by the corset, felt as if they were held in the firm grip of a man’s hands.
Gregory Drake’s hands. Skilful. Clever. Hers.
He held her as she bucked and rubbed against him like some wild animal in a frenzy. Then, the tension in her broke and an uncontrollable shudder raced through her, a spasm of newly discovered muscles, followed by a rush of ecstasy that went on and on, long after she’d stopped moving.
When she had recovered sufficiently to be aware of anything other than the tingling place between her legs, she noticed the hard, insistent bulge in the breeches she was resting against.
She looked up, frightened.
His smile was strained, but satisfied. ‘I think we have had enough fun for the day. If you will excuse me, for a moment?’ Carefully, he disentangled himself from her skirts and left the room.
She could not decide whether to be relieved or disappointed by his words. Had her behaviour given him a disgust of her? What had she been thinking to act that way at all? She took advantage of his absence to try to rearrange her clothing and compose herself. But her gown still hung loose about her shoulders for she could not reach the tiny buttons to close it again.
When he returned, his posture had changed to be almost serenely relaxed. It was only when he looked at her that she noticed the true difference. There was a possessiveness in his gaze, and a trace of smug satisfaction to his smile. ‘Let me help you with your gown.’ He came to sit behind her and did up the fastenings as quickly as any lady’s maid.
Then he laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘How are you feeling, Miss Strickland?’
She felt magnificent. She wanted to answer back with the same cream-fed cat’s smile that he gave to her, pretending to him and to the world that she had some control over the emotions still rioting through her. Though his hands were now touching her quite innocently, she felt as the Dowager had looked in the painting, naked, shameless and wanting more of whatever it was that had just happened. ‘How do I feel?’ she said at last. ‘I am not sure, Mr Drake.’
He turned her gently until they were sitting side by side on the sofa. It was really quite proper, except for the absence of a chaperon and the fact that he had been making love to her just moments ago.
She turned to him, suddenly worried. ‘Was that what is meant by losing one’s maidenhead?’
She must have said something foolish for he laughed, just once, before gaining control of himself and giving her a patient smile. ‘There is much more to it than that, my dear Hope.’
She could not decide what she liked better, being called by her Christian name or being called dear.
‘Technically, you are still innocent,’ he added. ‘You would not be asking that question if you were not.’
‘Technically,’ she repeated. She did not feel innocent. She felt like Jezebel and Bathsheba, all rolled into one.
‘While what has been learned cannot be unlearned, we did not actually...’ He paused, probably sensing her eagerness for more forbidden knowledge, and thought the better of giving it to her. ‘There is no physical evidence of what we have done. Only the knowledge that certain touches will bring you great pleasure.’
‘So, we might do that as often as we liked?’ she said and knew immediately by the shocked expression on his face, that it has been exactly the wrong thing to say.
‘That would not be wise,’ he said, sucking on his lip as if the words tasted bitter. ‘It becomes quite difficult to stop these things, once they are started.’
‘But if we did stop,’ she said, ‘no other man could tell what we had done together.’ Could that even be possible? She was sure that, if she looked in the mirror, the change would be plain on her face.
‘No other man?’ he said, surprised.
‘Well... Yes. If I were to marry, would my husband still think I was a virgin?’ she said, putting it plainly so he might understand.
‘Yes, Miss Strickland, you are still a virgin.’ He stood up suddenly, running his hands down the front of his clothes in one sharp swipe, as if it were possible to shake the last hour out of their lives along with the wrinkles in his coat.
‘Mr Drake.’ She held out a hand to him, hoping he would come back to her.
Instead, he walked to the place where he’d dropped his gloves, scooping them up in one brutal move. ‘As always, Miss Strickland, your manners are impeccable. One must never call a gentleman by his first name, even after he has put his hand up one’s skirt.’
‘Gregory,’ she corrected.
