Her hands moved over him, too, in the same unhesitating way her mouth had claimed his. He felt that touch in every cell of his body. The barrier of his clothing was nothing. He was acutely aware of his own skin, its nerve endings quivering.
His heart pumped harder and his breath came faster and heat raced downward. He slid his hand up over her waist and belly and higher still, to cup her breast. She made a sound against his mouth like a purr and a moan mingled. Her mouth and her hands roamed as boldly and possessively as his—over his shoulders and back and under his coat, then settling on his buttocks to press him against her, to rub herself against his hardened cock.
He broke the kiss only long enough to roll her onto her back again. She laughed deep in her throat, and his answering laugh was thick. He was drunk with the heat of tasting and touching her, and he drunkenly wanted all and he wanted itnow.
He reached down to drag up her skirts.
He was aware of something else, something far away, but it vanished from his consciousness when her hand slid down below his waist to where his erection pushed against the flap of his breeches. That touch emptied what was left of his mind. He grasped a handful of her thick skirt and pulled it up. He slid his hand under the cloth and along her stockinged leg.
He heard noise, somewhere, but it was not important. What was important was his hand moving up over her stocking. What was important was the warmth of her skin underneath and the beautiful curve of her leg.
“Good grief, are you completely lost to reason?”
A part of his consciousness took in the words, but they meant nothing. It was noise to him, a crow cawing. His hand slid further upward.
“Stop it!”
Thwack.
“Stop it! Heaven help me, it is like trying to separate dogs!”
Thwack.“Get off!”
Something was hitting his back.
Thwack.“Now! Do you hear me?”Thwack.“Get off her this instant!”Thwack.“Get off!”
Bloody hell. Not the idiot maid. Not now. Where in blazes had she come from?
He closed his eyes, took a long breath, and summoned his mind back into his skull.
He would kill the maid and throw her corpse into the Serpentine.
He rolled off Zoe, opened his eyes, and looked up.
The maid was there, yes, but well out of reach. She wasn’t the one who’d attacked him. Jarvis stood, shoulders hunched and fists pressed to her mouth, a few feet behind and to the right of Priscilla, mountainous belly heaving as she brandished the tightly furled umbrella.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Priscilla cried. “Good God, Marchmont, what is wrong with you? Rutting with my sister in Hyde Park! Like dogs! What will people say?”
Eight
Marchmont didn’t answer. He stayed where he was, regarding Priscilla through half-closed eyes while he waited for his erection to subside and his breathing to return to normal.
Zoe raised herself up on her elbows and glared at her sister. “I am going to kill you,” she said. “Are you a crazy woman, to interrupt at such a time? I do not care how pregnant you are. There is no excuse—”
“Excuse?” Priscilla cried. “You cannot—cannot—” She waved the umbrella. “You cannot do what you were doing. You cannot do that—here—in Hyde Park!”
Marchmont took his time sitting up. After another moment, he swung up onto his feet. He held out his hand, and Zoe took it. She rose awkwardly. Passion having cooled—and far too abruptly—she must be paying the price for her gallop.
“The exceedingly round lady is right,” Marchmont said. “We ought not to do this in Hyde Park.”
“But what is she doing in Hyde Park, I want to know,” Zoe said. “She should not even be awake at this hour.”
“It’s a good thing I was,” Priscilla said. “And why should I not be here at this hour? It’s not as though I have entertainments to keep me up late. Augusta said we must not show our faces at Almack’s until you’ve made your curtsey to the Queen—whenever that is,ifit ever is, which, given today’s escapade, I think highly unlikely.”
If the Queen refused to meet Zoe, it would be his fault. He’d promised to make her respectable.
“You know no one does anything else of any importance on Wednesday nights,” Priscilla raged on. “It is the most vexing thing, to be trapped in the house with a husband who is determined to be contrary ineverything. I could not abide Parker’s sarcasm and went to bed early. Then, when I went to visit Mama this morning, I saw Jarvis returning to the house—without you—and knew instantly something was wrong.”
