“Would you undo my dress?” she asked, turning and presenting him with the laces.
“Certainly.” Hot breath tickled her neck as he began unlacing, fingers quick and nimble. She’d never had anyone other than a maid undress her, and the sensation was entirely different. His knuckles lightly brushed her spine as he went, and she shivered as her dress fell open. A few hooks later and she could pull her arms through, letting it pool to the floor. Now she wore nothing but her chemise and stays, and when she turned to look up at him, the impassiveness on his face was gone, replaced by a burning she recognised. It struck something in her, too, a gong that sounded through her body, reverberating untilshe, too, burned.
Her face flamed; her fingers shook. He glanced down at her, the remaining layers of material hiding her body from him. Even so, her nipples pearled, visible through the chemise and stays. Temptation and nervousness. The desire for him to touch her, and the sudden urge to hide herself away.
Though she was not bare, she felt as though he saw every inch of her.
He stepped back, the space between them growing cold. “I’ll leave you to your bath,” he said. “A maid will see to you.”
Left standing in the middle of the room, Cecily shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as the door closed and he was gone.
Percy was a coward. A lily-livered, good-for-nothing coward.
What he ought to have said was that he felt it would be better if they took things slowly, and certainly did not get carried awayhereof all places. He wanted to have her at Hollyhead, and the thought of it made him so impatient to leave, it was an effort for him to stay in place.
He wanted to take his time with her, to have all the privacy they could ever need. There were a multitude of things he wanted, and if this was to be their first attempt at intimacy since repairing their marriage, he did not want it to behere.
If he had stayed, he would have inevitably given in. Remaining and not touching her would have been impossible.
Thankfully, the taproom did not welcome or encourage such thoughts. The majority of its patrons were working men enjoying a meal away from home. Beer spilt onto the floor, which was padded with straw to catch such messes, and his elbows stuck to the table. The scent of tallow candles mingledwith body odour and alcohol, the combination so potent he prayed it might have taken his sense of smell before he returned upstairs.
With a twitch of his fingers, he waved over another ale. He was going to need it.
By the time Percy ventured back upstairs, two hours had passed. There was no chance that Cecily could still be in the bath without looking like a prune, which meant he had averted the worst of it.
Or best.
He wasn’t sure if he was doing himself a favour or tormenting himself beyond all endurance.
Probably both.
The room was dark, soft with the scent of roses that had no doubt been used in her bath. This was one of the better coaching inns along the Great North Road, and he was reminded of its quality as the floors barely creaked underfoot. Hopefully Cecily wouldn’t notice his arrival, and especially wouldn’t notice the rustle of fabric as he changed in the semi-darkness.
His valet would be horrified to know the manner by which he stripped, but that was a battle better had in the morning.
The sheets were cool as he slipped between them, and he congratulated himself on a job well done as he settled against the pillow.
Beside him, Cecily slumbered, just as he had hoped she would. No awkward questions, nothing but the scent of her for him to drown in, and the knowledge that barely two slips of material separated them.
As he so often did when he was around her, he hardened. Jasmine lingered in the air, clinging to even his damn pillow, and he wanted to hate it.
As he did with almost all things Cecily-related, he failed.
Heavens above, he was a ruined man. Ruined for her, ruined for all women but her. Incapable of sharing a bed with her without the most lurid fantasies replaying in his mind. Ones where she rolled over him, her body fitting against his the way he knew it was meant to. Nothing between them but breathless desire.
At the thought of her slickness sinking on to his erection, he near groaned. Nearly took himself in hand like an animal, although she was right there. Ordinarily, he had the time and space to sate his desires at least a little. Privacy in his room; more space between them than a matter of inches.
This was not an ordinary situation. And she had no idea what she did to him. For all her pretences that she was a woman of the world, she was still frighteningly innocent. Naïve about all the ways a man could want a woman. He’d shown her only a little, afraid of scaring her, and if she had been with another man outside of their marriage—
No, he wouldn’t let himself believe it. Not with the way she stiffened whenever he touched her too intimately. Though, at her own confession, that stemmed from the way she disliked and resented him.
Haddisliked and resented him. Perhaps now was different.
He throbbed, almost embarrassingly needy, and might even have left the bed in search of some relief when the sheets rustled. She rolled, tangled in the blankets, her hair loose and soft and slightly damp around her head, and pressed against him.
“Percy,” she mumbled, still caught in sleep. Damn him, he wanted to wrap her in his arms. Bring her closer. Relearn her curves with all the ardency he had denied himself the last time.
She shifted, her movements clumsy, and brushed his hardness with her knee. He inhaled sharply, and the sound stirred her. She tensed for a second, and he could practically see awareness catching up with her mind. Then she relaxed again.
