“My apologies.” He paused, waiting for her to gather her words, then with another wicked smile, moved his fingers inside her again so her thoughts splintered into nothing. She gasped, then on a whim, sank her teeth into his neck. He groaned, hips bucking again, then laughed, the sound fiercely lovely. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“You most certainly did.”
“What would you like, my darling? Tell me, and I shall endeavour to give it to you.”
He had already given her so much, she thought dazedly. Surely there could be nothing more.
Except there was. Even she, a woman whose virtue had remained intact until now, knew that more than this would come if she allowed it.
“I would like everything,” she whispered, knowing within herself that it was the truth.
He made a noise akin to pain, and rolled, sliding his spare hand around her neck as he brought her mouth to his. On instinct, she widened her legs, giving him space to settle between.
“Evie.” His mouth found her cheek, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “Evie,” he murmured again, and her heart cracked. “Evelyn. This may hurt. Are you prepared for that? I will do my best to be gentle.”
“I trust you.”
Something blunt settled at her entrance, right where his fingers had been moments before. Her body tensed in preparation, and she caught her breath. Charles’s face above her was lined with concentration, and she never wanted this moment to end.
I love you. The words, dangerous and sure, hovered on the edge of her tongue.
A knuckle rapped on the door, shattering her concentration. “Miss Davenport?” her maid called. “Your father has returned home and requests your presence in the drawing room.”
Chapter Eleven
For one elongated, ungodly moment, Charles stared down into Evelyn’s face. His body was poised to enter hers, and she lay relaxed and open underneath him. Just for a heartbeat, his baser needs threatened to get the best of him; he almost thrust inside her so he could know how she would feel.
Then he rolled off her, ignoring the call of his cock as he reached for his trousers. Quickly, quickly. He could not afford to dally. “Tell her you will be down shortly,” he muttered curtly to Evelyn, who had not yet found her composure. Dread was written across every feature. “Evie.” Her eyes snapped to his. “Tell her. Be calm.” He knew, in this moment, he could not afford to give her kindness. If she had too much leeway, she might not act as she should.
Her father had returned from the country. What sort of poor timing was this?
To his relief, her eyes sparked with understanding and awareness once more, and she sat up, drawing a blanket over herself. “Tell my father we shall be down in a moment.”
“What shall I tell him of Lord Rotherham, ma’am?”
“That—” She hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “That he is currently refreshing himself and I will wait for him.”
Charles would have smiled at her resourcefulness had he not been so occupied in dressing himself. “Nicely done,” he said. “Now come here. What items of clothing do you need assistance with?”
“Most of them.” She snatched at her chemisette and tugged it over her head. “My corset. Not too tightly, if you please.”
“Of course.” He put all amorous thoughts from his head as he tied the laces behind her, then handed her the discarded petticoats and drawers. While she dressed herself, he addressed himself to his neckcloth, grateful that the styles had changed considerably since he was a boy.
“My hair,” Evelyn said, turning to him with a stricken expression. “I cannot go downstairs with my hair in this mess. What will Papa think?”
“Calm, Evie. He will think nothing of it because he will not see it like this.”
“My cap!” She found it on her dresser and snatched it up. “At least I shall have this to hide the worst of the offences.”
“That is an offence in itself,” he muttered, but he found himself grateful that she preferred such a severe, simple knot at the back of her head, and he set to work replicating it. This was not his first time repairing a lady’s hair after an assignation, but although usually he prided himself on this attentiveness, now he found himself preoccupied with the movement of her bosom underneath the tight confines of her dress. The dusky bud of her nipples. All the things he now knew about her. His fingers still smelt of her, and once he had finished dressing her, he left her to administer some more perfume as he poured some water into a basin and washed his hands with soap.
“My father will have been waiting over ten minutes,” Evelyn said, pinning her white cap in place. “We must descend. Do I look the part?”
She did, if especially flushed and lovely.
“No guilt,” he said, coming to stand before her. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Remember what you told me? That every person has the right to experience pleasure once in their lives, at least. Just because you have not married does not mean you need die chaste.”
“It is a sin,” she whispered. “And my father, especially, will consider it so.”
