And since her passing, worry for his daughters, managing his estate, had taken precedence over all else.
He’d had urges, physical needs, but not sought out a means to satisfy them. He’d told himself it had been too soon. Perhaps he’d been fooling himself.
He’d wanted something magic. Tilde’s name and face my not have been in the forefront of his memory, but he’d never forgotten the feelings he’d experienced that long ago evening at Vauxhall.
He’d known there could be more.
And that something more was currently writhing beneath him, igniting the passion he’d been holding back.
He buried his head in her neck, inhaling the fresh scent of woman. He should resist her. Resist his desire. As these thoughts darted through his mind, his hand explored the tantalizing skin of her inner thigh.
She was an unmarried gentlewoman, gone into service. And her skin tasted like heaven.
She was his employee—whose hair fell like silk beneath his hands.
But most importantly of all, she was Tilde. She’d always been his magic. She’d always been his. And in that moment, rational thought ceased to exist. He needed her like a man in the desert required water.
He could not wait. He could not stop. He’d not joined with a woman in nearly four years. Every ounce of blood he possessed had surged in a southerly direction.
As his fingers dared to part her feminine folds, he found her to be warm and slick.
“Tilde.” He caught his breath. “You are untouched.” Because she’d never married. She was a virtuous woman. And yet he watched her eyes while his hand touched her intimately. Even in the moonlight, he could see her pupils grow, making the greens and browns appear almost black.
“Tell me to stop.” He groaned.
Her lips parted in a gasp as he pushed away his dressing gown and settled against her.
“I want this.” She closed her eyes at the admission. “So long.”
He could no more deny the plea in her voice than he could deny that he’d wanted this since the moment she fell into that ridiculous tent.
But still, he knew this would not be easy for her.
“Tilde.” Her name was a question. She nodded. “Stop me if…”
“Jasper.” She almost sounded exasperated with him at this point. “Please.”
Warm arms and legs embracing him. Silken heat beckoning his cock. He slid forward. When he met resistance, he inhaled and then broke through on a hiss.
Her arms tightened around his neck.
“I’m sorry.” God, he remembered how Estelle had screamed and wept. He froze, hovering above this woman, awaiting her rebukes and curses.
None came.
“Tilde.” He needed to see her face. Did she hate him? What had he done?
He drew back.
“Don’t stop, Jasper.” Her legs tightened around him. “Oh, please. Don’t stop.”
The Morning After
He’d stayed with Tilde until just before sunup. He was tempted to make love to her again, but chastised himself for his selfishness.
The memory of her blood mingled with his seed stirred mixed emotions inside of him. She was not a young girl, a debutante, and yet she’d been an innocent. She’d given herself to him freely, holding nothing back. As he recalled the soft sounds of her cries, panting into his mouth, he found himself wanting her again already. And, just as when he’d kissed her, he’d experienced both excitement and familiarity. He’d felt that joining with her had been something of a homecoming.
She’d reached for him in her sleep as he crawled from the bed. Unwinding her arms from around his neck, he’d taken a moment to share one last lingering kiss and crept from the room.
