As he’d trailed his mouth down her body, he’d savored the anticipation of tasting her… all of her. Lavender, yes, it had been lavender, and he inhaled again, the sweet aroma of woman. Her mouth had been soft, as had been her hands and the skin between her thighs. Gripping himself and then sliding his hand up and down, he intentionally recalled the feel of her flesh and the texture of curling hairs where he’d buried his face.
Was it possible she was Uncle George’s widow and had intended to join her betrothed for an impulsive premarital night of lovemaking?
No, she’d asked him if he was upset that she’d come. Definitely not the widow. Furthermore, Sebastian considered it highly unlikely that a proper lady, one his uncle was willing to marry, no less, would be so very… enthusiastic about mouth play.
He licked his lips.
The woman who had climbed into his bed hadwantedwhat he’d been going to give her. She’d been needy, moaning—and wet—so damn wet.
Definitely not the widow.
Someone else. Not a servant. Perhaps a companion, or a governess.
Sebastian’s mother had gone out of her way to point out that several pretty young ladies would be in attendance at this house party—despite the exorbitant travel distance required to attend.
A more likely possibility was that one of the married ones had found herself bored with her husband and Uncle George had made it known he was willing to provide her with nocturnal entertainment.
Thoughts of his mother and his uncle and some old lord’s unsatisfied wife chased Sebastian’s hands out from beneath the covers.
There was no way he could ask Uncle George who she was. “Say, Uncle, was it your fiancée or your mistress who climbed into my bed last night?”
He chuckled to himself.
Perhaps it would become obvious over the next few days. Perhaps the widow would sit quietly amongst the dowagers while the mistress made eyes in George’s direction.
Sebastian rolled over and shoved thoughts of tonight’s encounter from his mind. He’d traveled a great distance this week and was now content to have a well-deserved rest.
A shame though.
Sleep usually came much easier after a vigorous bout of lovemaking.
His cock twitched.
He wouldn’t be in this predicament if it had been the pretty little maid who climbed naked into his bed instead of a woman who’d mistaken him for his uncle, a man nearly thirty years Sebastian’s senior!
His body protested at the prospect of the maid, however. Damn, but he craved the woman whose scent remained on his hands. Surely, Uncle George was not overly attached to her?
* * *
“Didyou sleep well in your upgraded accommodations?” Sebastian couldn’t help but ask. He’d only had a few minutes to speak with George the night before, but they’d agreed to meet early in the morning for a brisk ride.
George shrugged but stared straight ahead as he sat atop his mount overlooking the sea. “The mattress is a bit hard, but the sitting area is somewhat to my liking.”
Sebastian shook his head, at the same time appreciating the chill of the morning air. His uncle had always had quite expensive tastes.
“Not that I am not pleased to see my favorite nephew’s face,” George slid him a mocking sideways glance. “But shouldn’t you be in London, working on that newfangled ship of yours so you can sail around the world?”
Sebastian chose to ignore the slight; his parents viewed his intentions with equal disdain. Why would his uncle take them seriously? “Work proceeds without me.”
George let out a chortle, causing his horse to jump skittishly. He took a moment to calm him before speaking again. “Nonetheless, you needn’t have traveled such a great distance on my behalf. A dreadful distance, if I say so myself. Oftentimes, your mother takes more upon herself than necessary—to ask you to bring me something so sentimental and romantic was ridiculous. My intended, Lady Asherton, is not a frivolous woman. She would have been quite content to wait for the ring until we’ve returned to London. Although…” He rubbed his chin.
“Although?” Sebastian prompted.
“The ring is not only impressive but valuable. It may help smooth the way for me.”
“She is not eager to become Mrs. George Kirkley?” Were not all women in a hurry to get to the altar? Furthermore, as a widow would not Lady Asherton be even more so?
“She is, dear boy, but she is also… skittish.”
