“And… good.” His brows shot up in disbelief. “Very good,” she added.
“I didn’t plan this,” he said. “I think you’ve broken me.”
Amelia smiled up at him, knowing he had more to say, giving him all the time he needed.
“More than that,” he said. His voice came out gravelly-sounding. “You’ve stolen?—"
But he was cut off.
“Mr. Beckworth! Are you down here? You have visitors!” Mr. Stubbs’ voice, echoing off the stone walls and floor, was followed by the clack of approaching footsteps, slow, but steady.
Amelia froze. What did a person do in a situation like this? Again, a very important lesson that ought to be included in all propriety lessons. And she wasn’t only mortified, but disappointed.
Because Mr. Beckworth had been on the cusp of telling her something. She ached to know what it was.
Meanwhile, his scarred but very capable hands had already lifted her bodice to cover her properly, and then he was fastening the front of his trousers.
He paused long enough to press his mouth against hers.
“Take your time,” he said. “Most likely, someone is lost. Or perhaps looking for work. There aren’t many who know that I live here.”
Dazed, Amelia nodded.
But he was a busy man. And this was home to a smuggling operation, after all.
He smoothed her skirt back down and then seemed to force himself to walk backwards, away from her, toward the stairs.
Was he grinning?
Unexpected indeed.
Staringat the spot where he’d disappeared, Amelia finally gave a little shake of her head.
He’d left again. Not because he wanted to, not this time, but to prevent Mr. Stubbs from walking in on them and seeing… more than any of them would like.
A shocked giggle escaped and she covered her mouth. Ten seconds earlier and the butler certainly would have gotten aneyeful. He would have seen her with Mr. Beckworth standing between her legs.
Even in her wildest dreams, she never could have imagined enjoying the feelings he’d introduced her to.
Twice.
Amelia exhaled a shaking breath and plucked at her thoroughly ruined gown. The bodice had a little tear, and the skirt was wrinkled and damp.
The feeling of wetness between her legs felt like a magical secret.
Brushing at her skirt, she fixed her eyes on the tops of her feet. But she wasn’t seeing her ankles, she was reliving the sight of Mr. Beckworth on his knees.
“You’re amazing,” he’d said. And then he’d called her “Love”.
But then he’d left.
Because he had to.
Surely, he’d return momentarily.
He’d put his mouth on her. He’d been inside of her.
He’d done… intimatethings.
