“That’s it, lass. Do it harder, faster,” he urged.
She instantly obeyed, and God, herhands—they were made to handle him, to bring him to the brink. He returned the favor, plowing his fingers into her cunny as she frigged his cock. Soon they were both panting, racing toward climax. His balls drew up, heat roiling at the base of his shaft. She came again, her pussy clenching his driving digits.
He bit down on his lip to prevent a shout, tasting blood as he erupted in her hands. He shot his seed again and again, drenching her palms, molten trails leaking through her fingers.
Flopping onto his back, he dragged her into his arms and tried to catch his breath. Dazedly, he thought to offer her a handkerchief, but that would presuppose that he could move. And he wasn’t certain that he could. Ever again.
“Carlisle, that was,”—Violet’s voice was breathy in his ear—“tip-top.”
His lips curved up in the darkness. Because, Christ, she was right.
Making love with herwastip bloody top.
Chapter Nineteen
After lunch the next day, Violet was given permission to stroll around the courtyard with Carlisle. Others were also enjoying the graveled paths, which were bordered by hedges, scattered Greek and Roman statuary providing points of interest. Across the way, Vi saw Wick; thankfully, he looked back to his usual self. He was paying attendance to Miss Turbett, her father following at their heels. In front of them, Parnell and Goggs were escorting Primrose and Polly, the four laughing merrily.
Sitting on a bench at the center of the quadrangle, Emma kept an eye on everyone.
“Did your sister suspect that you left your chamber last night?” Carlisle asked as he and Vi walked along the path.
To an outside observer, Carlisle’s expression would appear impassive. Beneath the brim of his hat, his rugged features were schooled, and he looked every inch the proper lord in his tobacco brown frock coat and biscuit trousers tucked into polished Hessians. But Violet recognized the intimate gleam in his eyes, and it made her insides as warm and gooey as a freshly baked treacle tart.
Trying not to blush, she said, “Not that I know of. To be on the safe side, I did arrange several pillows beneath the covers. So if she looked in, she would have seen a sleeping form.”
“Enterprising.” His lips twitched. “Done this often, have you?”
“You’re the first gentleman I’ve snuck off to see,” she said candidly.
“I meant pulling the wool over your sister’s eyes.” His gaze narrowed. “As to sneaking off to meet gentlemen, I’ll be the first and the last. There’s no going back, Violet. It’s time we made things official between us.”
Joy and trepidation warred within her, a confusing mix. On the one hand, there was their fierce and undeniable attraction—as evidenced by their most recent interlude beneath the wardrobe. Just thinking about those steamy moments quickened her pulse. Yet their desire and compatibility felt new; they’d been enemies longer than they’d been lovers.
A marriage could not succeed on physical attraction alone, she reasoned. There had to be friendship and respect for one another. She knew from experience that she couldn’t change who she was; she couldn’t bear it if they wed and he ended up… disappointed.
Running her gloved fingers along the top of a hedge, she strengthened her resolve. “I told you my terms last night, and they haven’t changed. If you want to court me, you’ll have to do it while we’re working together to help Wick.”
His forehead lined with frustration; she braced for his refusal.
“Why do you want to be involved in this dangerous business, lass? Why is working together so important to you?” He was looking at her intently, as if her answer truly mattered to him.
“Because I want you to like me,” she blurted.
“I do like you.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” she said sadly.
He quirked an eyebrow. “If our time in the Priest Hole, the library, and, most recently, the wardrobe hasn’t convinced you, I’d be happy to give it another go.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Notthatkind of liking. The other kind.”
“What other kind?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“The kind where you admire my qualities and respect my views,” she said in a rush. “Where we share common interests and, to put it plainly, we’refriends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend,” he countered. “I want to be your husband.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive conditions. I don’t want to be wed to someone I don’t enjoy spending time with.”And I don’t want you to regret marrying me.
