"You will tell me, then, when you are ready?" he asked huskily.
"I think . . . you will know," she gasped out.
So he would. He smiled, continuing his exploration. Her skin was silken smooth, warm. He found himself caressing her reverently, marveling at her perfect shape, her softness, her reactions to his touch. He was hard, aching to be inside her, yet he was so fascinated by her that it was the sweetest bliss, watching her experience lovemaking for the first time. She shivered, she groaned, she thrust against his touch. She made him feel as if he were experiencing lovemaking for the first time as well.
And he did indeed know when she was ready. He was careful of his weight when he moved over her to settle between her thighs, and even more careful in entering her. The barrier was there as she'd claimed, and he did more teeth-gritting than she as he sundered it open. Her gasp was loud, but no more than a gasp. His kiss soothed her further. He gave her a few moments to recover from the discomfort, didn't continue until she began returning his kiss. Her passion reignited, he slid the rest of the way into her depths, slowly, exquisitely, until at last she fit all of him. It was nearly more than he could bear without losing control, such tight heat gripping him, so much pleasure, yet he managed to hold off the final bliss, to withdraw and begin a gentle thrusting that she could tolerate. Yet it was soon apparent that she was beyond the need for moderation, and one deep thrust sent them both on that glorious ride to fruition.
Christopher had never realized just how pleasant it could be, to simply hold a woman close to him and savor the feel of her warm body. He supposed he'd never really taken the time before to find out, always impatient to either sleep or be off about his business, once he finished satisfying his needs. Then, too, he'd never "kept" a mistress before, or brought one into his own bed.
Not that he hadn't had many mistresses over the years, but they'd had their own abodes, their own agendas separate from his, and the typical arrangement with these types of mistresses was that they'd merely agree to accommodate each other exclusively for a time. They'd cost him no more than the occasional expensive trinket.
Anastasia, now, would be completely "kept." He'd be supplying her with a home where he could visit her, servants to see to her comfort, clothes, food, as well as the expensive trinkets. She was going to be costly. She was most definitely worth it.
"You sound famished," she said when they'd both heard his belly rumble for the third time.
"Perhaps because I am," he replied lazily, still in no hurry to get up. "Come to think of it, don't recall having dinner last night—bloody hell, it's no wonder that rum went right to my head. Any idea what time it is?"
"Quite late, midmoming at least."
He chuckled. "You call that late?"
"When you're used to rising with the dawn, yes, that's very late."
He smiled. "There'll be no reason for you to rise that early anymore."
"I happen to like the dawn, to watch the sunrise. Don't you?"
"Hmmm, never thought about it—actually, don't recall seeing too many sunrises. Sunsets are more in line with my habits."
"I think you'll enjoy the dawn with me, Christoph," she predicted.
"I know you'll enjoy sunsets with me," he countered.
"And why can't we enjoy both?"
He sat up to look down at her. "You aren't thinking of changing my habits, are you? And why do you persist in calling me Christoph? Didn't I tell you last night that my name was Christopher?"
"You did. Kit, too, you said your friends call you. But I happen to like Christoph much better. It sounds more lyrical to my ears. Consider it an endearment."
"Must I?"
She chuckled and rolled to the side of the bed, then headed for her clothes. "I think we must feed you immediately. Empty bellies lead to grouchiness."
He blinked, then grinned to himself. She was right, of course. There was nothing wrong with her having a pet name for him. And besides, when she sashayed about the room naked like that, he simply couldn't find anything really worth complaining about.
He got up to dress as well. When he finished and glanced at her again, it was to find that she was wearing that flashy dancing costume from last night, which would draw more attention to her than he would like.
"Have you nothing else to wear?" he asked.
"You didn't exactly give me the opportunity to pack last night, Christoph. All I have is my satchel, which my grandmother tossed up to me just before you sent that mad stallion of yours galloping out of the camp."
He grimaced with the reminder that he'd been less than gentlemanly last night. "I'll take you back today to collect your things—-and perhaps to town to buy something more . . . normal looking."
She raised a brow at his choice of words. "You think my clothes are not normal?"
"Well, certainly they are." His tone turned conciliatory. "It is just, they are . . . well . . ."
He couldn't come up with an appropriate word that
