Oh, that waltz had been lovely as well.
Her pulse had raced, body heated and they moved as one, his hand at her waist guiding, the other clutching hers. Her body had tingled, breaths became short, and her breasts felt as if they had tightened or grown heavy.
Nothing like that had ever happened to her before and Lavinia had decided that she would reflect on those experiences once she was home, but now she had so much more to think about.
She stepped out of her dress and donned a nightshift, then pulled the pins from her hair before climbing into bed.
Were Octavia and Blythe correct? Could intimacy be enjoyable?
She had enjoyed his hand on her waist and the strength in which he maneuvered them in the waltz—commanding. Then his kiss.
But there was still more involved in intimacy.
It was not like she hated it when her husband came to her bed. He had tried to make it pleasant for her, or at least she believed so given what she’d overheard, but then he gave up when she failed to respond, got the matter over with, then returned to his chamber. She was also glad that it did not happen so often.
Maybe it was all because she had no desire for her husband and she was fairly certain that he had none for her.
She had been so young and naive and thought Cormac had loved her, which he had not. She also had not liked kissing him, which he had not done until they married. He rarely even touched her and preferred that she not touch him. He could not stand for anyone to touch his person and only allowed his valet to see to his clothing while Cormac shaved and dressed himself.
With Demetrius, she was aware of so much in her being. He did not even need to touch her for Lavinia to experience a physical response, such as the heating in her veins.
Was that desire?
Perhaps that is what you should do. Take a lover and discover passion.
Elizabeth’s words echoed in her mind again and Lavinia bunched the pillow beneath her head.
“Maybe I should.”
Little sleep was to be had last night.
Demetrius’ bed was a rumpled mess and a few pillows had found their way to the floor after he had tossed and turned most of the night. Anxiety had filled his being and he worried that he’d made a mistake when he had kissed Lavinia. When he did manage to sleep, he dreamt of her. Not of the kiss but in her brother’s home, on the beach, and various other venues, and in each setting, she was cool and kept him at a distance.
He had kissed Lavinia and she had no reaction.
Well, she had kissed him back, only hesitantly, but that was all. She had not returned his embrace and when he pulled back, she had wished him a good night.
“I shocked her, Max,” Demetrius said right before he tossed a ball for the sheepdog. “If I did not know that she was a widow, I would be convinced she was an innocent.”
That is what kept coming to mind.
Not that he had kissed that many innocent misses, but when he’d been younger there had been a few and they had shown the same hesitation as if not certain what to do.
Max brought the ball back and dropped it into his open hand.
“At least she did not slap me.” He threw the ball again.
Max once again returned with the ball.
“The question is, what do I do now?”
Max plopped on his bottom, tail wagging, panting up at Demetrius with large brown eyes.
“Feel free to offer any advice.”
All the dog did was bark so Demetrius threw the ball again.
“Do I even call on her? What if she wants nothing further to do with me?”
