“Do you need me to stop?” Benedict asked, his voice rough as he drew away.
“No.No no no-” Emmaline thrashed her head on the cushion, wrapping her legs urgently across his shoulders as he kissed the crease of her inner thigh with a groan and then dove back in, cupping her bottom with his hands and dragging her down onto his mouth as she moaned in ecstasy.
Once again, he teased her to the height of pleasure, sucking now, in between drags of his tongue, urging her to some unknown pinnacle with his mouth, his body, as Emmaline felt herself come adrift, lost in a sea of sensation that suddenly dropped out from under her.
The cry that ripped from her throat was a vague sound in the distance as Emmaline convulsed with rapture, all thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind as she pulsed with pleasure, every inch of her skin on fire.
Somehow, Emmaline survived, and then she felt herself float back down onto the settee, Benedict stretched out beside her, cradling her as her limbs shook and she desperately attempted to catch her breath.
He was whispering something soft in her ear, but Emmaline could not concentrate on anything, her thoughts still reeling from her first experience of physical pleasure.
“Ti amo, Bellissima,” said Benedict, kissing her temple gently as he cradled her close for what seemed an unfairly short amount of time. Then he rose and reached down to help her rise on unsteady feet.
“Come, sweet Emmaline, I will return you to your room.”
CHAPTER NINE
Benedict waslate to the ballroom for their morning painting session the next day.
For an hour Emmaline fretted over his delay, her mind buzzing with all the possible reasons for this unusual change in routine.
He was never late, for anything. It was one of the first things she had noticed about Lord Seton, his punctuality. His need for order and to abide by his schedule had seemed slightly too rigid for someone of his station, who could do what he liked, when he liked.
The world waited on him, and other men like him. Not the other way around. But always, he was checking his timepiece.
Emmaline heard the notes of the hall clock even now, tolling the new hour with a dour, dull chime that sent a wave of dizziness through her.
Feeling faint, Emmaline sat down on the stool, cradling her head in her hands. Caring not if she disturbed the carefully coiled chignon she had taken the time to arrange this morning.
It had felt foolish, choosing her prettiest dress of pale lavender, fixing her hair and pinching colour into her cheeks since she had been pale with nerves. But Emmaline had sowanted to make a good impression in the light of the new day, knowing not what Benedict thought about their midnight tryst.
She would wait for the whole morning if that was what it took. She had no other recourse. This painting was her only purpose for being there.
It had not seemed that way last night,her traitorous inner voice reminded her. When Benedict had told her she was clever, and beautiful and all the other sweet words that she had not even understood.
Was that why he was late? Was he having second thoughts about their late-night liaison?
Emmaline nibbled nervously on a fingernail, staring unseeing across the extravagantly appointed ballroom.
That was surely the reason. He would discard her now, it seemed inevitable.
Her heart raced with panic, palms growing damp as her chest constricted.
She did not want it to be true. Emmaline wanted to believe that the moment they had shared last night had been real. The pleasure, the connection, had felt like more than just physical desire.
She was tired, she told herself sternly. Becoming overwrought.
Taking some long, deep breaths, Emmaline tried to soothe her panic. Instinctively she picked up a brush, choosing a badger hair blender then dipping the bristles into a pool of vermilion pigment and starting to smooth the tones depicting the silk hangings behind the couch.
The man might not be there, but there was a lot of detail lacking in the background of the painting. Highlights and embellishments. She lost herself in the work, letting her hands and talent take charge while her mind thankfully went blank.
Another hour must have passed, for the sound of the clock again interrupted her reverie, growing louder as the door to the room finally opened.
A footman wheeled in a trolley, coming to a stop beside her.
Emmaline blinked at this strange occurrence, then felt her gaze drawn to the door again, where Benedict was finally making his appearance.
He walked into the room looking as pristine as she had ever seen him. His long, lean legs ate up the floor as he strode towards her.
