"You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing. I'm... thermally challenged."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now."
"You can't just…" He stopped, pulling her on top of him. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Being impossible."
"I learned from the best."
"I am the best, aren't I?"
"Your modesty is overwhelming."
"I overwhelmed you quite thoroughly, as I recall."
"Gabriel!"
“It’s true. You said my name quite loudly. Several times."
Clara buried her face in his chest
He pulled her down for a kiss that quickly heated, and Clara felt her body responding despite their recent activities.
"Again?" she asked, surprised.
"Again," he confirmed, rolling them over. "And again. And again. We have weeks of frustration to make up for."
"We'll be exhausted."
"We'll be satisfied."
"Same thing?"
"Absolutely not the same thing."
"Show me the difference?"
"With pleasure."
CHAPTER 17
"Your hair appears to have staged a rebellion against the established order of things, which I suppose is fitting given that we've essentially declared war on polite society, though I must say the overall effect is rather charming in a 'ravished by a duke' sort of way that will absolutely scandalise Mrs. Potter when she arrives in approximately ten minutes."
Clara opened one eye to find Gabriel propped on an elbow, studying her with the intensity of someone memorising a particularly fascinating painting. Morning light streamed through the windows they'd forgotten to curtain the night before, illuminating the complete destruction of what had once been a perfectly respectable bedroom.
"Ten minutes?" Clara's voice came out as a croak, which seemed reasonable given the various ways she'd used it the night before. "How can you possibly know Mrs. Potter will arrive in ten minutes?"
"Because it's Thursday, which is her day to harangue me about my drinking habits while pretending to deliver fresh linens, and she's pathologically punctual despite my repeated attempts to dismiss her from employment she doesn't possess in reality.”
Clara sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her chest, which Gabriel seemed to find amusing given the circumstances. "Gabriel, I cannot be found in your bed by Mrs. Potter. The woman has known me since I was eight years old."
"She's also known we were heading toward this since you arrived, so I doubt she'll be particularly shocked, though she might make that tutting sound that suggests disappointment in our moral fortitude."
