She gasped, a well of pleasure so deep, so complete, drawing her in and drowning her. She shut her eyes, letting the sensation wash through her. She felt delirious with desire, longing for him to move and longing, too, for him to be still, as he drew out and pushed in, and then drew out and pushed in again in a way that was making longing flare and grow and build in her, a feeling even more intense than what she had experienced before starting to gather within her.
She gasped, feeling the cresting waves of pleasure, and, just as they overwhelmed her, drawing a cry from her lips, he cried out, the sound raw and intense with longing, and the weight of him pressed on her for an instant as he lay still.
She wrapped her arms around him, pleasure so intense that it made tears well in her eyes, flooding her.
He slipped off her body and lay down beside her, gathering her in his arms and drawing the coverlet over them both, his arms a sweet, soft protecting embrace around her as she began to drift into a deep, profound sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian stretched and opened his eyes, drawn at once to the soft, warm body lying beside him. He had not slept at all. She, by contrast, had drifted into slumber an hour earlier—curled on her side, breathing softly, her entire posture relaxed in a way that made something inside him ache.
He pushed himself upright with great care, desperate not to wake her. She sighed; he froze—then breathed again when her breath settled back into its steady rhythm.
“What have I done?” he whispered.
Guilt twisted sharply through him. Her face, softened by sleep, looked impossibly gentle—innocent, even. Vulnerable. He had done the very thing he had sworn he would not do, had allowed himself to cross a boundary he had insisted—insisted—must hold. Their agreement had been one of mutual convenience, of necessity. They had never once spoken of anything beyond that.
What have I done—and what will happen now?
That was what tormented him and kept him from sleep despite the joy and wonder that surged through him with every recollection of the night and every chance touch of his skin on hers where she lay beside him.
He gazed at her, tenderness flooding him with such force that he had to clench his fists. His heart ached. He longed—ached—to bend down and kiss her cheek. But the fierceness of his feelings terrified him.
He had broken his own rule. He had let himself care. He had let someone close.
“And now?” he breathed.
Was he destined to repeat the misery he had witnessed all his life? The cold silences, the bitter words, the erosion ofaffection until nothing but resentment remained? He had vowed—vowed—never to subject himself to that. And vowed, too, never to trap another person within such unhappiness.
And yet here he was, dangerously close to doing precisely that.
A low sound escaped him—half groan, half curse. Her breath shifted, and he froze again. When she remained asleep, he slipped from the bed, gathering his clothes from the chair. He carried them to the door, dressing silently, shame and confusion thick in his throat.
He left the chamber, closing the door with infinite care.
He walked quickly to his chambers and, once inside, donned his nightshirt. He did not even attempt to sleep. Instead, he lit the oil lamp on the mantel and opened a book.
It was futile. Every few lines, his thoughts returned to Evelyn: to her soft skin, to the warmth of her leaning against him, to the way she had curled unconsciously toward him as she slept. Each recollection was a torment. His heart ached—almost physically.
With a groan, he closed the book and checked the clock. Four o’clock. A faint grey shimmer of dawn crept behind the curtains.
He pulled on a fresh shirt, riding breeches, and a jacket, and stepped into the hallway. The cool air struck him like a balm. The suffocating heat of the night had made rest impossible; the chill steadied him.
Outside, dew glistened faintly on the lawns. He breathed deeply, stepping across the wet grass toward the stables. It was too early to ride—hazardous for the horses and unsafe besides—but the familiar scent of hay and horse filled him with something like comfort. Almost all his happiest memories lived in places like this, with Nicholas, or alone, tending to his horses.
I wonder if Evelyn might take up riding more regularly nowthat she is here and has a stable of horses to choose from?h wondered. That small thought made his chest tighten painfully. Everywhere he turned, she was there in his mind.
Restless, he left the stables and walked the long path around the manor grounds to the lake. By the time he returned, the sun was rising; birds filled the air with song. Five o’clock felt reasonable—finally—to rouse the horses.
He saddled Stormcloud and rode out.
After two hours across the countryside, hunger forced him to turn toward the inn rather than home—the thought of facing anyone at the manor made his stomach knot. At the inn, he requested breakfast, retreating to the upstairs parlour reserved for gentry. Sunlight spilled across the green hills outside the window, and for the first time since waking, he felt the faintest sense of ease.
Once he had broken his fast—fresh-baked bread, boiled eggs, and cheese—his thoughts felt clearer. Stormcloud was settled in the stable with mash and hay. Sebastian paid the account, barely hearing the innkeeper’s effusive gratitude, and went to fetch his horse.
A bright-eyed groom thanked him again for the coin as he mounted, but Sebastian only nodded, already turning onto the road. He had made his decision.
He would ride to London.
