Thankfully, she had a rock, albeit a damp one, at her back, and the muscular planes of a man at her front. She opened her lips to him and let his tongue explore, unable to keep from sucking it gently.
When his hands left the rock and took hold of her waist, she sighed. Everything was perfect when he touched her and kissed her. She loved the smell of him, the feel of his cheeks, the way he tasted.
Her body was humming by the time he lifted his head.
“Kissing you is one of the most pleasurable things I have ever done.”
One of them? Hm. Her thoughts flew to his trips to London, which Maggie had told her about. Kissing her, no matter how enjoyable, could not compete with making love to his paramours.
“Why did my remark make you look sad?”
She shook her head, refusing to disclose her jealous thoughts. After all, at some point, if Grayson were being sincere and not toying with her affections, then she might experience the rest of the pleasures that occurred between a man and woman. The very same she’d seen animals do when she was younger—though she’d read it was more enjoyable than how it looked.
Moreover, she’d caught a glimpse of human mating during the Season when she’d inadvertently happened upon a couple in a garden during a ball, and once by wandering into the wrong room at a dinner party. They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“And now your smile is back,” he said. “How I wish I could know your myriad and flittering thoughts.”
She stroked his cheek with her gloved hand, already a little damp and leaving a dirty mark on his face. At the same time, somewhere far away to the east, there was an ominous roll of thunder.
“Show me the way up the rock, please.”
“Yes, my lady.” He returned to the wagon and slung the small sack over his head and shoulder, leaving his arms free while she reached between her legs and drew up her skirts to tuck into her waistband.
“Come around again,” he instructed. “There are a few crevices in which to put your feet.”
Sure enough, the second time around, when she wasn’t solely looking upward at the boulder’s height, she spied the fissures that cleaved it, top to bottom.
“I think it best if I stay below and give you a push from behind,” Grayson said. “Should you fall back, I can catch you.”
“Agreed,” she said, though she’d climbed many trees and even a few rocks in her life, as well as fence railings and stone walls, and she had never fallen.
With the toe of her boot in the lowest of the clefts and her hands finding purchase in the craggy rock sides, she drew herself up. While finding the next best place for her other foot, Eleanor shrieked and nearly let go as his hands took a firm hold of her bottom.
“Sorry to have startled you,” he apologized. “Keep going. I’m right behind you.”
“Yes, I had gathered that.” Rolling her eyes, she continued upward.
The sarsen was about fifteen feet high and got narrower at the top, but after she reached the pinnacle, with Grayson occasionally putting a helpful hand on her rear end, she found a fairly level top of about eight yards in circumference, like a large stone table.
“Wonderful! The bishop’s hostel. We have arrived.”
Staying in the center, she peered over the side, then glanced out over the river. “The view!”
Though still yards from the Great Ouse, there were no trees in front of them, and they had a private performance as it tumbled and raced along, frothing and churning.
Grayson stood beside her, feet planted, hands on his hips, admiring the view.
“It is rather wonderful, isn’t it? Though the farmers down river will feel happier when she settles back into her bed.”
“She?” Eleanor mused.
He shrugged. “The way everyone refers to the river.” Then he glanced down at her. “Shall we eat? I heard your stomach rumbling. I hope you brought bottles of—” he cut himself off. “Dammit all! I meant to tie the picnic basket to the rope and haul it up after.”
She laughed at his forgetfulness. “How could you forget our picnic?” she teased. “We’ve talked about it for days.”
“Truthfully?”
“Yes,” she said.
