“Do you need help?” he asked, determined to enjoy being with her even if the frustration killed him.
His delight at their situation was undoubtedly evident in his tone, for she rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. He held his breath as she drew her gown over her head and laid it over the chair for morning. Her petticoat and her stays joined it.
She was a vision in her lightweight cotton shift, through which he could see her round bottom. He clenched his fists since his fingers were twitching at the thought of squeezing those perfect globes.
Without looking directly at him, Serena slid under the covers and rolled to face the window. A moment later, he put out the oil lamp on the bedside table, and climbed into bed, giving his pillow a hearty punch before laying down his head. As a gentleman, he faced away from her.
Ten minutes later, Malcolm was trying to hear whether she had fallen asleep. It felt like ten hours.
Damn!His heart was hammering at such a rate, one would think he’d never been near a woman before without tupping her. His body was at full attention and ready to perform, even though there was to be no performance.
Come to think of it, he hadneverbeen in bed with a woman if they weren’t making the two-backed beast or some variant of the act. It was almost unnatural to be lying quietly beside a desirable female. He couldn’t imagine how a married couple ever passed a night without swiving.What an excruciating thought!
Rolling onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. There was nothing to see, no canopy over the bed with a pattern he could trace with his eyes, no cherubs floating upon clouds, not even cracks in the plaster.
He sighed without realizing it until she moved.
“Did I awaken you?” he asked hopefully.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” she answered. “Just thinking about tomorrow and the voyage and all the days after that.”
Good Lord! And he’d been contemplating the ceiling!
“That’s a lot to think about while trying to fall asleep.”
“I suppose it is,” she agreed. “And you?”
“I was calculating the time and distance to Saint-Malo,” he lied.
“Very well. I shall try to sleep.Bonsoir, monsieur.”
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”
A few minutes later, she stirred again. This time, she rolled onto her back.
“Do you think we might run into trouble in the waters off the coast of Devon? Being on a smuggler’s ship, I mean.”
“I think your grand-père wouldn’t put you in any danger. The captain has probably been in his business a long while, and the authorities on the other side are paid well to let him alone. In fact, London wine shops, not to mention Prinny himself and half of the noblemen in Mayfair, also pay the authorities to let the smugglers’ ships land. I’ve heard the constables and the magistrate in Cornwall and Devon are extremely wealthy because no one wants to stop the flow of French wine from reaching British lips.”
“British lips,” she repeated and giggled.
The sound made his rod as hard as the mast of a smuggler’s ship. Maybe harder, he thought. If only she would go to sleep so he could remain in peaceful solitary torment.
“I think Renault wine is better than what we had tonight,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
He said nothing, thinking of how much he wished she was whispering with her mouth against his mouth, or against his...
He groaned. Suddenly, she sat up, resting on her elbow and looking down on him.
“You don’t agree?” she asked. “You like Defleur wine better than Renault?”
“What are you talking about?” His brain was clouded with lust, and she was making no sense.
“Well, what are you groaning about?” she demanded.
He could be truthful at least. “I groan at having your beautiful body so close to me while I’m bloody well behaving myself.”
“Oh,” she said softly. Then she flopped back down onto the bed, staring up again. Finally, she turned only her face to him. “I suppose you could stop behaving yourself.”
