It was all she’d ever wanted. He’d captured her imagination from the moment he’d rescued her in Dublin.
“Please, Beckett. Let us make love again.” She needed to be joined with him once more. To know that it was the two of them against the world, forever and always. “I will not complain.”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there are many paths to pleasure that would not cause you pain.”
That was an enticing statement. “Other ways than what we just did?” She was intrigued. Apparently there were many things her country life had not taught her. She smiled. “Are you going to show me?”
His answer was to rain a line of kisses along her neck, across breasts that were nowverysensitive to his touch, and down her abdomen. His head dipped lower still.
At first she was startled. She tried to move away.
“Trust me, Gwendolyn.” His quiet, deep voice calmed her. This was Mr. Steele, the man who had never failed her.Herman. Her one, true desire.
And in the end, she was very glad she let him have his way... because this, too, she liked.
Chapter Eighteen
Gwendolyn woke the next morning to an empty bed. She sat up, confused. She’d slept deeply.
The room had one narrow window close to the ceiling. Judging by the angle of the light, the day was quite advanced.
Where was Beckett?
The sheets smelled of him.Of them.
From the other room, the inn’s kitchen, she smelled roasting meat. She didn’t hear voices but she knew she was not alone.
She stood, wrapping the counterpane around her body. Her gaze fell on the bed. There was a stain on the sheets. The proof of her virginity.
Gwendolyn stared at it, thinking it should mean something more. She’d finally gone through this passage of womanhood. And while the stain concerned her because she was conscious of her host’s bedclothes, she had no regrets.
Or expectations, she realized as she noticed a peg in the wall with his jacket, much the worse for wear, hanging upon it.
There was a light knock on the door, just ascratch really. It opened, and Beckett, dressed in shirt, breeches, and boots, looked in.
He smiled when he found her awake and entered, closing the door behind him. His blue eyes seemed to shine. There was tenderness to him. He crossed to her and let his fingers comb the tangle of her hair, pushing it over her shoulder.
“How are you?” he asked with genuine concern.
She shot a pointed look to the stain.
His lips twisted into a rueful but unrepentant smile. “Don’t be embarrassed. I shall take care of it.”
Of course he would. He’d always take care of her.
She hooked her hand around his neck. The curled edges of his hair brushed the backs of her fingers as she kissed him. He was her family now. There was nothing Gwendolyn wouldn’t have done for her sisters, for her brothers in marriage, and for Tweedie, Dara and Elise’s great-aunt.
However, she belonged with Beckett.
The kiss deepened. The counterpane dropped between them.
Later, lying in bed together, her head resting on her hand on his chest, Gwendolyn looked up at him. “You seem lost in thought. What are you thinking?”
He stretched as if her question nudged him out of his thoughts. He gave her a quick smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “The whist tournament. Not having it didn’t make sense. Unless Lady Middlebury wished to punish Lady Orpington for bringing me to Colemore. And Lady Middlebury knew in enough time to arrange for Lady Rabron to be in attendance.”
“But why? Even if she knew you weren’t Mr. Curran, why bring someone from your past?”
“To encourage me to leave... to warn me that the ruse was known.”
