Eventually, Agatha broke away. “My god,” she gasped, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”
“Then why stop now?” Penelope demanded, and reached out to pull her back.
Agatha caught her hands, amusement curling that long, beautiful mouth of hers. “A temporary respite, Flood,” she said. “I don’t want to get so lost to the world that the kitchen maid catches us when she comes to lay the fire.”
Penelope sat back, chagrined. “Of course,” she murmured. Chill air crept over skin heated by contact. It was good that one of them was thinking clearly, and making sure this would stay a secret. Penelope was no Isabella, with vast wealth and ancient bloodlines to protect her from gossip and the poisonous wagging of malicious tongues. She and Agatha would have to be careful. Discreet.
Just like every other time.
Agatha skated thoughtful fingers over the plane of Penelope’s cheek. Aching, Penelope turned so her mouth could press against Agatha’s palm. The scent of lemons from the balm she’d made as a gift speared through her, citrus sharpened and warmed by Agatha’s skin.
Penelope throbbed hopelessly, and parted her lips to breathe in as deeply as she could.
Agatha’s fingers slid lower, brushing teasingly across Penelope’s mouth. Tingles like sparks flew up wherever she touched. “Come upstairs with me, will you?”
“Yes,” Penelope replied. Instantly, and without question.
In all these long and lonely months, she’d never dreamed she’d have the chance to say yes to such an invitation. The word was honey-sweet on her tongue.
Agatha’s eyes gleamed in the low light as she pushed up from the table.
They put the mead and bread away. Agatha grasped the candle in one hand and Penelope’s hand in the other—just like she had in London. As if she feared Penelope might escape if she didn’t keep hold of her.
Ha, thought Penelope fiercely,not a chance.
Agatha paused, candle raised, when they reached the twin bedroom doors. “Mine,” Penelope whispered, opening the door and dragging Agatha in behind her.
“Why’s that?” Agatha blinked.
“You were downstairs before I was,” Penelope said. She shut the door and leaned back against it, hands still anxiously wrapped around the handle. “So my bed will have stayed warmer than yours.”
“Ah.” Agatha set the candle by the dressing table mirror, where it would give the most light. The fire had burned low and sultry in the grate. She tugged the cream shawl off her shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair. Penelope’s eyes strained to trace Agatha’s shape beneath the nightgown. Staring, but not ashamed to be caught this time.
The smile Agatha tossed back over her shoulder was wry and knowing. “Do you manage all your trysts so practically?”
Penelope licked her lips. “Why don’t you share a few with me, and find out?”
Agatha let out a bark of laughter, then bit it back when the sound bounced too boisterously off the walls. “I’m glad to hear this isn’t just about tonight,” she said more softly. She took one step forward, and another, making Penelope’s heartbeat skip from a trot to a canter. “It’s been a long time for me, Flood.”
Penelope gulped. “Does that mean you want to go fast, or slow? Because if you are out of practice, and want to move slowly, we can do that.”
Agatha took another, very deliberate step nearer, putting her only an arm’s reach away.
Penelope couldn’t seem to get enough air no matter how rapidly she gasped for it. Her voice was thready with desire. “But if you’re feeling impatient—or needy—or desperate—Lord knows I am—”
Agatha bent down and took Penelope’s mouth, smothering the rest of her words.
The first kiss had been a surprise. This was a seduction. Agatha licked into her, breath and heat melting away the cold of the door at Penelope’s back. One of Agatha’s hands trailed up the long line of Penelope’s neck and fingers threaded into her hair, pulling to tilt Penelope’s head back. “No pins?” Agatha murmured.
“Prefer to keep it short,” Penelope answered, half reply and half moan. “People only think I pin it up on account of how it curls.”
“Handy,” Agatha murmured. She tightened her grip, holding Penelope in place.
Penelope whimpered again, as pinpricks of not-quite-pain lit like stars in her scalp. She was slightly but inescapably in Agatha’s control, and it made her whole body sing. Penelope’s hands dropped away from the door handle, plucking at the ties of her own winter robe.
Agatha’s mouth slanted harder against hers, little scrapes of teeth and long strokes of her tongue sending fire through Penelope’s veins. Penelope reached out, tugged open the knot of Agatha’s wool dressing-gown, banded an arm around her waist, and pulled.
Agatha’s long body jerked forward and came up tight against Penelope’s soft, plump shape.
