Voices and boots moved around the house to the front. Horses grunted and stomped, and a carriage door opened. Erasmus exclaimed in pain, and Harold cursed him. Then the carriage rolled, its sounds diminishing with each moment.
She listened, waiting. Finally, bootsteps on the boards below paced slowly into the library. A pause, then more steps coming to the stairs. She imagined Gareth noticing her bonnet on the chair in the reception hall.
Up the stairs those boots came. The sound of each footfall aroused her more. She cast aside the sheet that covered her, so he would know at once that she wanted all the danger he could provide.
He did not enter the bedchamber. Instead he went into the dressing room. She heard him in there, moving around. He made her wait a long time. All the while her desire tightened until she was hot enough that the breeze tantalized her body with its cool, feathery caresses.
Finally he entered the chamber, his hair damp from washing, his eyes full of passion’s depths. He was naked, too, just like her. Naked and beautiful and aroused.
He came over and stood beside the bed. “You are impatient.”
“Yes.”
“I think I will make you wait, anyway.” He caressed two fingertips down the side of her face. The slow stroke continued along her jaw, then her neck. Her breath quickened as he touched lower yet, up the swell of her breast. When he grazed her tight nipple, her back arched in reaction to the exquisite sensation. He dallied there until she writhed and moaned and gave up trying to contain the pleasure.
“No more demands that I not touch you, Eva, or that we retreat into friendship. No more being good and careful.”
She was beyond arguing. She would agree to anything. Yet not only her body accepted the command. Her heart nodded as well, secure and sure that love left her no alternative. No more denial of what now centered her world.
His fingertips meandered again, down her body. Despite how her whole consciousness licked at the pleasure, she likewise wanted him to know such sweet torture. She reached over and used her own light caress on his erection, running her fingers up the shaft.
She had imagined making love to him many times since their last encounter in London. She saw herself doing it properly with great sophistication. She had not pictured it like this, so passive, almost languid. She had been a goddess of Venus in those dreams.
She swung her legs around and sat on the side of the bed. She took him in her hands more purposefully. She circled the shaft with one hand and used the other to caress the tip. “Like this?”
“Yes.” His voice came ragged and low. “Damn, yes.”
She liked that note in his voice. Loved that he stood in front of her, feet widely placed as he sought not to sway. Loved how he let her learn on her own what made his teeth grit and affirmations come out like muttered curses.
He stepped closer yet and reached below her arms to tease her breasts. The power and impatience claimed her again. Control trembled out of her. She kissed his stomach while she caressed him. Kissed him in gratitude for the pleasure and so much else. And it seemed very natural to move the kisses to the tip of his erection.
His reaction told her how much he wanted that. His quiet moans guided her explorations. Tension coiled tighter in him until she suddenly found herself falling back on the bed. He spread her thighs wide and lifted both her hips until they angled off the bed. He thrust into her three times. Each time his head went back and his eyes closed as if he felt the same as she did, that this joining relieved an unbearable hunger. Then he hitched her legs around his hips and took her, watching while she cried out, and begged for more.
***
“Ishould go home. Rebecca will be alone.”
“She is visiting the sisters. Harold will bring her back, and wait. There is no need to go yet.”
“You worked that out neatly.”
“I thought so.”
She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I am hungry at least. I will go find us some food.” She reached for her chemise and pulled it on.
“I’ll come. The day is fair. We will dine out in the sun.” He went to the dressing room and pulled on some clothes.
When he returned, she looked down on her half-naked self, then at him in nothing but trousers again. “There will be no one to see us out in the sun, but it still seems a wicked thing to do.”
“You like wicked, so that should please you.”
Down the stairs they went. He spied her bonnet and sketchbook in the reception hall and picked them up on the way. He set the bonnet on her head. “That will spare your complexion.”
She felt the bonnet, looked again at her dishabille, and laughed.
In the kitchen Eva set about making up a tray to take outside. Gareth idly paged through her sketchbook, flipping back and forth. He found a drawing she had done of him while he slept. She must have done it that afternoon in London. It was very good. Like her copies, it showed a keen eye and steady hand. If given half a chance she would probably become a very good artist.
He flipped more, and the pages opened at a most peculiar drawing. “What is this?”
