“Probably,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. I feel a veritable waterworks coming on. Please, Gabriel...” she lifted a hand and clasped the back of his neck, pressing his head into her bodice “kiss it; make it better.”
“This cannot be fair,” he panted, “but I can’t muddle through the injustice. Ididmake you cry, but then you... you...”
Ryan was rapidly losing the strength to hold herself up by an arm, and she wound both hands around his neck. Now she hung from him, suspended above the desk. He scooped her up and lowered her onto the blotter.
“Mind the quill,” she mumbled, hoping the ink was dry on the list beneath her back. Gabriel’s legs bumped up against her knees and she tried to widen them, but she was restricted by her skirts. She made a noise of frustration and reached down, dragging the fabric to her waist, giving her knees room to slide apart, hitching her ankles around his thighs to pull him in.
Gabriel made a groaning sound and toppled over her, bracing himself with palms on the desktop. His hard, dense weight felt heavenly; a warm solid answer to the call of her body. Every burning part of her now had something to push against. Ryan constricted her legs, cinching her ankles more tightly around his thighs, sliding herself to the edge of the desk. Gabriel responded with a thrusting motion, aligning his hardness with the fiery demand that burned between her legs.
All the while, he ravaged her throat, her neck, her décolletage. He freed her breasts from the bodice of her gown, sucking, raking her with his beard, leaving a trail of sensation. She cried out and he covered her lips with a hard kiss, trying to swallow the sound.
She kissed him back, digging one hand into his hair, clawing against his hip with the other; urging him to thrust again. He kissed her hard and rocked against her.
She was just about to ask what would happen next, after the kissing and the rocking; to ask how they might kiss more and rock without the frustrating barrier of their clothes, when voices floated through the library door.
“No, no I’vefoundNanny, Killian,” came Elise’s voice. “It was a fleck of paint from the windowsill. It flew in her face and she needs an eye wash. She’ll have recovered by luncheon, surely.”
Ryan dropped her head onto the desk with athunk. Gabriel whipped up, staring at the door. He swore, rolled up, peeling Ryan from the desk as he went.
“Can you repair your bodice?” he whispered. “Tell them the dusty books gave you a sneezing fit.”
“A sneezing fit?” she whispered. She was dizzy and burning and not entirely able to stand.
“You’re very pink,” he said, reaching to his breeches and adjusting the fall. “I’ll examine their collection of Shakespeare.”
Before Ryan could reply, he stalked between two bookshelves, disappearing into the back of the room.
Ryan drew in two deep breaths and blinked. She looked down. Her dress was hiked to her waist. Her bodice sagged. The exposed skin of her chest was whisker-burned and blotchy.
Ryan swore and began frantically shaking skirts and straightening darts and patting down flyaway hair.
“Sorry, I’m here, I’m here,” Elise sang, rattling the door handle. “Fair warning: I’m accompanied by an infant.Again.” She pushed open the door and bustled in with little Noelle on her hip.
Ryan cleared her throat. “Are the children alright?” she called, not turning around.
“Oh yes,” said Elise. “Sorry to have vanished. Our nanny suffers from a myriad of challenges to her health. The girls roam the house with no supervision and Killian worries. But where is Gabriel?”
“He’s searching for an, er, sonnet,” said Ryan over her shoulder.
“A sonnet?”
“Yes. He has a fondness for poetry. His library in the forest is large but not so big as this.”
“Take whatever you like,” Elise called to her brother. “Killian’s nephew will not stop until he owns every book in England.”
Slowly, Ryan pivoted to face the desk. To her horror, their notetaking was bent and creased at strange angles, like a wild animal had nested on the desktop. Casually, calmly, she endeavored to smooth the crumpled parchment.
“Deuced dark in here, isn’t it?” Elise was saying. She went to the window and yanked on the drapes, letting in the daylight. “That’s better. Very good. Oh look at you, Ryan—but are you overwarm?”
“Just a touch,” Ryan said. The truth.
“We can open the window as well as the drapes. But how is the progress on your faux courtship? Not too many unchaperoned hours spent alone in his camp, I hope. Should we scandalize the solicitor? I suppose it’s better than claiming no passion at all.”
“Passion would probably...” Ryan ventured, her voice high and squeaky “...not be remiss.”
Somewhere in the back of the library, a book hit the floor with athunk.
Chapter Twenty-One
