It was impossible not to answer the scintillating pleasure of her touch and he collapsed on top of her, recapturing her mouth in a desperate kiss.
“Do you think the girls will return?” she breathed against his jaw.
“It’s still raining,” he huffed. “And I don’t regret it. I hope it rains for hours. Are you alright?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed, “I am alright.” He kissed her ear again and came up on his elbows. He eyed the bodice of her gown, wondering how he might free her breasts without taking the time to unfasten it or (what he really wanted) destroy the neckline.
“But Gabriel...” she said, massaging her hands over his shoulder “...the girls? Their nanny will keep them inside while it’s raining—she wears a corrective shoe that must be kept dry—but if the rain stops...”
“I’ll close the carriage-house door. I’ll lock it,” he breathed. Was it still raining? He didn’t know. The world was on fire and he didn’t care. He wanted the world to burn. He slid a hand beneath her neckline to fan across her nipple.
Ryan let out a moan and closed her eyes. He pumped his hips against her and the moan turned into a breathless cry.
“If we made some arrangement to meet,” Ryan said, eyes closed, body arched, “after everyone has gone to bed perhaps, we could do whatever we wished. With no interruptions. We could have all night.”
“And not in a bed of hay,” he added, “not beneath the wagon.”
Ryan’s eyes flew open. “Yes,” she said. She propped up on her elbows. “That’s right. In a proper bed. Like in your camp.”
Gabriel slid his gaze away. He’d not meant to agree to her suggestion. The words had just come out.
Of course she deserved a proper bed. She deserved privacy. He’d only agreed to thetheoryof these, not to a plan to make them happen. It was dangerous and reckless to arrange an actual rendezvous. Kissing was one thing, touching, his shirt off, her bodice disrupted; but to risk her virginity? As much as he hated to think of it, she might wish to share her life with another man in Guernsey. Perhaps they could later annul their marriage and she could marry again in earnest. He would not take this bit of it from her. He couldn’t.
“Gabriel?” she prompted. He’d cradled her head in his hands and massaged his thumbs down her jaw. Slowly, he rocked back and forth against her, bumping his hardness into the apex of her thighs. Their clothes were a barrier, but not much. The erotic sensation was blinding.
“Don’t tell me,” she whispered, “we’re back to noble resistance again? Avoiding complication?”
“You’re mad if you think I’m bedding you and then sending you back to Guernsey.” He kissed her. “Mad. I am a recluse and a rustic, not a blaggard.”
Ryan broke away and turned her head to the side. “I’m leaving Gabriel.”
“Leaving... the underside of this wagon?” Gabriel’s heart stopped.
“LeavingMayapple,” she corrected. “Not today, but sooner than we thought. The solicitor is arriving from London next week.”
“What?”
“Killian had a letter at breakfast,” she said. “The post had been delayed and several days’ worth of letters came at once. Including a note from Mr. Soames. He is expected to arrive Monday or Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest.”
Gabriel frowned. The fire beneath his skin extinguished. He went cold all over.
“Killian didn’t mention it to me,” he said.
“Have you seen him since breakfast?”
“No.”
“Well, when you do, he’ll tell you. You can read the letter. It’s happening. Next week, Mr. Soames will come and our time together will be over.”
“Unless the man is detained,” Gabriel offered, an unhelpful comment if ever there was one.
“I would not depend upon it,” she said. “We must have Sister Marie bring the priest and perform the wedding right away—in the next day or so. Next week, we’ll meet Mr. Soames as husband and wife and convince him of our great love story. When that’s done, I’ll have everything I need to return to Winscombe. And then I will return.”
“Is it precipitous,” he asked, “to believe a single meeting with this man will give us ‘everything you need’? Should we not first speak to the man? He may interview us for days. He may require case files or clerks brought from London. We’ll want him to—”
“He may do any number of things,” she cut in quietly, “but he’ll not requiremefor these. My story is unorthodox, but it can be explained in an hour or less. We’ll have a marriage license; it will take very little to convince him of the fake story of our relationship. We can easily demonstrate affection.Ineedn’t linger after next week. And in fact I can’t justify lingering—no matter how much I’ve enjoyed my time here.”
“You’re so anxious to get back?” The question was out before Gabriel could stop it.
