He reached out and slid his hand over one of her buttocks. So smooth and warm. The girl shivered.
“Are you for me, miss?”
She nodded. He shifted over and patted the pillow.
“You’re a lovely one, now, aren’t you? Get into this warm bed and tell me your name.”
She turned and slipped under the counterpane, folding up her long legs, taking up the space on the mattress he had just occupied.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Phineas got up on his elbow and pulled on the girl’s waist so she faced him. First things first. He cupped one of her breasts. Smallish. A plum, not an apple. Oh, but a sensitive little plum with a plum-colored areola and a little bit of a nipple aroused and firm and puckering already under his hand. She shuddered.
“And your name, sweet one?”
“Ca—” She gulped. “Caro.”
He saw a flash of a pink tongue as she spoke, and his skin prickled. Oh, he wanted that tongue.
“Caro,” he crooned and brought a fistful of her dark hair to his face. “What beautiful hair you have, Caro. I didn’t know our host would be providing us with this kind of bedwarming, but I should have known Edmund might do something like this for me.”
The girl’s body went stiff and there was the hint of a frown as she brought her dark brows together.
Oh, no. He was a fool. This was no village whore hired by Edmund for Phineas’ pleasure. The breast had been too susceptible to his touch. The girl wore no rouge, no perfume. And there was no coyness here. Perhaps a very well-disguised bit of nervousness instead?
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I get the wrong end of the stick, you lovely girl? Of course, I did. I always do. Pay me no mind. I’ve always been just this side of imbecilic. Do you work in the house, Caro?”
She hesitated before nodding.
He released her hair and put his hand on her jaw. A strong, square jaw. “You live in the house then?”
She nodded again. He ran his thumb over her lips. Not exactly plump but generous enough. Dark to match her areolas. A wide mouth to match her jaw.
“Do you have a sweetheart or a husband? Is anyone going to burst into this bedchamber to thrash me?”
She shook her head. He ran his thumb over her lips again and chuckled softly.
“Did you fancy a night with a lord, Caro?”
She took both her hands and placed them flat on his chest, lacing her fingers into his hair there.
“With . . . you,” she whispered.
Again, he saw her tongue. Oh. Oh. Oh.
“With me, in particular?” He grinned. “I am very susceptible to a bit of flattery, darling.”
Indeed, he was becoming more engorged by the second. And, yes, part of it was her compliment to him, the flash of that pink tongue, her warm body next to his. But part of it was how little she had spoken so far. He did detest a chatterbox. Maybe because he was so voluble himself.
He should reward her terseness. It was such an admirable quality in a woman.
He tipped her chin up with one finger and leaned down and kissed her. A soft kiss, just a brush of his lips. Followed by a more demanding kiss, pressing his mouth to hers more firmly.
She did nothing. She did not kiss him back. Her mouth was still, immobile.
He had been told his kisses were devastating. Had he lost his knack?
No, no, he hadn’t. She was straining up toward him, and he met her halfway, and she was kissing him.
Mmmmm. How very sweet. Such sweet little kisses. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. She stopped kissing him, but kept her mouth on his. So he did it again. She pulled her head back and looked at him.
