“You’d know it if you were in one. Friends with benefits, secret crush, anything like that?”
Did a one-night hookup with no commitment qualify as any of those things? She couldn’t lay any claim to Rory, especially when her own future was so unclear. “No.”
“Okay then. I’ve done my due diligence and my conscience is clear.” She smiled and dropped Mathilda’s hands.
“But he’s really tired,” Mathilda called softly after her, as she headed for the guest tent. “You should let him get some sleep.”
“Are you clam-jamming me?” Diane brushed her beads away from her face. “You just said you weren’t together.”
Clam-jamming? Mathilda had to guess what that meant. “We’re not together. I just think he could use some sleep. I don’t want to clam-jam you, if that means what I think it means.”
Yes, she did. Liar, liar. She didn’t want Diane slipping into Rory’s tent. She wanted to do that herself. She wanted Rory to be hers, and only hers.
But she’d just have to get over all that. Her fate might take her somewhere very different in the world.
She tucked herself into her own tent and tried to sleep. But sleep was one of those things for which “trying” never really worked. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she grabbed her headlamp and dug out the letter from Duncan again.
Could you tell from a letter if you were going to be compatible with someone? Of course not. Could you tell if you were going to have chemistry? Of course not. What about parenting styles? Duncan wanted children. What kind of a father would he make?
She already knew exactly what kind of mother she’d be—or at least how she wanted to be. She wanted her kids to feel safe enough to be adventurous. She didn’t want them to have cell phones until they were teenagers. She wanted to travel with them and show them how many different ways there were to be in this world. The last thing she’d ever want was to raise her children in a cocoon woven of wealth and privilege.
Would all of that be possible as a marchioness? Could she write that into the marriage contract? At the very least, she and Duncan should discuss this sort of thing. Maybe they should have a parenting contract as well. What if his expectations were completely different from hers? Maybe he wanted to raise perfect little lords and ladies who considered England the peak of the civilized world.
Eventually, she drifted off, only to wake at some point later because someone was whispering her name.
“Mathilda. Are you awake?”
“Rory?” She pushed open the mosquito net so he could climb onto the bed with her. “Are you okay? Is Lincoln okay?”
Instead of answering that question, he cupped his hands around her face. “I had to see you.”
“What’s wrong?” She drew in a breath. “Is it about Diane?”
“Diane? No. I told her I was taken. I know this can’t be anything beyond right now, but as long as we’re both here, I’m taken. Taken with you. Taken by you.”
Her heart swelled with electric happiness. She clutched him closer to her. This man set every one of her nerve endings on fire. Wild, irresistible fire.
“I’m taken with you too,” she whispered. “So take me.”
“Wait, I have to?—”
She didn’t give him a chance to finish. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. She pressed her mouth to his, urgent and filled with desire. She wanted nothing else except to be close to him. He slanted his mouth over hers and she melted into the kiss, her entire body going limp with desire.
She flung aside her covers and they snuggled deep into their own thrilling, intimate world. He ran his hands along her sides, tugging down her pajama pants, pushing up her ribbed tank. She was already so hot for him that she couldn’t hold back her whimpers. Under the covers, steam gathered from their heating bodies. He flung off the covers, then rose onto his knees. Taking charge. Her heart pounded.
He drew her up as well, then turned her so her back was to him. In that position, he had free rein of her body, her breasts, her belly, the wet, throbbing triangle between her thighs. He fingered her delicately at first, finding the right spot, helped by the hand she added to his. She didn’t believe in being shy about something as important as an orgasm.
She felt his hard erection at her back, and reached back to fondle him. After last night, he already felt familiar, but in a good way, like she knew how to please him, and she was fully confident that he would please her.
Like the way he pressed between her legs, oh God, yes, just like that, more, more…
With his other hand he plucked at her nipples and she barely managed to stifle a loud yelp. No rain tonight to mask their sounds. She bit her lip and expressed herself with her body instead, flexing and undulating in rhythm with his clever fingers.
She came so hard she had to turn her head and bury her cries in the warm nook of his neck. He held her tightly against him, murmuring sweet things in her ear—you’re so beautiful, you’re a goddess, you feel so fucking good.
When her breathing had slowed closer to normal, he pushed her down onto her elbows and knees. A moment while he located one of her condoms and rolled it on, and then he was back. He reached around to make sure she was still wet enough for deep penetration, then eased his erection inside her. She closed her eyes as his thick flesh filled her up.
She lost herself in his slow thrusts. He took his time, savoring every move, locating hidden secret spots of pleasure. Each one felt like the first one, as if every moment with him was new and fresh, yet also primal and inevitable.
