Page 53 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

She felt the press of him against her fingertips, and as he bent to take her mouth again, she slipped her hand beneath the cloth. He made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a hum and groan. They kissed again and again as they made their way toward the bed, blindly twisting and turning, stopping and starting in a slow dance of passion. Finally, they paused long enough to rid themselves of the rest of their last impeding garments, then he lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs tightly around him as he carried her to the bed.

Tumbling onto the soft mattress, his body atop hers, Noelle remembered that moment only a month or so ago when they had grappled in the churchyard and she had felt a traitorous stirring of desire. It was much the same now—his body heavy on hers, pinning her down—yet oh, so different. No anger burned in her now, only anticipation.

Digging in her heels, she pushed up into him and was rewarded by the surge of heat throughout his body. His lips trailed down her neck, and he made his way downward with aching slowness until he reached the soft swell of her breasts. His mouth lingered there, his hands learning every dip and curve of her body.

Noelle panted, her skin on fire, aching to feel him inside her, and she rotated her hips impatiently beneath him. Her movements elicited another soft moan from him, but he did not satisfy her yet, instead drifting down her torso, his lips traversing the soft flesh over the bony ridges of her ribs and onto the tender skin of her belly. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, whispering his name, and he slid between her legs. With aching slowness, he pushed into her, stretching and filling her with such satisfaction that she could not hold back a soft cry.

He moved in a timeless rhythm, passion spiraling with every stroke. Noelle moved with him, her hands digging into the sheet beneath her, yearning, reaching, until at last desire exploded inside her, sending her soaring on a wave of pleasure so intense she could scarcely breathe. Carlisle shuddered and collapsed, his breath hoarse and hot against her neck. Noelle wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him in the storm of emotions. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to say any of the thoughts tumbling inside her brain, but it was all too intense, too inchoate to express, and so she simply held on and gave herself up to happiness.

CARLISLE DRIFTED UP from the dark well of sleep, aware of a vague, encompassing sense of well-being. Something soft and warm pressed against him, and his body responded to it instinctively, desire blossoming almost languidly deep inside him. Noelle.

He smiled, nuzzling into the curls that brushed his cheek. It was Noelle’s firm, round bottom pressing against him in a most delightful way. And this loose, lazy, thoroughly replete contentment that permeated his body was due entirely to her. He thought about making love to her hours earlier—the taste of her lips, the feel of her satin skin beneath his fingertips, the luscious weight of her breasts in his hand. He thought of sinking into that tight heat, her scent filling his nostrils. The breathless, crashing wonder of coming to climax inside her.

She snuggled closer, her movement setting his nerves afire. Her finger trailed down his arm that lay over her, the touch light as a feather, telling him she was awake...and knew exactly what her motion did to him. He responded to the invitation by softly kissing the side of her neck, and the shiver that ran through her was another silent answer.

“Good morning,” he murmured close to her ear and gently nibbled at the lobe.

She turned in his arms to look up at him and smile. “Good morning.”

Her voice was soft, her eyes hazy with sleep, her mouth still soft and a little reddened from their kisses. She couldn’t have looked more desirable, and his hunger surged. Carlisle hooked a finger under the top of the sheet and inched it down over her breasts, catching slightly on the pebbled nipples before slipping onto the soft plane of her stomach.

He teased his forefinger over her nipples, watching her eyes darken with passion, his own desire ratcheting higher. Bending his head, he kissed each breast, then the hollow of her throat, and finally her mouth, the light touch of his lips becoming deeper.

He raised his head, gazing into her eyes, and said softly, “This is folly, you know. Utter madness.”

“I know.” Noelle laid her hands on his arms and skimmed them up to his shoulders. Her fingertips traced the hard line of his collarbone, then drifted down the center of his chest.

“We cannot continue this at home.”

“Of course not.” She nodded, her finger finding and circling his navel.

“Even in town. The servants...” His breath caught in his throat as her fingertips explored lower.

“But we’re not there yet.” Her eyes gleamed as her hand found him and curled around him.

“No, thank God.” He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, her silvery laugh like fingers running up his spine.

Noelle straddled him, going up on her knees and providing him with a breathtaking view of her bare torso. He was already hard as a rock for her, and she wasted no time, taking him into her with a slow, pleasurable, tormenting glide. Carlisle sucked in his breath and he put his hands on her thighs and slid upward to cup her breasts. She felt like heaven, every silken inch of her, and the sight of her face, rapt in pleasure, as she moved on him, filled his chest with an ache so sweet, so piercing, so intense he felt as if he might simply shatter into a thousand pieces.

And when she reached her peak, her body shuddering, he sat up, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to him as he found his own sweet release.

THE DRIVE TO London was long, so that they arrived at the house after the time for dinner had passed. But Cook was able to come up with a meal of warmed-up meat pie, soup, bread, and pudding, which clearly embarrassed the woman by its plainness but which Carlisle and Noelle found delicious. The butler was horrified at Carlisle’s suggestion that they eat at the scarred wooden table in the kitchen, and he insisted on serving them himself at the small table in the dining anteroom.

Carlisle looked across at Noelle and wished the butler would leave them to their own devices. He had enjoyed dining with Noelle alone the past days as they traveled, and he wished he had one more meal to savor in the same relaxed way instead of having to maintain an atmosphere of careful propriety.

He curled his hand around his wineglass to keep from reaching over to touch Noelle’s hand. He thought of how easy it had been to take her hand in his as they rode in the carriage today, how natural and satisfying, and he smiled at the further memory of pulling her over onto his lap to kiss her.

What the devil was he going to do? The prospect of living this way, pretending a polite acquaintanceship with Noelle, watching his words, his gestures, even his glances, filled him with dismay. This morning he’d told himself that last night would be enough, that now that his desire had been satisfied, he would no longer hunger for her. That, of course, had been sheer idiocy—or, at least, it would have been if he had actually believed it. One night—ten nights, for that matter—with a woman like Noelle would not be enough to sate one’s desire.

With effort he pulled his mind back from where it strayed. Glancing up, he found Noelle watching him, brows raised slightly, and he realized that while his mind was wandering, she had spoken to him and was now awaiting a response. He shifted in his chair, struggling to remember what the devil they’d been talking about. Noelle chuckled, and the look in her eyes was so knowing that it started the familiar coiling deep in his gut.

Noelle cast aside whatever she’d asked and said mildly, “I believe that I shall retire early tonight, if you will excuse me. I find I’m rather tired.”

“Yes. No doubt.” He thought about Noelle going upstairs to prepare for bed. Undressing, brushing her hair, slipping between the sheets. “Um, rather a long trip.” Good Lord, now he could not manage to string together enough words to make a proper sentence.

“I had too little rest last night, I’m afraid,” Noelle went on, eyes twinkling.

She was baiting him. It was maddening. And damnably arousing. “Yes, well, country inns...”