Now that they had got to this point, it was hardly necessary to bargain. She had not felt the touch of a man for a full six months before John had died. Since then, there had been no offers, only the pitying looks of other women and the encouragement from the vicar to immerse herself in good works. As though that was any protection against the need she had felt on long winter nights like this.
She did not want or need Montford’s help. She was not the sort of woman who would spread her legs for a trip to London. The idea that she might sell herself so cheaply was disgusting.
But that did not change the way she felt about the act itself. To be held and cosseted and kissed, for a few hours at least, would be wonderful. It had been so long that she had lost hope it would ever happen again. How long might it be before another such offer came? And that it should come from a man so good and kind, and so thoroughly attractive...
‘Let us not speak of the future. I cannot bear to think about it tonight,’ she said, for it was perfectly true. ‘It is late.’ To encourage him, she arched her back, pushing her hips gently into him.
‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘We can discuss it all on the way to church tomorrow. But tonight...’ He kissed her, again, and it was a question. Was he permitted to continue?
It had been good in the parlour. It was even better in bed, when she was spread over his naked body like a blanket, soaking in the heat of his skin. To answer him, she ran a cautious hand down his arm, and back up, along his side. It was different than what she was used to. He had a thicker torso with both muscle and wealth. Not youthful, but still firm. His arms were strong; she could feel the muscles bulge in them. The thighs beneath her legs were strong from riding. She widened hers and settled her legs around them.
Satisfied that she was willing, his hands swept down and up her body, stripping the nightdress away, so that there might be nothing between them. It felt so good, she wanted to scream with pleasure, and they had not even begun. ‘We must be careful,’ she whispered. ‘I would not want to do anything that might wake the household.’
‘I would be...very...very...quiet.’ A trail of kisses punctuated his words. They travelled down her chin, to the hollow of her throat, and lower. He slipped his hands beneath her arms and slid her body higher so that he could nuzzle her breasts. His lips closed on a nipple and sucked gently.
She had forgotten how good it was. The tightening in her breasts. The readying of the muscles deep inside her. In the dark, she could imagine the smile on his face as he kissed her, and the fire in her heart, banked low for so long, was blazing again. It took only a moment, and a single touch of his thumb between her legs, and she was spiralling into a short, sweet climax.
Against her breast, she felt him laugh.
He must think her the most simple kind of trollop to succumb so quickly. ‘I am not the sort of woman who...’ she began.
‘I rather think that you might be,’ he said, licking the underside of her breast. And then his hands travelled down again, stroking more persistently, spreading her, fingertips dipping inside.
She was losing control and was quite unwilling to tell him to stop. At least not until he had finished what he was doing and that sweet bubble of pleasure burst in her again. She clamped her thighs against his hand and pushed, giving herself over to it, taking selfishly from him.
He gave her a moment’s peace then, to collect her thoughts. ‘Do you still wish me to leave?’ he asked. ‘For it would be most inhospitable of you.’
She wanted to argue that hospitality did not normally extend to spreading one’s legs for any man that happened by the kitchen door. But he was not just any man. She slid back down his body so that she could touch him, learning his secrets. She stroked and caressed, tracing veins, circling him with her fingers and teasing until she was sure he must be near to bursting. Then she took him deep within her body.
For a moment they stayed completely still, in mutual amazement, and then they began to move. Slowly at first, then eagerly, then with desperate, violent speed. He pulled her face down to his so that they might smother their groans of pleasure in a kiss. They loved in silence, except for the soft creaking of the ropes beneath the mattress.
Suddenly, his back arched and he released inside her. There had been no attempt to withdraw, nor had she wished him to. But the intimacy of the act brought her the third orgasm of the evening.
When she was sure he had finished, she rolled off him to lie on her back, at his side. From the hall, the clock struck twelve.
His face turned to nip her ear. ‘Thank you, Generva, for the best Christmas gift I’ve got in years.’
‘You’re welcome, Your Grace,’ she said, still trying catch her breath.
He snorted softly. ‘Under the circumstances, I think you have earned the right to call me Thomas.’
‘Of course, Your Grace,’ she said. It was a shame it was too dark for him to see her smile.
He chuckled again. ‘It’s to be that way, is it?’ His finger traced the length of her arm before inching towards her breast, drawing an ever-narrowing circle in search of her nipple. ‘Are we to play the randy peer and the proper housewife? I have no objection to it, if it is easier for you.’ His fingers closed in a pinch that made her back arch. Then he rolled to face her, trapping her body beneath him. ‘There is no escape for you now, Mrs Marsh. Spread your legs so that I may have my wicked way with you again.’
It was still dark when he left her bedroom, rolling to kiss her lips before swinging his legs to the floor to search for his nightshirt.
Without thinking, she held her arms out to him.
In the dim light of the fire, she saw him shake his head. ‘I must be gone before the servants are up. I promised no gossip, remember?’
‘And where shall you go?’
‘To the sofa in the parlour. I will pull a rug over myself and sleep there.’ He grinned at her. ‘It will shock Mrs Jordan when she comes to lay the fire. But there are worse shocks, are there not?’
But would she be so shocked, really? The poor woman must have guessed the reason for Generva’s sudden indisposition yesterday. What would she think if the duke announced his plan to take them all to London for the Season?
She should not have silenced him when he had begun to speak of it. She should have refused immediately, so they might have enjoyed each other with no misunderstanding between them. In the cold light of morning, the memory of his suggestion made something special seem like a different, more elegant sort of disgrace.
He was standing over the bed, staring down at her as she brooded. ‘Might I trouble you for a last kiss before I go?’
He bent down, and she gave him an embarrassed peck upon the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Your Gr— Thomas.’
If he was disappointed by the lack of warmth, it did not show. ‘Good morning, Generva,’ he corrected. ‘And a very good one, I hope.’ With that, he was gone.
She began to miss him the moment the door closed. The night had been a mistake, one that she should have stopped immediately. What sort of an example was
