It was definitelynotlike his fingers.
As his cock entered her, the fullness, the passion was all-consuming. Her knees drew up, almost involuntarily as he settled between them. Michael had been right—without seeing him, without touching him, all sensation narrowed to the feelings of him steadily pushing within, pausing, withdrawing, only to push in farther. The scent of his body over her—pungent with sweat and his own arousal—and the way he braced on one elbow as his other hand guided his erection, helped to intensify her desire with tender strokes.
But there was no pain, only the pressure that filled her to the point of discomfort.
Michael pushed fully into her, his breath hard in her ear. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” The whispered word cracked, and Clara licked her lips. “There is more?”
He nodded and began to thrust then, slowly at first, then building up a rhythmic speed.
Clara felt as if she were floating, a heady lightness that lifted her, almost as if she were not a part of her body, a sensation that built until she could not breathe. Then, with a rush of unanticipated joy, she crashed, falling hard, her body jerking in an unrelenting wave of pleasure that spiked through her. She called out his name as every muscle spasmed, her legs kicking wildly on either side of his.
With a stark cry, Michael pulled away from her. Alarmed, Clara opened her eyes to see him at her side, his hips jolting as he gasped into the mattress.
“Michael?”
His back rocked as he fought for air, his body shuddering. Then, with a moan, he turned toward her, his eyes wild. He lunged up and yanked on the cravat, and her arms were suddenly free as he gathered her to his chest, enfolding her in his arms.
The release was pure bliss, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands finding the silky curls at the back of his head. She buried her face against his neck, absorbing his warmth, inhaling the mesmerizing scent of him. She whispered his name again, unable to say anything more.
Michael held her, his hands firm against her skin, until his breathing eased. He lifted his head to look at her, and the pure adoration in his eyes stilled her. No one, ever, had looked at her like that. But...
“Why did you pull away?”
He smiled. “I did not want to leave you with a child. Not yet.”
“Oh.” Clara suddenly realized that no matter what she had heard from the servants over the years, she truly knew little about men. But... “Yet?”
He stroked her face. “Whatever happens, I will find a way. We will find a way.”
Clara trailed her fingers through his hair and down his cheek, not trusting herself to speak. Instead, she simply focused on him, on loving this man in this moment.
Because she already knew a way. Had a plan. She only hoped it would bring them together instead of destroying them both.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday, 23 August 1825
Ashton House stables
Eleven in the morning
“Thought I wouldfind you here.”
Michael watched the black stallion finish scooping bits of apple from his palm before looking around at Robert. “And where else would I be?”
“I checked your bedchamber first, fully expecting you to be unconscious, given how late you returned to the house last night. Or this morning, rather. What was it, sometime after dawn?” Michael held his tongue until a wide grin split his brother’s damaged face. “Ah, so it was not a brain-addled farrier who sought your company last night.”
Scowling, Michael growled. “And would you be so willing to share your exploits with Lady Eloise?”
Robert clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Of course not. Gentlemen do not brag—”
“You must not have met many gentlemen.”
“When their lady’s reputation is at stake.”
“This new ethic of yours is making me doubt your sanity.”
