He needed no guidance, no time to accustom himself to how to best bring her pleasure. Somehow, the effort it took to keep her hand steady on him only heightened her thrill. She had to clingto the shreds of her mind that wanted to let themselves get lost in sensation. She wanted him to feel what she felt. Sheneededhim to feel it, too. She needed to be the one who gave it to him.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hitching in time with her movements. She had not known he was going totalk. That was unfair. “Gorgeous. So, so gorgeous. No painter on earth could do you justice.”
Her hand twitched against him, and let out a choked sound, his eyes fluttering briefly closed as he breathed heavily through his nose. Letty felt a surge of satisfaction that she could do this to him—that she held such power over him—though this was lost in a moan of her own when he pulled his hand briefly away,licked his thumb, and then pressed it against that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Oh, unfair,” she complained, and he laughed, though it was almost as breathless as her objection.
He proved the victor, in the end—or maybe she was the true winner, because she toppled into oblivion first, her mind going positively blank at the coursing waves of it. She managed to keep her hand touching him, and he pressed into her hold, following her quickly into the abyss, warmth spilling against her leg as he wracked with pleasure.
She pried her eyes open so she could see him, could make sure to commit every detail of how beautiful he looked to memory. She knew she would never see anything so gorgeous again. How could she, when she would never have him like this again?
She pushed the thought away. She would have time for sadness, later.
Now, their breaths were evening out, their bodies going limp and languid. With a grunt of effort, Ezra rolled so he could reach backward and grab his discarded trousers. Letitia watched this with a mild, sleepy interest, then smiled as he dug out a pristine, embroidered handkerchief and used it to clean his seed from where it had struck her thigh.
“So considerate,” she teased, her voice a murmur. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder.
“I aim to please,” he said, ghosting a kiss over her hair.
Her laugh was barely audible. Things had been so mad these past few days, with the decision to leave, then the search for a new home, then the emotional turmoil of saying goodbye. And now this, the physical exertion, the intimacy of it. She was weary down to her bones.
In a great, long list of things that Letitia should not do, falling asleep with the Duke of Rutley at her side was one of them.
But she had abandoned good sense so long ago that she could not see it even if she looked back.
So she just smiled. She let his arms go heavier around her as he drifted, too.
This moment would be the last thing she stole. She swore it to herself.
And, at the time, she even meant it.
CHAPTER 19
Letitia woke alone. It should not have been a surprise, not after a lifetime of waking alone, but this morning, she met that realization with a sense of panic.
Where is Ezra? Have I somehow imagined the whole thing?
But no. She could feel it in her body, everything they had done. And it was foolish, utterly foolish, for her to want to have woken up in his arms. She had just promised herself that she would stop this nonsense, would stop pretending she could have things that she absolutely could not have. If he were gone, that would be fine. She would let herself cry, just a little, and then she would move on, just like she had always planned to do.
At the sound of a rustle, she opened her eyes—and a smile spread across her face.
He is still here.
He was poking around shamelessly, the irritating little pest, but he was here.
“Find anything interesting?” she prodded, laughing a little when he jolted in surprise.
“Goodness, woman,” he exclaimed. His shirt was open halfway down his chest, and he had tugged on his trousers without bothering to fasten them. He looked utterly debauched as he lounged against the wall, and she felt a surge of pride thatshehad been the one to debauch him. “Are you trying to kill me? That would be very awkward to explain, you know. If you surprise me to death, I mean.”
“If you are startled to death, you deserve it,” she told him mercilessly, then burst into a startled peal of laughter when he rushed to the bed, dropped beside her, and pressed a probing kiss to her mouth.
“Minx,” he pronounced crisply when he had kissed her breathless.
She felt very luxurious, lounging in the bed. The morning sun was streaming through the window; she had slept far later than she usually did. She was a servant. She had been up with the sun for as long as she could remember.
“I thought you might be gone,” she admitted as he toyed with a lock of her hair. She had not plaited it before sleeping, so it had to look a fright, but he touched it with reverent fingers.
“I know I likely should have left,” he admitted. “You wanted distance, and staying is not giving you distance.”
