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“Of course, my lady.” They heard receding footsteps.
Emeline exhaled and pushed at his chest. “Get off.”
“Why?” he asked lazily. “I like it here.”
But she was feeling a suffocating sense of panic. “My maid will return.”
He pulled back and searched her face. “I find that hard to believe. I’m sure you demand only the best-trained servants.”
She pushed again, and this time he yielded, withdrawing his penis from her as abruptly as he’d placed it there. He rolled to the side. She scrambled off the bed before she could regret the loss of his flesh. “You should go.”
How terribly awkward to stand nude in front of the man she’d just made wanton love to. He should have the common decency—a gentleman’s decency—to leave quietly after the act. But apparently he did not. She could feel his silent gaze as she bent over her pile of discarded clothes, rummaging for something, anything, to cover her nakedness. She pulled out her chemise and held it over her front, but then discovered that it was more rag than cloth. It was too much.
Emeline threw the shredded chemise down and whirled to the man on the bed. “You must go!”
He was lounging on his side, propped on one elbow, watching her as she knew he’d be. His hair was still tightly braided, his clothes rumpled but otherwise the same. But his mouth had relaxed into a sensuous, wide curve, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy-looking. He hadn’t even the tact to button the flap of his breeches. Her gaze was drawn helplessly to his manhood, shining and thick, and the only nude part of him. His cock should’ve been limp and little by now, a thing to be pitied, but it wasn’t. Quite the contrary, it lay arrogant and half-erect as if willing to do the whole thing over.
The sight enraged her. “Why haven’t you left?”
He sighed and sat up. “I had hoped to lie with you a time, my lady, but evidently that does not meet with your pleasure.”
She flushed. Emeline actually felt the heat invade her cheeks and neck. She knew she was being surly and unreasonable. She knew she should display grace and perhaps an indifferent sophistication, but she couldn’t.
She simply couldn’t.
“Please go.” She crossed her arms over her breasts in an inadequate defense and glanced away.
He stood and buttoned the flap of his breeches without hurry. “I’ll go now, but this is not over.”
She looked up in horror. “Of course it’s over! You got what you wanted; there’s no need to...to...” She trailed away because she really didn’t know how to voice the thought. Oh, if she’d only been one of those sophisticated widows! The ones who took discreet lovers and made liaisons where both parties knew the rules of behavior. But she’d had to care for Daniel and Tante Cristelle and then Reynaud had died and, well, she’d never felt the urge before.
While she’d been thinking about her woeful lack of experience, he’d finished putting himself to rights and strolled over to where she stood like a rather aged dryad. He bent and brushed his lips against hers, softly, tenderly, the touch almost making her weep.
And then he stepped back. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful. “Yes, I got what I wanted—and what you wanted as well—but I’m not quenched. I’m coming to you again, and you can either let me in quietly, or I will knock your door down and in the process summon the whole household.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward, but he didn’t look amused. “I may not be fully aware of all the niceties of your society, but I think that you won’t want that.”
Her mouth had fallen open during this arrogant speech, but now as he turned away, she found her voice. “How dare you presume—”
He caught her by the shoulders, making her indignant sentence end on a squeak. He bent his head and spoke fiercely into her ear. “I dare because you welcomed me into your body not a quarter of an hour ago. Your body rained your pleasure all over my cock, and I want that again.”
He covered her mouth. But this time his kiss wasn’t gentle or soft. It spoke of a man’s desire. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and angled his head so that his lips all but enveloped hers, and her silly body arched into him. She wanted this. She craved this. Intellect and reason fled her brain.
He stepped back so suddenly she nearly fell. His face was hard and flushed. “Let me in tonight, Emeline.”
He left her room before she could reply.
As she sank into her pile of ruined clothes, she had a blinding realization. She’d lost whatever control she’d ever had over this affair.
“CRADDOCK HUNG HIMSELF a month ago,” Lord Vale said later that afternoon.
Sam dragged his thoughts away from Emeline—her skin, her breasts, the fact that she didn’t want to see him again—and focused on the problem of the 28th. “You’d think that Thornton would’ve known that Craddock was already dead.”
Vale shrugged. “Thornton didn’t say when he’d last seen the man.”
“True.”
“Who’s next on your list to question?”
Sam grimaced. “No one.”
