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She felt the dip of the bed when he returned. The cloth was placed on her forehead and she murmured with pleasure. It felt so good, so right.
“Sleep now,” he said, and she could tell by his voice that he meant to leave her.
Her eyes popped open. “Stay with me.”
He looked away, his mouth tense. “I have business to attend to.”
What business? she wondered, but only said aloud, “Please.”
He didn’t answer, simply toed off his shoes and removed his coat. He took off his wig and laid it on his dresser, and then he lay down beside her and drew her into his arms.
She lay there, drifting, listening to his deep breaths. He’d not berated her for her outburst in the garden. Anyone else would’ve been ashamed of her—certainly disapproving. Yet Godric had treated her tenderly even when she’d fought him to get to the Earl of Kershaw. She didn’t deserve a man so patient, so good. She turned on her side, watching his profile as he lay on his back next to her. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. What was he thinking? What did he plan to do? Perhaps it didn’t matter right now. He’d agreed that she didn’t have to leave London right away, and for that she was grateful. She wanted to stay for Roger—but more importantly she wanted to stay for Godric.
Godric.
His nose was straight in profile and rather elegant, which was a funny thing to think about a man’s nose, but it was. The nostrils were slim and well defined, the bridge of his nose shadowed on either side. His mouth, too, had always been beautiful, his lips lighter than the surrounding skin, almost soft-looking. She raised a hand and touched. Lightly, tracing, feeling the slight scrape of his beard on one side, the smooth softness on the other.
His lips parted. “Megs.”
His voice, too, had always enthralled her. So gruff and low, sounding as if he’d spent the day shouting angrily at someone.
Except he wasn’t an angry man, not really, and certainly not with her.
He rolled toward her so that they were face-to-face. “You should sleep, Meggie mine.”
“But I’m not sleepy.”
He watched her, his gray eyes weary, saying nothing, simply waiting to see what she wished. It grieved her, what this strong, good man would do for her, and it made her uneasy too.
She fit her lips to his and whispered, “Make love to me, please.”
And he complied as he had with every other thing she’d asked of him.
He ran his long, graceful fingers into her hair and grasped the back of her head, holding her, embracing her, making her feel cherished.
His tongue licked into her mouth, gently probing, gently tracing her teeth and the roof of her mouth. She caught his tongue and suckled, pressing her palm against his chest so she could feel his heat, the steadfast beat of his heart. His mouth opened against hers, slanting, nibbling at the corner of her lips. He slid over her cheek to her temple, kissing her tenderly there.
“Godric,” she whispered, her voice catching.
There was something he intended to do, something involving Lord Kershaw, and she thought she should find out what it was, make him confess his secrets.
But then he caught the skirts of her chemise and flung it up over her hip and she forgot. He kissed her on the mouth and drew back, watching her as he took her upper leg and drew it over his own, opening her. His hand dropped again, and she felt as he delved between her thighs, gently stroking.
Her eyelids drooped, and her hand rose to his jaw, bringing him closer so she could kiss him again as his knuckle brushed against her clitoris. He pressed there, and she arched her hips into his hand, wanting more, until he withdrew his hand. She moaned in protest, hearing his breathless hush in reply, and then she felt his bare cock against her thigh.
She opened her eyes, staring into his.
“Come closer,” he whispered.
She did, inching close, so close that her hips were against his and she felt him at her entrance.
He moved slowly, pressing inside, widening her, making his own place for himself in her body. She watched his face as he breached her. His eyebrows were slightly knit, his mouth curved down. There was something in his dark eyes, a kind of sorrowful well, and she leaned forward to kiss him again.
Then he was as far inside her as he could go. He rocked against her, the movement gentle but strong. She tightened her leg against his still-clad buttocks, rocking with him, and they moved together like a rolling wave.
He gasped a little, his mouth against hers, and she bit down on his lip, opening her eyes lazily, lost in bliss.
Tears stood in his eyes.
