Page 59 of The Cornish Mermaid

She tugged on his lapels again, and he let his head bow forward as her mouth moved up to meet his.

Her lips were velvety soft on his, slightly apart, her tongue teasingly tickling. He gave in. He’d have had to have been a monk not to. He opened his mouth against hers and their tongues met, dancing over one another in a way he could only have dreamed of.

God! Kissing a girl for the first time had never been like this. Not even the very first girl he’d kissed when he’d still been at school. Nor the first bit o’ muslin he’d been to at Oxford. Girls like that didn’t want to kiss at all, just to get down to the act being paid for. He’d kissed a good few girls since—none of them young ladies of the ton, of course—but none had kissed him back like this. As though they wanted him and only him in every single way.

He didn’t want this to end. His arms went around Morvoren pressing her close, her hands left his lapels and her fingers ran through his hair, pressing his face to hers, as though she wanted him to melt into her body. Oh, for this to never end, and for him not to have to forget her and go back to Cornwall in a scant few hours.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Morvoren

Morvoren lay in bed, unable to sleep thanks to the thoughts about last night tumbling over themselves in her head. And enjoying the tumultuous feeling of unrest that was knotting her stomach. They’d arrived home late, or was that early? Whatever it was, it had been full daylight, and, after hot chocolate and toast, Lady Ormonde had decreed, with a benevolent smile, that “her girls” should retire to their rooms to sleep.

Loveday, fresh as a daisy after a good night’s sleep, had removed Morvoren’s finery and tucked her up in bed with the heavy curtains in her room firmly drawn against the light. Whether Ysella was asleep or not, Morvoren had no idea, but if she’d had half as good a night as she had, then probably not.

She glanced at the light around the edges of the curtains. It was no use. She couldn’t sleep. Not after what had happened on the terrace. Yes, she’d made the first move, as any twenty-first-century girl would have done. If she’d waited for gentleman Kit to kiss her, she’d be an old maid, for sure. He wasn’t like Lord Flint, grasping and lecherous and desperate to snatch a kiss, or something more. Kit’s diffidence had been pulsing out of him in alternate waves with his desire—an odd combination. It had been up to Morvoren to jump in.

And oh, what an experience it had been. She hugged herself at the memory. Yes, she’d naughtily moved her legs apart and pulled him close like that on purpose. And yes, she’d relished the feel of his arousal where it had pressed against her stomach even through the confines of her stays. That he was a young man who wanted her could not have been clearer. And once she’d kissed him, it was as though a dam had been released. Who’d have thought an upright, in more than one way at that particular moment, Regency gentleman capable of such passionate kisses. Not at all restrained Mr. Darcy.

It had been as though once kickstarted, he wanted to eat her up. Not that she didn’t want to eat him up too, but she’d resisted the temptation to slide her hands down and casually brush his arousal. She didn’t want to embarrass him. That could all too easily put a damper on what she was beginning to hope might be a relationship. Who’d want a fat old marquess when they could have a dashing young viscount with a bent for smuggling? What could be more romantic for a girl brought up on romantic novels and films?

Morvoren wriggled at the thought of seeing him again today. Of him kissing her again. Of his hands running over her body, even if over those horrid stays. Desire for him rose like a tidal wave and she shivered with excitement.

He was definitely not the cold fish she’d first thought him. Not that she’d thought that for some time now. Not since they’d begun her dancing lessons and they’d fallen laughing to the floor. A good ice breaker.

She lay on her back staring up at the four-poster bed’s canopy, imagining what it would be like if he were to sneak into her bedroom right now, maybe wearing a silk dressing gown and nothing else, and slide into her bed. Another shiver ran through her body at that delectable thought. It had certainly felt like he had something down his trousers that would satisfy a girl, as long as he knew what to do with it.

Which set her mind off in another direction. What did men do for sex in this era? Did they make love to the society women they knew? Without having to marry them? Did they have affairs with safely married women? Or did they go to sex workers? Or keep a mistress? Did he, heaven forbid, have a mistress somewhere right now? A rather scary thought.

She wriggled again to get more comfortable, the feeling bubbling in her groin refusing to allow her to sleep. Never had she wanted a man as much as she wanted this one, and never had one been so inaccessible, hedged about by the social mores of his society. Or was he? Certainly, fat old Jasper had seemed to think he could steal more than a kiss. Maybe these people weren’t so moralistic as she’d been led to believe. Maybe they all went about having sex with whomever they wanted? She certainly wanted sex with Kit. And soon.

Sunlight slanted across the floor of her room from between the curtains, and from outside came the sound of voices in the gardens. Servants, by the sound of them. How much easier it must be for them. No class etiquette to confine them, or not as much as the nobility appeared to have. Or maybe she was wrong on that one too. If only she’d done a history degree instead of an animal science one.

It was no good. She’d have to get up. Perhaps Kit hadn’t retired to bed as the women had. He always seemed to have work to do. He was probably with Sam in the estate office right now. The urge to go to him and have him take her in his arms again blossomed in her heart, and elsewhere. She jumped out of bed and rang the bell for Loveday.

“But I thought you was havin’ a rest in bed till this afternoon?” Loveday protested when she arrived, looking annoyed, as no doubt she’d been enjoying some time off without having to run around after Morvoren.

“I’m not tired,” Morvoren said, taking off her nightgown and throwing it onto the bed. “I need to be up and dressed and doing something. Where are my clothes?”

Loveday hurriedly fetched her underslip and helped her into her stays. Before very long, Morvoren was dressed for the day in a blue-patterned muslin day gown, with Loveday fussing over her hair. The need for urgency pressed in on Morvoren for some reason, and she fidgeted under her maid’s ministrations, impatient about the length of time it took a Regency young lady to do her toilette. Or rather, the length of time it took her lady’s maid to do it.

“You can’t be seen not properly dressed,” Loveday chided.

At last, though, she was ready. On nervous feet, she descended the stairs into the hall and headed for the estate office at the back of the house near the servants’ area. Outside the large oak door, she paused and tapped smartly on the silvery wood with her knuckles.

“Come in,” called Sam’s deep voice. Her breath catching in her throat at the prospect of seeing Kit again, Morvoren pushed open the door and went inside.

Sam was sitting alone at the large desk, the ledgers open in front of him.

She halted on the threshold, nonplused.

He smiled. “Can I help you, Miss Morvoren?”

She bit her lip. “I’d hoped to find Kit here with you.”

His face fell. “Ah, well, I am afraid, as you see, that I must disappoint you. He’s not here.”

She stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind her. “I can see that. Do you know where I might find him?”