Page 58 of Managing the Major

Her face grew warm. “Are you still…aroused?”

He moved his hips sensuously, and she felt his hardness, but without the same rigid urgency as before. “A bit, but it’s bearable.”

They kissed again, but leisurely this time, and she savored the slow sweep of his tongue against hers. Sighing, Octavia raised her head, hearing metal clanging in the distance. “Peter’s back.”

They embraced once more, then he retrieved her jacket, shaking wisps of hay from the wool, watching her as she reassembled her outfit. He took his own coat from the hook where he’d hung it earlier, and she helped him to tie his stock and then slip on the coat.

“We seem fated to dally in a stable. Octavia.” His lips curved ruefully. “It’s becoming too dangerous to be alone together. When we are, I suffer from a massive loss of self-control.”

She sighed. “So do I.”

Alastair took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I won’t put any demands on you, darling. You need to explore your emotions and decide how we should proceed. I’ve been close to marriage and have enjoyed several…less formal…relationships in my life, but this is your first.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just told you what I want.”

“Let me court you properly, then, and discover where your family stands where we’re concerned. We have time.”

“Are you speaking of marriage, Alastair?”

“That is up to you,” was his enigmatic answer.

*

Alastair leaned against the cushions of his carriage, unsettled and emotional. He recalled Octavia’s words: A union between two people, equal in importance. Each one striving to find their best selves, but stronger because they’re together and have filled the emptiness each kept hidden away.

And she was right; the hurt, the hollowness and despondence he had known since Rangoon were fading with each day he spent near Octavia. The nightmares from which he would awaken drenched in sweat rarely occurred these days, and the time he spent in physical activity not only improved his body, but his spirits were lighter than they had been in a long time.

They were equals, evenly matched in strength of character. He loved her quick mind and vibrant personality, and the purpose with which she pursued her goals. He envisioned them together, building a life with horses and establishing his hospital. Eventually raising a family in Fairfax.

And he would take her around the world. He’d spent time serving in Greece, in the Ottoman and Dutch Empires, and they could also visit France, even India. They might go see the pyramids in Egypt and explore the Colosseum in Rome. Perhaps Octavia wouldn’t settle down immediately, but travel. What a perfect companion she would be—amusing, inquisitive, and adventurous.

All this—besides the endless physical pleasures to enjoy. His arousal resurfaced thinking of all the things he could do to satisfy her needs. Hopefully, her curiosity would extend to the bedroom—and many other places he imagined as well.

Before he knew it, the carriage had arrived at Ovington Square. He checked his watch; William Denton was due at three o’clock, and it was past noon. He needed to bathe and change clothes, and to send a letter and tell Octavia what was in his heart. Such things were still difficult to say, but he could write them.

*

Octavia ran into Merrick House, her heart still pounding. The footman in the vestibule greeted her, and she nodded, passing him as Freya came scampering down the hallway, jumping and leaping onto her skirts. She scooped up the terrier, hugging it close.

“Good afternoon, miss. Shall I draw a bath?” Marie met her on the way to the library.

“Yes—no. I’m not sure yet.”

“Is anything wrong, Miss Octavia?”

“No, Marie, I just wish to rest a bit in the library. Has my mother returned yet?

“No, miss. But she sent a message to you. I’ll go fetch it.”

Once in the library, letter in hand, Octavia closed the door behind her and set Freya down, glad to be alone at last. She collapsed into one of the overstuffed leather chairs, and the envelope slipped unheeded onto her lap. She wanted to remember every second of her encounter with Alastair, to savor every word and sound he had uttered, how he made her feel, how he touched her.

Le petit morte. It was indeed like a small death to be so saturated with sensation that your heart nearly stopped. If this was just a precursor to intercourse…her insides quivered. She had yet to see him unclothed or to touch him in all the ways she imagined doing. Just thinking of his arousal, the shape and size of it contained by his breeches, Octavia became aroused all over again.

She picked up the letter and fanned herself, then tore it open. Lady Amelia would be home in time for tea, a scant two hours away. And she would see Alastair again.

“What a lobcock I am to sit here daydreaming,” she said aloud, and Freya lay down on the Turkish carpet, her front paws covering her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Four