AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After all, one does not learn to play the piano or paint a picture well just by wishing to do so. Giles had told her he had been a virgin when he had left home, but he had lived nine adult years of his life in Portugal in the company of soldiers, diplomats, men of the world. And he was handsome and charming and probably most of the women of Lisbon were still patching their broken hearts back together after his departure.
‘Was there anyone special in Portugal?’ she asked, taking his hand and stepping into the rowing boat. It was quite a while since she had tried that, especially wearing pretty slippers and a respectable morning dress that she needed to keep clean and dry, and she made a mull of it, causing the boat to rock. That seemed to take Giles by surprise, too, and he had to step into the water to steady both it, and her, before she could sit down.
‘Portuguese ladies are very striking in looks,’ Giles said eventually when he had got on board himself, sat down and sorted out the oars. ‘I spent the first week trying to keep my mouth shut and managing not to stare. Their colouring is much like yours—dark hair, large brown eyes—but their skin is more olive, not your English roses and cream. Their taste in dress is more flamboyant, too, with touches of traditional costume even in highly fashionable gowns. And of course the national character in Portugal and Spain is more demonstrative than in polite circles here—’
He broke off as the boat bumped into the landing stage on the tiny island. ‘Here we are already. A few strokes of the oars and the dragon is left behind. Quick, Lady Palgrave has come out on to the terrace to look for us.’
Giles jumped ashore and held out his hand to her. It was like their childhood escapades playing hide and seek, Laurel thought, laughing out loud as they scurried round the shrubs and reached the other side of the islet. ‘Do you remember hiding here from Fawcett, the old gamekeeper, that time we let all the terriers out by mistake?’
‘Lord, do I! And there was hell to pay because his prize bitch encountered some mongrel from the village and was ravished before he could separate them.’
‘They were sweet puppies though, and you did find good homes for all of them.’
‘So I did.’ He held back some arching rose briars to let her through the tangle of shrubbery. ‘And here is the summer house, looking a great deal smaller than I recall from my youth.’
‘Things do look smaller. Childhood exaggerates everything.’ Laurel pushed open the door. ‘It is still in good condition and clean though. I used to let Jamie row over here quite often when it was hot. He would fish and swim and I would read novels and we would pretend to Stepmama that we had been studying natural history or something serious.’
Memory did not exaggerate you though, she thought as she turned to see Giles following her into the summer house.
He stood in the doorway of the miniature Greek temple, silhouetted against the bright sunlight outside, and she caught her breath. Memory had given her the image of the youth—gangling, quiet, not yet grown into his body and showing no signs of the man he would become. My man. Now he was solid, confident in his body, relaxed and yet with an edge of alertness.
‘For a schoolroom this has the two essentials as a boudoir for seduction.’ He came in, leaving the door open behind him. ‘There is a comfortable couch and, as far as I can see, no spiders. Spiders are the death of passion.’
‘Indeed? You speak from experience, no doubt?’ She was jealous, she could hear it in her voice.
‘Of spiders in such circumstances? No, I am glad to say. They would be a serious impediment—I am terrified of the things.’ Giles made a show of lifting the skirts of the chintz cover on the couch and peering warily beneath. ‘And as for mice...’
‘Wretch.’ Laurel lobbed a cushion at him and found herself caught up in his arms and tumbled on to the couch. ‘You used to keep pet mice in the schoolroom and I recall you putting spiders in the soup tureen when Lady—’ The rest of what she was about to say was lost as Giles kissed her.
She had thought she was beginning to understand kissing, but it seemed she had been wrong. This was different, this slow, languid open-mouthed caress. It was deep and personal and intimate. She could taste Giles. The flavour of tea and the sweetness from the tiny macarons they had nibbled at politely a short while ago, that she had expected. But there was something that she recognised from their previous kisses, something that must be simply him, his unique taste, his essence.
It was disturbing and arousing, almost as arousing as the slow slide of his tongue across hers, the tiny nips and licks at her lips, the movement of his hands on her body.
Laurel wriggled, wanting to get closer, wanting to feel him, skin to skin, even as the wary, self-conscious part of her brain protested that she was shy, that he did not love her, that really this would be so much easier the first time in the darkness of the bedchamber...
‘What is it, Laurel?’ Giles broke the kiss and propped himself on one elbow to look down at her. ‘Am I going too fast?’
‘No. It isn’t that. Giles—will you take your clothes off? All of them?’
‘Me? I was rather hoping to remove yours.’
‘Please.’
He thought about it for a moment, his lids heavy over the deep blue of his eyes, his lips a little swollen from their kisses. ‘You will feel more in control of things. I see.’
‘Yes, yes, I would. I had not expected you to understand that.’
‘I used to understand you very well, Laurel. I could read your expressions, the way you held yourself, the gestures you made with your hands. You have grown so confoundedly pretty that I must have been distracted up to now—but I am learning to see the old Laurel again.’ As he spoke he swung his legs down from the couch and pulled off his boots and stockings, then unwound his neckcloth.
Laurel curled up against the head of the seat, watching as Giles stood and shrugged out of coat and waistcoat. ‘You have changed, too.’
‘I should hope so.’ His grin faded as he looked down at her. ‘You have your curious robin look—head on one side. Laurel, the male body might come as a bit of a shock to you.’
‘I doubt that,’ she said, more confidently than she felt. ‘I have seen Jamie growing up, don’t forget—and you were not exactly shy about diving into the lake when we were young. Oh, and I have seen statues.’
‘Boys, youths in cold lakes and statues are not exactly good guides to what an aroused adult male looks like,’ he said, his voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. ‘And I think you might say that I am aroused.’ He emerged tousled, tossed the crumpled linen aside and paused, hands at the fastenings of his breeches.
There was a significant ridge just there. To distract herself from it Laurel reached out and touched the hair that dusted across his chest. ‘Is that soft?’ It was darker than the sun-bleached hair on his head and felt both springy and soft as he leaned down to let her brush tentative fingertips across it. When her forefinger caught his right nipple she heard his quick intake of breath.
