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‘Very young, perhaps. Time cures that, for all of us. I am entirely in my husband’s confidence.’
‘Ah.’ The older woman looked relieved.
Perhaps, Laurel thought, she feels reassured that if Giles was prepared to tell his wife about the matter then it must all have been as innocent as he had protested in Lisbon. ‘It would be regrettable if there was any awkwardness...’ She let her voice trail away suggestively.
‘Most regrettable. I am certain that you and I, Lady Revesby, we can manage matters between us.’
‘I am sure of it,’ Laurel agreed.
* * *
‘And so we have a conspiracy, Senhora do Cardosa and I. There will be strict segregation of the sexes whenever our households encounter each other at social gatherings. I will talk to her and her daughters, you may converse with Dom Frederico. We will all be seen to be on the best of terms and Beatriz’s blushes will be spared. Once Beatriz has come to terms with your married state then we will exchange dinner invitations.’
‘To say nothing of sparing my blushes, my clever wife. You should be a diplomat.’ Giles stood up and gathered Laurel in for a kiss, ducking to negotiate the wide brim of her Villager hat.
‘Her mama was anxious about her betraying herself with unseemly behaviour, so it took very little diplomacy, just tact.’ She delighted him by immediately untying the bow, casting the new hat on to the sofa without as much as a glance to see where it had landed and linking her hands behind his neck, the better to be thoroughly kissed.
‘Would it be very unseemly behaviour to make love to my wife on this desk?’ He turned, bringing Laurel round so with one gentle push she was lying over the polished mahogany, a jumble of estate papers squashed beneath her as he went to his knees, threw up her skirts and parted her legs.
Through the muffling of a froth of petticoats he heard, ‘Giles—the door is unlocked!’
Giles expressed his opinion of the door, his mouth moving against the moist woman-tasting folds which produced another faint shriek. ‘Don’t stop!’
As he had no intention of doing so, Giles kept on licking and sucking, his hands clamped either side of the slim hips writhing above him. He spared a fleeting thought for the state of the three maps, two leases and one field survey on the desk, then smiled and began to nibble.
‘Someone is coming.’
‘I sincerely hope so,’ he mumbled, using his tongue with pinpoint accuracy. As Laurel came to pieces he slid out from under her skirts, stood up, pulled her up to sit on the edge of the desk and leaned over the scattered papers, screening her from the door with his body.
‘The afternoon post, my lord.’ Downing proffered the salver.
‘Thank you.’ Giles swivelled, took the post and waited until the butler closed the door behind him before turning to look at Laurel.
She was pink in the face, her hair was coming down, her skirts were crumpled and shards of broken red and blue sealing wax speckled her spencer. She met his gaze and collapsed into giggles. ‘Oh, you wretch. I heard that board in the hallway creak and I was in terror of someone entering.’
‘Admit it, it was exciting,’ Giles
managed to say through his own gasps of laughter.
‘It was outrageous and now it is your turn.’ Laurel leaned back, resting her hands on the desk. When he moved to lock the door she shook her head. ‘Sauce for the goose,’ she said. ‘Leave it.’
‘You are a very wicked woman.’ Giles threw up her skirts again and moved in between her thighs as he unfastened his falls.
‘I know.’ She held on tightly as he sank into her and held still, shivering slightly with the sheer pleasure of the silky heat. ‘I was brought up badly—there was this dreadful boy who led me astray at such a young age.’
‘Shocking.’ Giles began to move slowly, savouring the slide and suck of their bodies in unison, loving the little sighs and moans Laurel gave. ‘What did this frightful lad do?’
‘Took me dancing on the green in the moonlight, taught me how to climb a tree, let me go fishing with him, took the blame when I did something dreadful or came home covered in mud.’
‘Not so very bad, then,’ he murmured against the curve of her neck. Laurel smelled of honeysuckle and the musk of their lovemaking.
‘No. Nothing bad at all.’ Her voice was ragged now, as ragged as his breathing. ‘I loved that boy,’ she said as her body convulsed around him.
‘Loved—’ And then he lost control, went rigid as the pleasure burned through him, a wave of fire, left him shuddering in her embrace.
* * *
‘Laurel.’
