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“We are not in the East Wing,” she protested.
“Indeed. No one is here to witness us.”
“That could change,” she snapped, angry that they were repeating an earlier exchange.
“An exciting prospect,” he growled.
She ground her teeth. There was no winning with this man!
“All this proves nothing,” she asserted desperately, “only the weakness of my mind to combat the corporal desires of the body.”
“I will brook no further delay. Lift your skirts, madam.”
At the severity of his tone, she decided to comply. She grasped the hem of her skirts and slowly inched them up her legs, exposing her calves. At the least, she had on a pair of decent stockings rather than her own.
“Further,” he commanded.
She pulled the skirts over her knees and closed her eyes. Someone would come upon them, surely, despite the fact that they were some ways from the Chateau.
“Further.”
Dear God, the tops of her stockings and garters were showing...
“Now part your legs.”
Her mind clawed for an escape, but no argument would deter him this time, she knew. Slowly she widened the distance between her knees. This would surely be her greatest affront to decency. What did he intend with her? Would he take the crop to her backside?
Holding her against him with one arm, he reached between her thighs with the other. His hand went beneath the skirts, and it took all of her not to shut her thighs even as she tingled in anticipation. When his fingers touched her flesh, she had to close her eyes, unable to witness her own wantonness. How had she managed to invite this upon herself? Her legs were bared and spread for all to see. At least the skirts still covered her most intimate parts.
Gently he fondled her clitoris. Her breath became ragged. She leaned against his shoulder for support. His fingers circled the little nub of flesh, encouraging it to swell. None of her prior lovers had attended to her with such skill. She ought admit, to herself in particular, that she could not resist his touch.
And he would prove it.
Her body grew warm despite the rise of a cool breeze. He quickened his strokes, driving all thoughts from her as the intensity of sensations overcame all else. He played with that little nymph of flesh, teasing and torturing it, till she writhed and panted. The collection of wetness between her legs seeped into her petticoats, but she cared little. Her body had begun its ascent. Only when she reached the top could she hope for divine relief.
When his fingers slipped lower, she gasped. Her whole perineum lit up. Curious at the small area of immense sensitivity, he fondled it frequently, strumming the base of her clitoris to the edge of her opening. Each time she cried out uncontrollably, shuddering as bolts of lightning shot up her spine. She almost wanted him to stop, but he worked the area without mercy. Unable to withstand the powerful stimulation, she quickly came undone, crying out loud enough to send birds scattering from the trees as her body bucked against his. Even as her body went over the edge, he did not cease his rubbing until he had squeezed every last shudder and every last cry from her. Feeling as if she had just been shot into the heavens like a cannonball, she sagged against him without word or movement, hoping for recovery.
What had happened? The potency of what she had just experienced both enlivened and frightened her. That her body was capable of such intense euphoria was a marvel, and part of her very much wanted an encore, but such loss of control, such helplessness at his hands surely did not bode well.
“My God,” he breathed.
Rockwell seemed equally at wonder. He brushed a stray hair from her eyes and kissed her upon her brow.
“I hope you are not the sort, sir, to gloat in victory,” she murmured.
Pulling out a handkerchief, he said nothing as he gently wiped the wetness between her legs. Feeling at ease—perhaps she was becoming accustomed to such acts of wantonness after her experience at the posting inn—she found his attention to this small detail of lovemaking rather gallant. She was glad not to have to sustain the clamminess for the duration of the ride back to the Chateau.
He pulled the skirts back over her legs. She eyed the wine in his glass. She would require a few drinks to calm the energy she felt in her body right now. If she were a steed, she could have run a hundred laps.
Seeing the object of her gaze, he allowed her his glass, which she finished off. He rose to stretch his legs. She wanted to know if he needed attending. Certainly the bulge in his trousers would indicate he required relieving, but he made no move to seek it. Instead he went to see to the horses. Had something happened to him since their encounter of a year ago? Was he no longer capable? Did he intend to protect her, or himself, from the consequences of copulating? Did he not desire her enough? Lest he were to spend in equal fervor, she felt unsatiated.
Returning, he began to collect the items of their picnic.
“Back to the Chateau?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Just as she was about to purse her lips at his taciturn manner
