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‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘They are so tight, and so cumbersome, that I cannot even lounge comfortably in a chair, never mind disport myself amidst the crockery.’
And she wanted to. She’d as good as admitted she wanted to. For a moment, the knowledge brought him to a standstill.
‘Then I had better get you out of them,’ he said, just about regaining enough presence of mind to drop one swift kiss on the tip of her pert little nose, as though he was in full control of the situation. ‘Before they do you an injury.’
She looked so relieved, and then so embarrassed, and then so guiltily excited that he changed his mind about laying her across the table like a delicacy for him to sample. Because, no matter how much she would have enjoyed it, afterwards she would have felt ashamed of herself. And though sometimes he had deliberately made her angry, he never wanted her to feel ashamed of her natural, and so far uninhibited, response to their lovemaking.
So he picked her up and carried her to her room. Set her on her feet and turned her round so that he could undo the lacings of her gown, and her ridiculously constructed corset, whilst pressing open-mouthed kisses to the nape of her neck. By the time he had her naked apart from her shift and stockings, she was moaning and rubbing her bottom against him in a way that was highly provocative, all the more so because he was certain she had no idea what it was doing to him. It was all instinct with her. In spite of all her much-vaunted religious beliefs, her rigid moral viewpoint, she simply couldn’t help herself.
And nor could he. He was so hot for her by now, so hard, that he didn’t think he was going to be able to wait much longer.
But was she ready for him? He ran his hands down her stomach, reached between her legs and delved into her moist, slick heat.
She cried out and reached behind her, running her hands down his flanks.
Oh, yes. She was ready. He’d only have to stroke into her, once or twice, and she’d explode around him. She was so passionate. So wild in his arms. Exceeding every fantasy he’d ever had about her. And there had been many, over the years. Far too many…
So, now that he had her, what was to stop him indulging in one or two of them? Where was the harm? When he was going to make sure she enjoyed them as much as he was going to?
And so he held her trembling, responsive little body up with one arm while he brought her to a quivering, sobbing, climax with his other hand.
And then he pushed her face down on to the bed, undid his breeches, and pounded into her from behind until he reached his own release.
And then, because he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stop himself from saying something he’d regret, about how perfect she was, or how much more wonderful it felt to have her than he’d ever imagined, he pulled up his breeches and fled to the relative safety of his own room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was a good job, Clare thought as she took her breakfast in bed, that he didn’t seem very keen to see her first thing this morning. She wouldn’t have known how to face him, not after what they’d done last night. It was hard enough attempting any sort of conversation at the best of times, but when she thought of where he’d made her put her hand…
She went hot all over just thinking about it. And that had only been the start of what, in hindsight, she could only regard as a rapid descent into an act that had been like…like…the behaviour of two rutting animals.
Fortunately, her first sight of him was as she was climbing into the carriage to set off. And since Slater was there before her, she could hope that Rawcliffe would assume that was why she was being so stiffly polite.
Once again, the secretary was armed with an immense stack of letters and documents, and, the moment they set out, the pair of them took up where they’d left off the night before.
The coach had barely left the inn yard before growing resentment started nudging her shyness aside. He might have bid her good morning. Asked her how she’d slept. But, no. Just a curt nod was all he’d afforded her as she’d taken her seat facing him.
With a huff, she jerked her eyes away from the space he occupied and stared determinedly out of the window.
And it wasn’t merely because he hadn’t bid her good morning just now. It was the way he’d got up and walked out on her the night before. Leaving her sprawled face down on the bed. As soon as he’d got what he wanted.
