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“I do not know what you mean,” she said, her eyes flickering.
He exhaled slowly. This was the moment to push her for an answer. He had opened up the subject, and it was pressing upon him now. Mr Giles had said she was a puzzle as well. He wasn’t the only one who suspected there was more to Miss Delia Parker than she claimed.
“You confuse me,” he admitted, watching her face carefully. “You look and talk like a fine lady. And yet you are poor. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
He watched her pale. Her beautiful porcelain skin was so white it had the appearance of a plaster mask. He suddenly felt terrible for pushing her like this, and yet, he needed to know the truth about her.
“You flatter me,” she said eventually in a flat voice. “I know that I talk like a lady, but I have explained why that is so. Do you truly think that I would be travelling like this if I was to the manor born?”
“No,” he said, feeling confused. “I suppose not.”
She gave a short laugh. “Ladies do not travel alone by public stagecoach. Ladies are chaperoned at all times.” She paused. “Are you accusing me of lying about myself?”
“I am sorry,” he said quickly. “I have offended you. I didn’t mean to.”
She shook her head. She looked upset. “I think we should end this conversation,” she said stiffly. “We have reached an impasse. Good night.”
She brushed past him, heading towards her room. He couldn’t help it. He reached for her, grabbing her arm. The thought of her leaving was unbearable.
She looked down at her arm as if a strange bug had just landed there. He felt the tension humming through her body, as finely strung as a harp.
He didn’t know how it happened. One minute they were standing there like a frozen tableau; the next, they were fiercely kissing. He pushed her against the wall, opening her mouth, unable to get enough of her.
She responded with alacrity. He felt his loins tighten. The feel of her. The scent of her. It was so intoxicating that he felt like he was falling into an abyss of passion. And it was a place that he never wanted to leave.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. For a few delirious moments, their lips were locked in a passionate kiss.
Then she pulled away. Her breath was ragged.
His fingers were itching to pull her to him again. But he knew that he couldn’t push her any further. What happened next was her choice.
His stomach lurched in bitter disappointment as she walked away towards her room. He watched her open the door. He was fully expecting her to disappear inside and close it.
But she didn’t. To his surprise and joy, she beckoned to him. He was at her side in a flash, walking into the small room with her. The door clicked shut behind them.
He glanced around the room. It was very small. A narrow bed and a plain dressing table upon which stood a bowl and pitcher. Her battered trunk was lying against a wall. A small lantern flickered in the darkness, casting shadows around the room.
The air was thickening between them. He took one step closer to her, barely able to breathe. Slowly, she took the pins out of her bun, so that her silky golden tresses fell like waves around her face. He reached out, taking one glossy golden curl, stroking it reverently.
Her lips fell open. It was such a sensuous sight. His loins tightened again sharply. He was so hard he felt like he might burst.
“I promise there will be no consequences,” he whispered in a gruff voice. “I will not take your maidenhead.” He hesitated. “But there is much that we can do besides that. Let me show you.”
Her large grey eyes were glazed with desire. When she nodded, he felt a stab of pleasure so intense that he could barely breathe.
He took her hand, leading her to the bed. He sat down, then pulled her standing form into his arms. He turned her around, slowly unlacing her gown. Her breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps.
The gown slipped down to the floor. He pulled the straps of her chemise off her shoulders so that it fell to the floor as well. He turned her around.
The sight made him swoon with pleasure. Her breasts were full and creamy with enticing pink nipples. Her figure was a perfect hourglass. She was so beautiful; he could barely stand it. His hands itched to touch those perfect breasts and suckle those divine nipples. He could already taste them.
He pushed her down upon the bed so that her hair spilt in a golden aura around her head. Slowly, he bent his head to a nipple—ready to worship her—like the goddess she was.
Chapter 27
Delia gazed up at him in a haze of desire as he bent his head to take one of her nipples. She hissed as she felt him draw it deeply into his mouth, before slowly starting to suckle it.
She arched her back, clawing at the hard, narrow bed. She knew she shouldn’t have done this. She shouldn’t have beckoned him into this room to lay with her like this. But the same hopeless fatalism that had led her to dance with him downstairs had consumed her again. This would be a memory that she would always treasure. They may never have this chance again.
