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“Close.” She slid her finger beneath his cravat. “Though I’d prefer a different sort of ride.”
He groaned and slanted his mouth over hers.
It wasn’t quite a yes, but it also hadn’t been a no. Bianca took heart. She well knew what she was asking. One could not grow up the daughter of a professional mistress without having learned a thing or two about the disposition and libidos of men, and the pleasures they could offer a woman.
Harry broke the kiss, panting. “I cannot take your virginity.”
“You don’t have to. I’m giving it up out of my own free will.”
“What about… ” He hesitated. “… your future husband?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m definitely not saving my maidenhead for some greedy opportunist who wasn’t interested in me until he learned of my dowry.”
Harry winced.
She patted his cheek. “Don’t you dare get offended by that phrasing. The Huntsman takes pride in being the ton’s most infamous opportunist, does he not? You were also the first to give me a kind word, even when you thought me penniless.”
“And your first kiss.”
“And the second, and the third, and all the others. I’ve kissed no one but you. And in a few moments, I’ll have made love to no one but you. That is, unless you’d rather I take these kisses to someothergreedy opportunist eager to ensnare an heiress on her birthday… ”
He claimed her mouth before she even finished talking.
Bianca was glad of it. He’d worried her for a moment. The unexpected dowry was both a blessing and a curse. She need no longer fear that she must live her life as an exhausted maid-of-all-work, sleeping four hours a night on a hard pallet only to push herself back up before sunrise to labor all over again.
But she was not free from worry altogether. The dowry was not hers to spend as she pleased. It would belong to her future husband, to use at his discretion. Just like Bianca would belong to her future husband, also to be used at his discretion. Money had a way of changing things—and people.
Was it any wonder Bianca wanted to know a moment’s pleasure before committing herself to a lifetime of duty?
Besides, she knew from her mother that virginity—or its lack thereof—could not be determined by a groom on his wedding night. A bride might or might not have been born with an intact maidenhead, and any number of everyday activities, such as riding a horse, might have ruptured it since. Whether or not there was blood had more to do with the skill of the lover and his ability to arouse physical desire in his bride.
Why gamble on such vagaries of chance, when she could have the man of her choosing, right here and now?
Harry was more than a handsome rakehell. He had kissed her when he’d believed her an indigent runaway, thus proving his interest was not in her dowry. He had alsowantedto kiss her, but refrained, when she was still a housemaid to Lady Quinseley—thus proving his honor. Harry wanted Bianca, but he would not take advantage when the power difference was in his favor.
He did not wish totakefrom her. Harry wished togiveto her. He wanted every act to be caused by both of them equally, pleasuring them equally. He wanted both parties to enter into compromising positions willingly and eagerly, or not at all.
Bianca felt the same. She wanted her first lovemaking to be a moment that was shared, not one to be suffered through. She wanted it to be with a man who saw her as more than a purse. A man who saw her as aperson. No matter her birth or upbringing or address.
She wanted it to be Harry.
Without taking his lips from hers, he tugged up the hems of her skirts, exposing her bare legs and hips to the copse of trees surrounding them. Bianca had only a moment to register the cool air from the spring breeze tickling across her skin before a new sensation enveloped her. She gasped into Harry’s mouth as his hands explored and pleasured her body.
She supposed that, despite the precautions they’d taken to ensure privacy, there was always a chance that some other intrepid explorer would wander far off the marked paths and discover her here in Harry’s arms.
Yet she could not make herself care.
What was the worst that could happen? Someone might say Harry was after her dowry. This wasn’t news. Harry was after anyone and everyone’s dowry.
Some might claim Bianca was following in her mother’s footsteps, becoming mistress to an earl. This was ridiculous, given that Harry’s empty coffers made it impossible for him to offer monetary recompense to any woman, courtesan or otherwise.
Others might call her ruined. Claim that no gentleman would have her now. But no gentleman had wanted her before. She’d been “ruined” when she’d swept the ashes from Lady Quinseley’s fireplace. She’d been ruined when she was raised by a courtesan. She’d been ruined from the moment she’d been conceived, and born out of wedlock.
The size of her dowry meant there were men who would overlook such distasteful details.
Bianca didn’t want to be overlooked. She wanted to beseen. She wanted to be kissed, and caressed, and loved. If only just long enough to make a memory to cherish for the rest of her life.
She arched in pleasure as Harry’s skillful fingers brought her to heights she had only visited on her own before. This time was sweeter, more acute. Her body demanding and vulnerable all at the same time.
