Page 64 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

Then her hand left the bed to tangle in his hair, boldly urging him closer as he had been so tempted to urge her. He needed no second invitation, sliding one palm beneath her bottom to lift her pelvis to his mouth, licking and sucking until she shattered.

Afterward, he crawled back up the bed and stretched along her side, one arm wrapped lightly around her body until she drifted back to earth, murmuring, “That was…”

“Exhilarating?” he teased. “Speaking only for myself, of course.”

She smiled. “I think that must be a trick only rogues know. Not gentlemen.”

“You, my dear, have met all the wrong gentlemen. The sort who think the only respectable sort of sex happens in a bed, with the woman lying on her back and the man on top.” As he spoke, he levered himself over her, parting her knees with his thigh. He suddenly needed, quite desperately, to be inside her.

“Not up against a door?” she asked, encircling his ribs with her hands.

He caught her ankle, raised her knee almost to her chest as he sank into her with one deep thrust. “Certainly not.” Holding her gaze, he tilted his hips and watched her eyes widen with the discovery of what that perfect angle could do. “And never in broad daylight.”

Before she could offer another retort, he began to move in her, slowly, steadily, alternating shallow strokes with deeper ones, until she was panting beneath him, her nails sharp against his back. She hooked her other leg around his hip and met him, nudge for nudge, thrust for thrust. When the pulse of her orgasm called forth his, he jerked from her body at the last possible moment, spilling his seed against the sheets.

Exhaling deeply, he collapsed beside her, and she snugged drowsily against his shoulder, like a cat curled up in a beam of sunshine.

Never in his past exploits could he have imagined the particular pleasures of sex in his own house, his own bed. He’d never thought anything that smacked of cozy domesticity could appeal to him.

Now, he found himself fighting sleep, just for the chance to watch Amanda doze.

Perhaps this was what people meant when they spoke of making love? Oh, the bitter irony of reveling in such a moment with a woman who thought of him only as an opportunity to escape her own domestic prison, and temporarily at that.

You haven’t the first idea how dull my life is.

Bending, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “I think, my dear, we’d best get back to the Hursts.”

She jerked awake, blinked up at him for a moment as the words sank through the haze of sleep and sex, then scrambled upright in the bed. “How long have we been here? What will Mama think?”

“Simply tell them, we decided on a stroll so as not to waste the lovely afternoon.” As spoke, he reluctantly extracted himself from the bed and began to dress. “On the matter of lessons, we discussed tongues, primarily,” he said with a wink.

“Oh.” The prettiest blush stained her cheeks. “Yes, of course.”

“And I’ve concluded that your sons need additional work in Greek.”

“I’m not surprised.” She slid to the edge of the mattress and fished for her stockings with her toes. “Mrs. Plinkton’s Academy did not offer it, you see.”

“But they did offer Latin?”

She shook her head. “I used my pin money to pay a curate for extra lessons,” she explained as she came forward clad only in her shift and expertly knotted his cravat. “In mathematics, so everyone at the school thought, though in truth it was always my best subject. But sadly I could find no one willing to teach a lady Greek.”

I’ll teach you, he nearly said.

But what a ridiculous offer. As if he were really a tutor, and not an intelligence officer. An intelligence officer in danger of forgetting his mission.

“Now,” she said, dangling her corset from her fingers. “Let’s see how clever you really are.”

Though every part of him rebelled against the unnatural act, he managed somehow to lace up the corset and then fasten her dress—in short, he made himself hide from view everything he knew he’d never tire of looking at.

When he was done, she ran a hand down her side, gave a satisfied nod at the job he’d done, then lifted that same hand to her hair. “I’ll need even more help for this.”

Wordlessly, he stepped toward the shapeless mound of holland cloth draped over the wash stand and caught the corner of yet another covering between his fingers, looping it back to reveal a pier glass. She hurried forward, investigated her reflection with a frown, and began to pluck the pins from her hair. He held out one palm to collect them, which earned him a grateful smile. Watching her, knowing he was responsible for that well-tumbled look she was struggling to disguise, was yet another of the day’s unexpected pleasures.

“That will have to do, I guess,” she said at last. “Thankfully, my bonnet will—oh, what did I do with my bonnet?”

“Downstairs,” he reminded her as he let the cloth drop and turned to make a cursory attempt at straightening the bed, while uttering a silent apology to Mrs. Morris. “We’ll pick it up on our way out.”

In the sitting room, he handed the bonnet to her, wanting to sneak one last kiss before she donned it and its wide brim put her lips quite out of reach. But he settled for tying the bow beneath her chin at a jaunty angle. “There. No one need suspect a thing.”