Page 35 of The Cornish Lyon

No. Go away, Alexander. Stay where you belong at the bottom of the Irish Sea.

Fitz stared at the vision before him. In her nightgown she looked both sweet and vulnerable, and, without her shoes, which must have rises, smaller. Nothing about her gave away her condition save the healthy glow of her skin, and the light flush to her cheeks. She shone like a star that had fallen to earth.

She gave him a tentative smile. Might it be that the desire that had seemed to take over them both in the darkness of the terrace now didn’t seem anywhere near so alluring to her? He could sense her indecision. She could say she’d changed her mind, that she truly did feel out of sorts, or the truth that he guessed, that she was more than a little afraid. She said none of that, but stood back so he could walk into her room.

It felt smaller than his own room, although it was not. He had the odd impression that he filled it up. He was a man in her bedroom. A man with very few clothes on, just as she had. His awareness of her nakedness beneath her long nightgown was acute.

He ran a finger along the surface of her dressing table as though looking for dust. “Your nightcap is most becoming.” Which was true. He’d never seen a woman look so divine when ready for bed. Well, in truth, he’d never seen a woman ready for bed who was not naked. His relationships with them had been very much the strip the clothes off and get down to it kind. No time for night attire. Especially not nightcaps. How strange. The nightcap, with its lace and ties, was most arousing. More so than if she’d been quite naked.

She put her hand up to her head as though she’d forgotten the nightcap was there.

He smiled. “I would like to see your lovely hair without it.”

Havers, it must have been her, had braided those luscious chestnut locks into a thick plait which hung down her back almost to her waist and was just as arousing as the nightcap.

He took a step towards her, one hand upraised. “Allow me.”

She stood motionless while he lifted off the offending and at the same time arousing nightcap, the ties of which had not been done up. A few strands of hair came loose and she wrinkled her nose as though they were tickling her. He laid the nightcap on the dressing table with exaggerated care and turned back.

With his fingertips, he traced her cheek and jawline then pushed the loose strands back from her face. “But the thing I would most like to see is your hair hanging loose and free as it’s meant to. The crowning glory of every woman.” Possibly that wasn’t the wisest thing to have said, but she didn’t appear to have noticed. Instead, she turned her back to him and presented him with the braid.

To his surprise, his fingers shook as he undid the tie and ran his fingers through the braid to loosen her hair. It hung in rich waves to below her waist now, thick and luxuriant and enough to make him harden as his fingers ran through the silky length of it. What would it be like to have that curtain of hair hanging over him as they made love, or spread across the pillow?

He turned her around to find her looking up at him, a trusting expression on her face. An expression he’d never provoked in any woman before.

“I will be gentle with you,” he said. She’d told him about the night her child was conceived, and he’d guessed the bits she’d kept to herself. If he wanted her to love him in the way he wanted to be loved, he had to forget everything but giving her pleasure. When he finally took her, she had to be ready. He would not do to her that which had been done before. He’d never done that to a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He cupped her face in his hands. “You truly are the loveliest of creatures.”

She gazed up at him out of those trusting eyes. Realization dawned. She was giving herself to him out of duty as well as love. She knew nothing of true love, not the carnal kind. She only knew what it was to be callously taken by a young fortune hunter in a dark summerhouse so she could not escape a marriage and give him her fortune. Only he’d died, and she’d escaped, and now she was his, and much to his astonishment, he’d fallen in love with a woman who was nothing like his usual conquests.

He took her hand and drew her over to the bed. “Will you lie down with me, Georgiana?”

For answer, she climbed onto the bed and lay down on the far side, a little too ramrod straight for his liking, as though preparing herself for an ordeal and hoping it would be over as quickly as possible.

That was not going to happen.

He lay down on the bed beside her, his cock reminding him forcibly of what his purpose here was. If he could have batted it down, he would have.

The candles on the dressing table flickered.

He lifted up his right arm invitingly. “Would you like me to hold you?” Somehow he wasn’t his usual forceful self but rather felt he needed her permission. How had she wrought such a change in his character in less than three short weeks? What was there about her?

She hesitated a moment, then with caution moved into his embrace, her body pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder. How soft and warm and pliant she felt. Unable to resist, he turned his head and kissed her, softly, trying to be as undemanding as possible.

She stiffened in his hold, but after a moment relaxed. A moment or two later her lips parted, and she kissed him back. He pulled her a little closer and brought his left arm over to rest on her waist, the feel of her skin beneath the thin fabric intoxicating. She stiffened then relaxed again, so, throwing caution to the winds, he slid the hand up towards her breasts, slowly, not wanting to frighten her. Whatever happened, he must not frighten her.

She was like a little bird, fluttering in his hand, waiting to be gentled and won over, a bird who’d been locked in a cage for the last four years. And they had all night. He had no need for haste, other than the throbbing in his groin, and he could ignore that, for a while.

Georgiana felt Fitz’s hand slide up from her waist to her breasts and for a moment, caution had her stiff as a board under the strange touch. Then common sense took over. Hadn’t she wanted him to do that, and more, when they were kissing on the terrace? Hadn’t he touched her breasts over her gown and hadn’t she’d liked it? Wanted him to slip his hand inside her gown and touch skin to skin? What was the difference now they were in bed? Well, the fact that they were both almost naked, for a start, and on the terrace their clothing had been as a protective armor between them.

His hand cupped her breast and her nipples hardened, sending currents of electricity shivering through her. A delicious warmth slithered down into her core. However strange it was to have a man touching parts of her only her maid had seen, she liked this. His fingers softly pinched her nipple and she gasped, jerking her mouth away from his kiss.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice deep and husky.

“I…I find that I do,” she whispered back, eager for him to do it again. He obliged and another gasp escaped her lips, to be snatched from her as his mouth came down on hers, this time as though a hunger for her was surging through him. She reached up and put her own arms around him, drawing him closer. This was what she wanted more than anything else. Had wanted on the terrace and wanted now with an all-consuming longing.

She felt his hand slide up to the neck of her nightgown. The laces came undone with ease, and then his hand was inside, hot on her skin. As he reached for her breasts another gasp escaped her, ending the kiss, and her back arched in pleasure. How could someone’s touch do this to her? Although, now she remembered, even though she didn’t want to, it had been just such a touch that had persuaded her to give herself to Alexander. He’d made her want more, and this was what Fitz was doing now. Making her want more.