Page 45 of Lord of the Manor

He had lowered his head, his full, firm lips but a whisper away. As she gazed at them, her own burned, hungry for the touch of his kiss. Her hand rested on his chest. How had that got there? She gazed into his eyes, blazing in their intensity, and saw reflected there that same hunger she felt herself.

“Kiss me.” She hadn’t meant to demand it, but as soon as he responded, she knew it didn’t matter how the kiss had begun—it was simply meant to be. His lips plundered hers as his hands dug into her shoulders, and she answered his need with a hunger of her own. When her arms went up to encircle his neck, he slipped his hands to her waist, dragging her body hard against his. She clutched him more tightly, pressing her lips more urgently against his mouth.

He pulled away for a moment, laughing. “Not quite what I expected when I asked for your hand. But as positive a response as I could hope for.”

Had she sealed her fate by kissing him? Her body seemed to think she had—it was urging her to explore further, to demand more. Had danger heightened her need for him? Or was it just that she’d repressed that need for far too long?

“Could it work? For us, I mean? Might we be happy, despite our differences?”

He smiled. “Mayhap we could be happy because of them. I don’t ask you to give up all you hold dear for me. I still respect your choice of faith. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“And I might be able to tolerate your choices, too,” she teased. “If my conscience will allow.”

“Will your conscience allow this?” He bent his head to kiss her again, then nuzzled at her neck and nibbled her earlobe.

“It will. I like it.” Her voice had become breathy, seductive. This was a new, unfamiliar Cecily, a girl who was fast becoming a woman in this man’s arms.

He chuckled again, and moved across to tantalize her other ear, then trailed a series of kisses down her neck, filling her body with delicious shivers. Her hands were plucking at his doublet, loving the hard masculine feel of the muscle beneath. She wanted to touch him underneath the cloth, be closer to the tempting heat of his skin.

He must have had the same idea, for she felt movement against her breastbone and realized he had undone the knot that secured the lacing of her kirtle.

This was dangerous. This was playing with fire. But her body refused to respond to her will—it became an instrument in the hands of an expert musician, and every part of her that his fingers touched thronged with excitement.

Their lips joined again, and he pushed forward, his hips pressing against hers in poignant invitation, and the breath left her body in a great sigh.

“I want to feel you,” she gasped. “I want to feel all of you.”

She was drunk on his kisses, doing bold, sinful things she could never have imagined. Her fingers tore at his points, and as the kiss deepened, she pushed the thick wool of his doublet down over his shoulders, running her hands over the warm, crumpled linen of his shirt.

Then his tongue invaded her mouth and, for a while, she was lost, all direction, all intention gone.

Cool air brushed her shoulders as he eased the sleeves of her kirtle downward, then tugged at the lower part of her laces to release her completely. Her nipples sprang to full, urgent life as the chill touched them and remained thus when his palms cupped her breasts, eliciting another deep sigh from her.

He released her lips for a moment. “It is too cold for undressing. What say you we seek your bed?”

Nay—that would ruin the moment. She’d have to think of practical things like covering the fire, lighting a candle, and then climbing the ladder into the unwelcoming darkness of her bedchamber above. What if she awoke from his drugging touch? What if she lost courage?

“There is a heap of fleeces by the fire,” she purred.

“I’d forgotten. But you’ll be shy of me if you can see me. And you’ll want to cover yourself, too, I fear.”

“Nay. I’ve already seen a large part of you, when you labored shirtless in the moat.”

“That’s not the large part of me I was thinking of.” His voice was thick as velvet, promising pleasure.

“I’ll close my eyes if I don’t like what I see,” she replied stoutly and gave him a gentle shove back toward the fire.

He didn’t give her the opportunity to become shy. He claimed her lips again, clasped his hands behind her bottom, and lifted her against him, her erect nipples rasping against his chest. After another assault of passionate kisses, he let her slide slowly down his body, and she felt the pressure of his manhood against her belly, filling her with a heady mixture of triumph and excitement.

She had done this to him! It was her kiss, her body, that had brought about this remarkable transformation. Eagerly, she reached down to explore him further.

“Stay, Wench. So eager!”

Did it matter if she was eager? They were to be wed, were they not? Unless their different faiths made it impossible.

“Don’t look like that, my love. Pray, continue exploring, if you wish. Only—the more you incite me, the harder it will be for me to maintain my self-control. And I don’t want to rush this.”

She pressed a hand against his chest. “Must we be wed in a Protestant church?”