Page 46 of Lord of the Manor

“We don’t need to be wed in any church if you don’t wish it—I can just claim you as my wife, and it will serve, so long as you accept me. Taking you to bed is as good as asserting such a claim—who would gainsay us?”

“My uncles. They might.”

“Hush now. They have lived long enough in the world to know the way of it. But if you would prefer to wait until all interested parties have been consulted, I will honor your wishes.”

Wait? Could she bear it? Waiting would allow time for uncertainty to creep in. She didn’t want that. She was certain of now, of this moment, this man. She was certain of how much she wanted him.

The men would understand, would they not? If they loved her, they’d want her to stay where she felt she belonged. And they all liked Allan. But did he love her? Could he be true to her?

As if reading her mind, he cupped her face and held her gaze. “I love you, Mistress Cecily Neville. Be in no doubt of that. I will do whatever I can to please you, to make you at the very least content with me. Even happy, if I am able.”

He loved her! What a heady feeling it was to know that. Should she say she loved him back? Nay—it was too soon. She was putting her body into his hands—she might make him wait a little longer before admitting he had her heart as well. She didn’t want him to start strutting about like a prideful peacock.

“Thank you. I’m glad.” She gave him what she thought was a mysterious, provocative smile.

It seemed to work. He bent his head and plundered her lips again, then thrust his tongue once more into her mouth, in greedy possession.

She clung to him, alight with the thrill of his touch, and pushed her hands up under his shirt, curling them around his waist, into the small of his back, and up over the rippling muscles as far as she could reach.

He released her mouth. “Shall I take this off?” he offered.

She nodded, watching unashamedly as his bared torso was revealed, chuckling softly at the disarray of his hair after he pulled the shirt over his head. As he flung the garment to one side, she reached for his hair and enjoyed untidying it some more before her hands dropped to his shoulders.

Such powerful shoulders! His muscles were as hard as iron, yet the skin felt so soft. What a wonder a man could be, especially a physically fit one in the prime of his age. She ran her eyes over the smattering of dark hair on his chest and the narrow column below his navel that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the waistband of his hose.

“Tell me you are mine,” he demanded, taking her by the elbows.

“I am yours,” she agreed dreamily, reaching for him again.

“Then you’ll not mind if I do this.” Before she could move, he’d pushed her kirtle down to her feet and steadied her as she stepped out of it.

“Now, lie down,” he commanded, “and close your eyes.”

She didn’t want to—she didn’t want to miss any of this. “Why?”

“You’re not used to being exposed. And you have never seen a man’s body revealed in the way mine is about to be. I want you to feel first and look second. Lovemaking is not a lesson to be learned—it is a delight to be experienced.”

So, she closed her eyes and allowed Allan to take charge. He swept her up, then knelt and laid her gently atop the fleeces. After a few moments of rustling, she felt his body stretch out alongside hers, warming her. Then she felt her shift begin to move—he was raising it with one hand as he kissed his way up the inside of her leg.

How incredibly wicked! What an intrusion! But when he reached her inner thigh, and she could feel his hot breath on her most secret parts, he lifted his head.

She squeezed her legs together, wishing guiltily he might have continued, but then she felt her shift pulled even higher, and her attention focused on the continuing passage of his kisses, leading directly up over her belly and toward her breasts.

Her shift snagged under her, so she lifted her bottom, and suddenly the fabric was right up beneath her chin, exposing her breasts, and all of her lower body.

As Allan’s hand found one breast and cupped it gently, she became aware that where his thigh rested against hers, it was no longer covered in woolen cloth. He was naked. His manhood was free and pressing firmly against her thigh. She squeezed her legs together again in a moment of incredible wantonness, feeling an intriguing tingle there.

“Now, I have you trapped,” he murmured, imprisoning her hands on either side of her face. “I can do whatever I like with you.”

Her nipples had peaked with the touch of the cooler air. Now, she wanted his touch there, too.

“What can you do with your hands full?” she queried.

“I can do this.” His hair brushed across one bared breast as he saluted its tip with his tongue. The feel of the hot moisture of his mouth, followed by the sting of cold air, was breathtaking, but when he took her nipple right into his mouth to suck it, she shattered.

“Who says I can’t do anything,” he repeated, nudging his knee between her thighs until it pushed up against her mound. The invasion was a sign of her weakness, of his power over her. Then she pushed against his knee, and pleasure rippled through her.

He found and sucked at her other breast and increased the pressure of his knee.