Page 57 of A Figure of Love

Her garments were modest, threadbare (Thank God! Thank God!) in the case of her chemise. But he’d never been more aroused, not even when Venetia had sported the finest lace or silk.

She leaned down far enough to offer a flash of magnificent bosom, pulling the garter loose and tossing it behind her.

Gareth groaned, an animalistic sound that shamed him to his core. She smiled and released the second strap, tossing it directly into his tented lap.

The stockings slipped, and she rolled down first one, and then the other wadding them into a ball that made him briefly close his eyes, before hurling them somewhere off to the left.

She reached behind her back to get at her laces, her shoulders arching in a way that sucked all the moisture from his mouth. She plucked the laces open and then used both hands to alternately loosen the constricting garment until it, too, slid to the ground.

The sun was behind her and he saw immediately the corset had merely molded to her natural figure, it had not created it.

She took one last step and her foot touched the blanket.

Gareth swallowed, his face eyelevel with the apex of her long, shapely legs. The hem of her chemise fluttered mid-knee, the wind toying with it as if to taunt him.

She nudged the fresh ledger he’d brought with him with her toe. “You’d better get to sketching, Mr. Lockheart, I’ll want to inspect the results.” She turned without waiting for an answer and daintily picked her way not toward the shore, but to the big rock that hung over it. She was going to jump.

Remorse seized him like a fist and he opened his mouth to tell her he had changed his mind, but it was too late: she jumped, one hand on her nose and the other holding down her hem.

Gareth was already beside the water’s edge when she came sputtering to the surface. He’d taken the blanket and held it before him.

“Mrs. Lombard, come and let me put this blanket around you, before you catch your death of cold.”

She pushed water from her face, but more streamed from her hair. “What?” she demanded through chattering teeth. “Where is your sk-sk-sketchbook, Mr. Lockheart?”

“Don’t be stubborn, come and put this around you.”

Her face was blue and stubborn, but she came toward him.

“Good God.”

She stopped at the sound of his voice and followed his eyes. She looked more nude than nude with the gauze thin garment molded to her glorious curves, limning the dark triangle between her thighs and the hard, pink nipples that tipped her high, full breasts.

Gareth realized he’d dropped the blanket and picked it up without removing his eyes from her.

Her face had become rosy somewhere during the brief walk and Gareth draped the blanket over her shoulders like a cape and then pulled her close, cupping her face and tilting it toward his.

Chapter Fourteen

Serena had never been so cold in her life, but when his eyes swept over her, she burst into flames. And when he lowered his mouth to hers, she forgot all about the cold and slid her arms around his taut waist, this time resting both palms on his bottom. He made a muffled sound of approval and pushed closer, the soft leather of his breeches cool and smooth against her belly.

He kissed as if he wanted to devour her, his lips demanding, his tongue invading, his teeth grazing and nipping as long, powerful fingers massaged their way down her neck, until they rested on her shoulders. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, his breathing labored.

“If you wish me to stop, tell me now.”

She pushed her hands beneath the edge of his breeches and pulled out what felt like yards of shirting before she could reach his hot, hard flesh.

He inhaled sharply as she explored the shape of him, his thumbs stroking her collarbones while he backed away from the river. “Not out here. Come, beneath the trees.”

Serena snatched at the blanket hanging from her shoulders and held it with one hand at her neck, taking his hand and following him beneath the tree canopy. He shrugged out of his snug-fitting coat.

“Take off your shift and put this on, you will be warmer.”

She released the blanket and thrilled at the tightening of his facial muscles and the flaring of his pupils which turned his eyes from harsh gray ice to enveloping black pools of heat. Ever so slowly, she lifted the wet chemise over her head.

He muttered something emphatic sounding beneath his breath and a triumphant smile curled her lips as she freed herself from the wet garment.

She was about to toss it to the side but he took it from her, shaking his head.