Page 37 of A Second Chance for Love

Oona chuckled. “Your poor shirt.”

He laughed weakly. “It has done its duty,” he said, cleaning her before himself. “I think it will be allowed to retire now.” He tossed it onto the floor and then, unlike last night, turned on his side toward her rather than falling asleep. “That was very rude of me last night—to fall asleep both times.” He propped his head on his hand, reaching out to tuck a tangled lock of hair behind her ear.

“I must look like I’ve been yanked through a dozen hedges.”

“No, just half-a-dozen.”

She scowled. “It’s not fair,” she said, allowing her eyes to move over him with a boldness she could scarcely credit.

“Hmm?” he said, his fingers combing her hair, an odd smile curving his lips. “What’s not fair?”

“It’s not fair that you look perfect—your hair hardly mussed, while I look like—”

“You look like a goddess—a sated, well-pleasured goddess.”

She gaped at the odd, yet satisfying, compliment and he mirrored her expression.

Oona laughed and he grinned.

“There, that’s better,” he murmured, his hand caressing.

Her face heated under his almost adoring stare. “It looks like it’s sunny,” she said, needing to say something.

“Yes.”

“What are our plans?”

He stroked her throat, his broad, powerful hand making her feel delicate and small. “My plan is to take Jonathan’s sleigh to Henley and engage either a horse or a chase for the rest of the journey.”

“Are we leaving right after breakfast?”

He leaned forward and gave her a lingering kiss, her lips parting for his tongue eagerly, like a welcome visitor. Oona brazenly explored him, running her tongue over his teeth, the inside of his lips.

“Mmm,” he groaned, and then pulled away, his hand on her shoulder. “Look what you’ve done.” He glanced down and Oona saw that his breeding organ had once again begun to thicken. She laughed.

“Witch.” He kissed her hard and then leaned back, his expression becoming serious. “You will stay here until the road is clear. Beekman will take you back to London.”

“But—”

He laid his index finger across her lips. “No. I don’t want to take you to Compton Abbey.” His soft, full lips hardened. “I don’t want you to come within miles of Venable. Even if you had told him about me that day it doesn’t mean you deserve to be soiled by his presence. No woman does.”

Oona’s eyes clouded at the hate in his tone.

“Hey then, what’s this?” he asked when a tear rolled down her cheek. “Don’t cry, love.”

She shook her head, although she didn’t know at what or whom or why.

“Oona?”

She looked up to find an expression on his face she’d never seen: uncertainty.

“I like you, Oona.” He frowned and his jaw worked, as if he were having some sort of argument with himself. “I like you a great deal. I don’t think I’m mistaken in thinking you might like me—at least a little?”

She gave a watery snort and shoved his chest, which did nothing. “Of course I like you,” she said thickly. “I wouldn’t have—what kind of a—”

“Shh-shh,” he murmured, wrapping his bulging bicep around her and pulling her tight to his body. “Don’t cry, darling.”

The endearment just made her cry harder.