She tasted delicious, tart and sparkling as plum jerkum.
“Are you . . . are you bored?” Joan gasped at some point, shivering hard.
“I could stay here all day,” Thaddeus said, hearing the happiness in his voice. “I could kiss you like this for a year.” He bent his head, just to make sure that she didn’t stop shaking, and brought a hand into play. “A century.”
She gasped something, unsurprisingly a word that would never cross the lips of a gentlewoman. But that lady wouldn’t lie fearlessly before him, divested of her male attire, crying out when he sucked hard, nearly sobbing when he gripped her thigh.
“Thaddeus!” Joan reached down with one hand. He curled his fingers around it, at the same time that he applied himself.
And when Thaddeus Shaw applied himself . . .
He succeeded.
Always.
Joan yelped, and then—true to form—threw back her head and screamed as her body caught waves of passion that rippled through her.
Thaddeus got to see all of it. Her silky, wet flesh, the arch of her throat, the glittering sunlight bathing her in diamonds.
As he eased away, he was certain of one thing.
He had just experienced the happiest moment of his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Joan stared at the leaves above her, feeling as if she’d never seen a tree before. Her first tree.
Her legs felt boneless and empty, as if she lay on the surface of the earth so lightly that she might float into the air, a spent dandelion.
“That . . .” she murmured, and forgot what she meant to say.
There had been so many firsts that her mind actually danced away from the idea of listing them. She was naked outdoors. Her skin was damp, and Thaddeus Erskine Shaw, future duke, friend of her family, was casually stroking her thigh, looking at her skin with as much absorption as if she were . . . as if she were a book that he was reading.
She’d seen him in the library over the years, reading with complete attention, eyes on the page, not even aware of her presence.
Now?
She had the feeling that, for him, there were only the two of them in the world. She propped herself up on her elbows, feeling her breasts shift. As she watched, Thaddeus leaned over and placed a kiss precisely where he had been caressing her.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
His head jerked up: She was right. He had been absorbed in her. Thaddeus’s mouth widened into a smile. He was a beautiful man, fifty times more beautiful when he was happy.
She sat up and reached for her shirt. Instantly he caught it up and handed it to her. She froze. “Ants?”
Thaddeus took it back and gave it a vigorous shake. “If there was an ant, it would be unlikely to bite you.”
“It would crawl on me.”
“Like this?” One hand teasingly skittered up her calf.
She squeaked and jumped. “You!” She pulled the shirt over her head. “You are not supposed to have a sense of humor.”
“I don’t,” Thaddeus said, his eyes utterly sober. Then his other hand crept up her other leg, making her squeak again. He broke into laughter.
Joan hopped to her feet and looked about. Her breeches were off to the side, so she shook them out and stepped into them. She felt embarrassed.
His fingers circled her bare ankle as she was buttoning up her breeches.
“Joan?”
She looked down at him, realizing with a sudden thump of her heart that the worst possible thing had happened to her. She truly was in love with a man whom she could not have. With a future duke.
Deeply in love.
With Thaddeus.
If she wasn’t careful, she would begin hoping. She would rather die than long for a man who didn’t love her.
Oh, Thaddeus liked her. And he liked kissing her.
But love?
He didn’t even believe in the emotion, and she had a feeling that when this particular future duke made up his mind, he didn’t change it. What’s more, as they’d both agreed, he needed a woman from the nobility, not an illegitimate woman on the edge of being thrown from society.
Thaddeus looked up at her and then wrapped a second hand around her other ankle. “Sit down?”
“We should . . . we should practice dying,” she said. She realized what she’d just said and felt herself turning pink.
“La petite mort,” Thaddeus said, his accent perfect, naturally. “The French think an orgasm is the closest to Paradise that humanity can reach, so: a little death.”
Joan sat down before him. His hands slipped from her ankles. “That was wonderful,” she said bluntly. “I can’t imagine what got into either of us. Perhaps Aunt Knowe made the plum jerkum stronger than it normally is.”
He shook his head. “I had only a swallow.” He leaned forward and brushed her mouth with a kiss. “I don’t want to drink anything because I can still taste you on my tongue. Essence of Joan, far more sparkling than plum jerkum.”
Color flooded Joan’s cheeks yet again. She cleared her throat and looked away.
He caught her chin with his hand. “Never come here with another man. Promise me, Joan.”
Joan stared at him. Where did that come from?
Thaddeus stared into her eyes as if he were asking for a vow.
“No. I won’t promise.”
He winced, and his brows drew together.
She forced the words out of her mouth. “I don’t break vows, so I won’t make that one. I might bring my husband here someday, Thaddeus.” She paused, curving her hand around his strong jaw. “That doesn’t mean I will ever forget the pleasure you gave me.”
Her heart was thudding a heavy rhythm, because she loved him. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
She didn’t.
He nodded. “I asked you an ill-phrased question. I simply worried that another man would take advantage of you if you brought him here.”
Joan felt a drop of ice down her back. Her hand fell from his cheek. Did he think that because she let him take off her breeches, she would do the same for any gentleman with whom she picnicked?
Perhaps . . . why wouldn’t he think that?
“A husband by definition can’t take advantage of me,” she pointed out.
“I am finding you a husband,” Thaddeus said. Hatefully, he looked relieved at the thought. Happy, even, to be handing her off.
“You seem to think that”—she swallowed hard—“that this experience will lead me to escort gentlemen to the island on a regular basis.”
He looked appalled. “I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”
“Good,” she said evenly. “I shall wait for that husband you’ve promised. I will bring him, if you don’t mind. This afternoon has been a revelation.”
Thaddeus was good at controlling his expression, but something flashed through his eyes, and she caught it.
“After all, I might wish to unclothe him,” she added.
She let her eyes deliberately fall down his front, straight to his crotch where a large bulge inflated his breeches. “I would like to see a man in the sunlight, rather than only under the bedclothes. I gather that is the practice of most married couples.”
He nodded, and fury marched up her back because Thaddeus showed no sign of caring in the slightest. It was as if she’d told him that she would give her future husband an engraved snuffbox for his birthday.