By slow degrees, she peeled him out of his clothing, sniffing each garment before folding it neatly. “You greeted your horse this morning.”
“Our new lad, Victor, has taken over the stable duties, and the work wants regular inspection. I also like to look in on my mounts. The older of the two was with me on campaign. He likes apples.”
Inane thing to say in the midst of a seduction, but Rye was down to his boots and breeches, and Ann was studying his arm.
“You described your injury as being mostly to your hip and ribs, with some damage to the eye and your hearing. You suffered more than that, Orion.” She ran her fingers over the scars on his arm, then over the scars on his ribs.
“My uniform caught fire when I raised my arm to shield my face.” Thank God that MacKay had been on hand to put it out almost immediately. “The scars on my ribs were from some other battle.”
She wrapped him in an embrace. “There were so many, you forget?”
“Right now, all I can think about is getting you out of that dress and into bed.” He fell silent, lest he babble in two languages at once.
“You’d best deal with my hooks, then.” She presented him with her back, and Rye did as she commanded, freeing her from a legion of hooks, each one tinier than the one before. He untied her stays while he was in the neighborhood and stole a few kisses to her nape.
“Lilacs,” he said when her dress and stays had been draped over a chair. “You must wash your hair with lilac soap. Shall I take down your hair?”
“Take out the pins and leave the braid.”
“Up on the bed with you, then.”
She slanted a dubious glance at him, but complied. Rye pulled off his boots and sat cross-legged behind her. She wore her chemise, he kept his breeches on, the better to comport himself with the restraint the situation called for.
He searched her hair for pins and mentally cast about for next steps. “What sort of loving do you enjoy most?” She had experience. She’d been at pains to assure him of that, but what sort of experience?
“Not hurried,” she said, “not furtive. What of you?”
How modest were her sexual ambitions, and what a poor reflection they were upon her previous lovers.
“I hope the interlude can be joyous,” Rye said, “sweet, a little wild, and a lot pleasurable. Leisurely until we’re overcome by passion. I want my lover to think of me always with fondness and a smile.” With Ann, fondness and a smile would not be enough, but a soldier crossed Spain mile by mile, step by step.
“Tell me about the wild part.”
And yet, a man could fall in love between one heartbeat and the next.
He showed her, starting with sweet kisses to her shoulders, then turning her to straddle his lap and adding caresses to her breasts. She liked that apparently, arching into his touch, burying her fingers in his hair, and joining her mouth to his.
“Breeches off, Orion.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But to remove his breeches, he had to part from her, which was difficult when he craved to touch her and taste her and feel her heart beating against his own.
Ann solved his dilemma by extricating herself from his embrace and scrambling under the covers. “Quickly, please.”
Rye left the bed and stepped out of his breeches, tossing them atop her dress. He made a little production out of adding a half scoop of coal on the fire, not only to give Ann a chance to inspect him, but also to give himself a chance to gather his wits.
“Should I remove my chemise?” she asked.
He faced the bed and pretended to ignore the cockstand arrowed up along his belly. “If you have to ask, the answer is not yet. When you cannot bear to have the blasted thing on, when you fling it across the room to land who knows where, then it’s time to take it off.”
Ann blushed, but she did not look away. “Clearly, it’s time you joined me in this bed, Orion Goddard.”
“A woman of discernment.”
She lay back, and he climbed under the covers and crouched above her, not touching.
“Orion?”
“Tell me what you want, Annie.”
“You,” she said, reaching for him. “I want you.”
“I am yours to command.” He resumed the slow, soft kisses she seemed to like and by degrees gave her his weight. The fit was marvelous, and the feel of her legs snug around his flanks a pleasure beyond description.
She’d kept the bedroom warm, she’d told him her troubles. She touched him as if he were every weary soldier ever to come home to loving arms, and kissed him as if he were her favorite treat.
He kissed her back with the same sense of rejoicing, for he was hers to command—and hers to love too.
Orion Goddard’s loving had a relentless quality, an unwillingness to be either hurried or denied, that drew Ann away from the troubles in the Coventry’s kitchen. His touch was slow and cherishing, his kisses entrancing.
He focused on Ann, and her focus shifted to him. He was lean all over, tough muscle, scarred flesh, but warm, too, and comfortable with physical intimacy. He ran his hand over Ann’s neck and shoulders, and traced her features with delicate fingers.
“You hide yourself,” he whispered. “Hide behind recipes and aprons, busyness and competence. You don’t have to hide from me, Annie Pearson. Tell me what you want.”
You. Closer. More. The words would not come and barely made sense to Ann anyway. Orion knew what he was about, a far cry from the fumblings Ann had endured in previous encounters. She locked her ankles at the small of his back and pulled him closer.
“You are like the cavalry,” he said, tracing her brow with his nose. “All headlong and heedless. Wellington despaired of us. Surrender to pleasure, and I promise you victory.”
He touched her everywhere, teasing her breasts, caressing her arms, and nuzzling her palms. He was like an incoming tide, submerging Ann more and more deeply in sensation and yearning. When he had introduced her to the wonder of a man’s mouth skillfully applied to a lady’s breasts—even when she yet wore her chemise—she rallied her wits to return fire.
She started where he had, tracing his facial features, and she spent extra time brushing her thumbs across his brow. That damned eye patch had to be a nuisance, for he went still under her hand, then sighed.
Ann graduated to the planes and sinews of Orion’s back, making so bold as to learn the contours of his muscular bum and to put her own mouth to his flat, male nipple. That foray earned her a soft groan. All the while, she was aware that her lover was in a state of splendid readiness for the act itself.
Orion, however, did not seem aware. He seemed content to let her pet and taste him until spring.
“Up,” Ann said, giving his bottom a pat. “Please.”
He eased up and sat back, his weight grazing Ann’s thighs.
“The chemise has to go,” Ann said, pulling the hem free from the covers and half raising herself on her elbows. “Get this damned thing off of me.”
“Hold still.” He complied without so much as a tug to Ann’s braid and pitched the offending linen over his shoulder. “The look of you now will stay with me until I’m a tired old man, past all mischief, save what I’ve stored in memory.”
“Enough looking,” Ann said, wrapping him in her arms and urging him down over her. “More loving.”