The questions she wanted to ask—would the men from the alley be looking for them and did he love her—popped like soap bubbles, disappearing entirely as sleep claimed her. A sleep interrupted by the unusual surroundings and the fact she wasn’t alone.
She stirred once to see Garrick on his haunches stoking the fire and another to find him looking out the small, grimy window with a predator’s stance. Both times, she drifted back into a restless darkness marked by dreams alternately fearful and erotic.
Diffuse morning light brought her to full wakefulness. The fire still crackled and warmed the cottage, but a different kind of heat radiated next to her. She turned her head on the pillow. Garrick was stretched out next to her on top of the quilt, his arms crossed over his chest.
Sleep blunted the angles and edges of his face, and she could see hints of the boy he’d been before tragedy had taken his parents. The suddenness and totality of his loss made her heart ache.
Not only had both his parents died, but he’d lost his home and village and everything familiar. One week he’d been safe and secure in his place in the world, and the next he’d been thrown into an orphanage with no one to love and no one to love him.
She turned on her side and drank him in. His dark hair was thick and wavy and mussed. Her fingers twitched to push a stray lock off his forehead. His sleek eyebrows, blade of a nose, and strong jaw could have been carved on a coin. The curve of his lashes and the surprisingly sensuous fullness of his lower lip softened what was otherwise unrelenting hardness.
He wasn’t handsome by ton standards, but he was attractive in a way she couldn’t quantify. He had the face of a battle-tested knight. What lady could resist giving him her favor?
Her gaze wandered over the strong column of his throat to where the hard planes of his chest and a peppering of dark hair peeped out of his shirt. His biceps bulged where they crossed over his chest. She stared at his fingers for a long moment, remembering the magic they had wrought. Heat enveloped her, and she pushed the covers to her waist and continued her examination, her head propped on her hand. His stomach was taut, and his… She swallowed at the ridge visible in his breeches. Had he been in such a state since their encounter?
The tightness in her lower belly made her squirm, and her breasts grew heavy and sensitive. The uncomfortable, restless feeling had returned full force, but now she knew he had the ability to appease her need. She didn’t want to dwell on how he had acquired such talents.
The confrontation with the two men in the alley had upturned what she’d thought she knew about herself. An unfamiliar vulnerability had shaken her footing. Thomas hadn’t taken advantage of her battered confidence or the brandy fuzzing her senses the night before. He could have. She’d certainty begged him to.
The morning brought clarity. A clarity society would deem madness.
She laid a hand on his stomach between his folded arms and the top of his breeches. His breathing remained deep and even, and he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. She glided her hand to the nearest button of his fall and ever so slowly slid it free.
She glanced up, but his face remained impassive. Biting her bottom lip, she slid her hand into the narrow opening. Her fingertips brushed the hard length of him covered in thin cotton. With a startling quickness, Thomas clamped her wrist.
Oh dear. She’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.
“What the devil are you doing?” His voice was raspy with sleep.
“Is it not obvious?”
He turned his head on the pillow, and their gazes collided. He remained on his back. Her hand remained in his breeches. Their faces were too far away to share a kiss, but close enough she could see the shards of dark amber around his pupils. His expression was a clash of shock and wonder.
With the slowness of a stalking cat, she inched her hand farther inside until the pads of her fingers stroked his length through the cotton. His hand spasmed on her wrist, and his eyes widened with his sharp intake of breath. Yet he didn’t protest.
Her own breathing picked up as she curved her fingers over his cock. She explored the thick length of him, from the taut sacs below to the spear-shaped tip. Imagining his cock in place of his finger gave her a moment’s pause. Would he fit? Her body had no such qualms. She ached to have him between her legs and could feel herself growing slick with want. This time it wasn’t her but him who begged.
“Please.” The word emerged on a chesty groan.
“Do you want me to stop?” She tightened her grip, and his cock pulsed in her hand, making her catch her breath.
“Of course I don’t, but we can’t…” His hips moved restlessly, not away, but into her touch.
“Of course we can.” Whether they should was a different debate. Actually, any sane person would argue they shouldn’t. If they did nothing, at least when their adventure was concluded, she could claim her innocence. Mostly.
It wasn’t merely her night in a cottage with Garrick that was an issue. Lord Berkwith had seen her being pulled into an alley with two ruffians. Only his gentlemanly discretion, which was in question to begin with, stood between her and ruination.
Her mother would already have a plan brewing on her return. Victoria would be married off before any rumors sifted through society. She would be another man’s wife, expected to share his bed whether she wanted to or not. Fate had given her the opportunity to be with the one man she truly wanted and loved. She’d read enough books to know not to thumb her nose at fate.
“Mother wants me to marry soon. Very soon.”
“All the more reason for us to stop this madness.” Yet he didn’t pull away, giving her a shot of hope that was more potent than the brandy.
“There’s only been one man who has ever stirred my blood. Only one man whose bed I’ve dreamed of sharing.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, and his expression could only be described as tortured. Was she winning or losing the argument?
Unable to keep the desperation from her voice, she continued, “I realize you’re a man of the world and have experience with this sort of thing. I’ve only read how to please a man and will probably be a disappointment, but if you could find it in your heart to—”
He jerked the quilt off her and rolled half on top of her in a rush of movement that shocked her into silence. His elbows were braced on either side of her head, his lips an inch from her. “Hush, woman.”
He kissed her, slow and languorous, yet with an underlying intensity of being lured into a trap. She was more than happy to be caught.
She relaxed under his weight, enjoying the feel of him. One of his legs was braced between hers, and his erection was pressed against her thigh. Tentatively, she raised her hands from the mattress and lay them lightly along his flanks. His muscular bulk stirred her senses.
“I need to confess something.” He spoke the words between drugging kisses.
She hummed before nipping the sensuous curve of his bottom lip between her teeth. He raised himself out of the reach of her mouth, and she pretended to pout, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind.
“You mentioned I’m a man of the world with experience.”
A blush lit her from head to toe. “I want to please you, if you’ll teach me.”
Red burnished his cheeks, and his chuckle was self-depreciating. “I have experience with many things, but not as much as you are assuming.”