She winced. “Was I that obvious?”
Roger shrugged. “Your curiosity is natural.”
“Still, it really isn’t any of my concern—”
“It’s all right,” he insisted, laying his hand atop hers.
His fingertips stroked along the back of her hand as he marveled at the softness of her skin. She felt like satin, and Roger couldn’t help but imagine every inch of her bare skin feeling as perfect.
“I do have some experience,” he said, staring down at Miranda’s hand as she turned it over, revealing the skin of her inner wrist. Delicate blue veins showed, and Roger traced them with languid movements, bolstered by the hitch in her breath and the gooseflesh appearing along her arm. “I simply haven’t … completed the act.”
“I see,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless. “Did you wish to? Finish it, I mean?”
“Yes,” he rasped, a shudder racing through him as he stroked along her arm, noting the way she squirmed in her chair. Her response to his touch proved a thrilled beyond what he’d imagined. “I did, but …”
They were leaning into one another now, Roger’s rump poised on the very edge of his chair. Miranda’s breasts heaved with every breath, her eyes wide and fixed on him as he inched closer and closer—so close he could make out the darker swirls of brown in her liquid-honey irises.
“Yes?” she prodded, tipping her head back as his hand made its way up her arm to cup her neck.
Her breath tickled his cheek, and the scent of the spirits on her breath made his belly quiver. “I suppose I was waiting.”
Miranda’s eyelashes fluttered closed, and she eased into his hold, lips parting in an enticing and welcoming display. “For what?”
“The right woman.”
Their lips met in a tentative press and tangle of short, panting breaths. A heady tingle spread from the point of contact, suffusing over Roger’s face and down his throat. Heat flared under his collar, and his limbs went pliant as they parted, then came together again with firmer pressure. Miranda released a soft sigh, her lips opening at the demand of his. He coaxed her to accept his tongue, first swiping it slowly along her lower lip, then probing into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. His grip tightened on the back of her neck, fingers tangling with silken strands of loose hair. Her head fell into the cradle of his hold, both her hands coming to rest on his thighs.
Roger stiffened at the gentle touch, his muscles going rock hard as his cock pulsed and began to swell. He fought the urge to move, to guide her hands higher so she was touching him where he wanted it most. If he didn’t get a hold of himself, and quickly, he would finish before she even got him out of his breeches. His heart galloped at a mad cadence, and his belly quivered and squeezed at each stroke of her tongue against his, bold and exploring.
The kiss deepened when they both surged closer at once, Roger’s free hand joining the other to cup her face, Miranda’s fingers digging into his thighs as she seemed to fight for purchase. The pinpricks of her fingernails sent another bolt of lightning straight through him, and his erection grew painful in its insistence. His head spun as he wondered if it might happen right here in this room—if he would take Miranda down to the floor, lift her skirts and finally discover what it was like to be buried inside a warm, willing woman.
He had wanted it for some time now, but the intensity of such longing seemed exacerbated now. Roger didn’t know if it was the strength of their attraction, or a simple matter of how long he had waited to have done with this. Regardless, nothing could have stopped him from following her lead when she sank to the floor and reached up to take hold of his shoulders. He fell to his knees, then stretched out over Miranda as she lay back and guided him along.
Trapping her legs between his, he braced both hands on either side of her head and stared down at her, thoroughly captivated. Her coiffure had begun to unravel, leaving coils of mahogany gracing the rug in intriguing swirls. Her eyes were wide and glistening as she stared up at him, her lips parted and reddened from his kisses.
A low groan fell from Roger’s lips as he fell on her, seeking out more of her sweet taste. She tangled her fingers in his hair, arching her back so her breasts pressed into the flat plane of his chest. He trembled as her nails tickled the back of his neck and sent a spark shooting down his spine. It made heat suffuse through his groin, prompting his hips to press tighter against hers, seeking out the warm haven between her thighs.
Roger pulled away from her as if ascending from the depths of the ocean, sucking in labored breaths and fighting to regain control of himself. He didn’t think Miranda would appreciate him rutting on her on the drawing room floor and spending within half a minute. Roger wanted to take his time with her, learn how to apply the intimacies he had learned about through reading to a flesh and blood woman—one who could tell him what she wanted, what she liked.
A gentle smile pulled at her lips as she stared at him, lifting one hand to cup his cheek. “Why did you stop? I was enjoying myself immensely.”
He returned her smile, his eyes heavy-lidded and his limbs heavy as if he’d been drugged. Stroking the line of her jaw, he pressed another soft kiss to her beckoning mouth.
“I-I-I …w-want … c-can’t … oh, f-fucking hell!”
His insides went frigid as if an icicle had been lodged in his chest, and he pushed off her so swiftly that he stumbled and landed on his buttocks. A string of epithets sat on the tip of his tongue, but his clenched throat wouldn’t allow him the air to speak them.
Miranda’s brow furrowed in concern as she sat up, pushing her skirts down her legs. Roger tore his gaze away, but not before getting an eyeful of bared legs encased in silk stockings. Despite his embarrassment, his arousal didn’t diminish. If anything, it grew stronger at the evidence of how close he’d come to pushing those skirts farther up and seating himself within her. That would not be happening now he’d forgotten his plan of silence once they became physical. He’d forgotten himself and exposed his secret.
“Roger? What’s wrong?”
Her voice jolted him from his chaotic thoughts, and Roger realized he’d shot to his feet. He parted his lips, but clamped them shut again when he felt his tongue beginning to rebel. Speech became more impossible by the second as his mind and body warred with one another, his mouth caught in the crossfire.
Miranda scrambled to her feet and came toward him, the empathy and confusion in her eyes making him feel two feet tall. He swallowed and tried again to speak, but could only produce a low rasping wheeze and something that sounded vaguely like, “I should go.”
Then, he was spinning on his heel to flee without a look back, bile rising swiftly in the back of his throat.
His first day as a courtesan and he’d bungled it. If Miranda had wanted him at all before, she certainly couldn’t desire him now. His mortifying stammer had only manifested for a few seconds, but it was long enough to remind him why he was still a virgin at the age of thirty-six—why the one time he’d come close to making love to a woman had ended in shame.
He’d been mad to think he could do this.
Who would ensure Emily had a dowry? If he couldn’t find his own happiness, then seeing his sister wed and settled would be enough for him.