Pursuing Lord Pascal (16 page)

His cock responded predictably to her
suggestion. “It’s still risky.”

She pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss
that promised more to come. “You’re not the only one who hungers,
Gervaise.”

Heat rippled through him. Heat—and gratitude
for lovely women who turned a man’s world to bright sunshine. How
could he resist? He caught her hand, then stared thwarted at the
row of tiny buttons fastening her long red gloves.

Wanton anticipation vibrated in her laugh.
“It will take you an hour to undo them. And another hour to do them
up again. My maid nearly went cross-eyed, dressing me tonight.”

“Blasted impractical rags you women wear,” he
muttered.

A soft huff of amusement. “I thought you
liked my new ensemble.”

“I want your hands on me.”

“I do, too.” She curled her gloved fingers
around his and drew him toward the couch. “Next time.”

He resisted. “I have a better idea.”

An idea that threatened to incinerate his
brain to ash, it was so audacious.

So far in bed, they hadn’t progressed much
beyond the basics. The pleasure of having her lying beneath him was
more than enough. He never tired of the rapturous surprise glowing
in her eyes with every climax. It still appalled him that her old
duffer of a husband hadn’t had the gumption to value what he had.
Wilfred Mowbray had had paradise in his grasp, and he hadn’t known
it.

But perhaps tonight offered Pascal a chance
to try something a little more exotic.

Curiosity lit her eyes to bright green.
“Oh?”

He caught her hips and turned her toward the
desk, then released her to take off his coat. “Trust me.”

“I trust you.” Her ready agreement made him
smile. It had taken him a long time to gain her trust. Now he had
it, he intended to keep it. “Do you want me to get onto the
desk?”

“You don’t sound shocked.”

She shrugged, although intriguingly her blush
intensified. “I bow to your greater experience.”

He wanted to tell her that what they shared
beggared his experience. With Amy, there was an emotional link he’d
never felt before. Old, familiar moves seemed new and meaningful.
But right now, she was ready and willing, and time ran away with a
speed he cursed to Hades.

Soon he’d have to settle their future,
persuade her to marry him, perhaps even confess what lay in his
heart. But not now. Now pleasure and a beautiful, ardent woman
awaited.

He shifted behind her and rubbed luxuriously
against her buttocks, holding her upper arms in a caressing grip.
“I commend your bold spirit, my love.”

She swayed back, and he turned his face into
the soft mass of her hair. She never reacted to his endearments.
But then, why should she? He’d called so many women his darling and
his sweetheart, and meant nothing special.

Sometimes, God forgive him, an endearment hid
that he’d forgotten a lover’s name. With Amy, though, he meant
every tender word—and he paid the price for his thoughtlessness,
because the one woman who should believe him didn’t notice.

“You’ve made me brave,” she murmured. “Let me
go, so I can get onto the desk.”

Pascal smiled with salacious expectation into
her silky hair. “Oh, no, my dear. That’s not how we’re going to
manage this.”

He felt her sudden tension. “Gervaise?”

“You’ll like this. I’d wager another diamond
bracelet on it.”

He ran his hands down her arms. The oh, so
proper satin gloves—well, apart from that vivid red—added extra
spice to what he intended. Like stockings on an otherwise naked
woman.

He bumped his hips forward, coaxing Amy
closer to the desk. Then he stretched her hands across the desk’s
leather top and flattened them under his. By the time he bent over
her, pressing her down, she was trembling.

She guessed his plans now. But then, she was
a clever woman.

For a long moment, he paused, his body
crushed into the long line of hers and his nose buried in her hair.
Her scent, redolent with arousal, was the air he breathed. Her
unsteady gasps betrayed uncertainty and excitement.

He kissed the side of her neck. She pushed
back in silent invitation.

Fumbling, he released his trousers. Once his
cock sprang free to nestle in the tumbling red skirts, he grunted
with relief. When she edged back more insistently, he shuddered and
bit her neck. She gave a soft cry.

He squeezed her breast, luxuriating in its
softness. Then unable to bear the barrier between his hand and her
skin, he dipped his fingers under her bodice and found her nipple.
Hard and tight with arousal. He tugged on the peak, and she jerked
delightfully. With his nail, he teased that sensitive tip until she
was shaking.

Only then did he reach down to raise her
skirts, bunching them in his hand before tossing them up. When she
began to straighten, he placed a hand flat on her lower back. “No.
Stay there.”

She swung her head to send him a scorching
look. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Never.”

What a glorious spectacle she made. Amy
Mowbray with her splendid arse in the air. His cock swelled, as his
hand traced those luscious curves through her sheer drawers.

A few deft flicks of his fingers, and the
cambric crumpled down to drift across her red silk dancing
slippers.

“Step out of your drawers,” he murmured,
bending to place a kiss on one round, satiny cheek, now bare to his
sight.

She obeyed immediately and spread her legs.
For a long moment, he stared down at her, so pink and glistening
and ready. He slid his fingers along her sleek cleft, swiftly
finding the place that made her quiver and cry out. When she lifted
her hips in silent entreaty, he angled her to take him.

Steadying her with one hand, he positioned
his cock with the other. Her choked sound of longing spurred him
on. With a powerful glide, he pushed forward.

When Gervaise filled her, Amy muffled a cry
and pushed back to take him deeper. He bent over her, wrapping his
arms around her with such tender care that her heart clenched into
an aching fist. Even while her body tightened around him to hold
him inside her.

She’d been sure nothing could rival the bliss
of what they did in that big bed in his manor. But this exciting
variation suggested there were many paths to paradise. What didn’t
change was the sense that when their bodies joined, somehow their
souls joined, too. She’d come to thirst after that feeling of
ineffable completion like a drunkard thirsted after brandy.

When Gervaise kissed her neck, a tingly
thrill shook her. Then with a languor that sent her up in flames,
he withdrew. She felt every inch of that retreat. Before she could
catch her breath, he slammed back into her.

As his ferocious possession shuddered through
her, she braced against the desk. This was so different from their
previous encounters, but the raw animal vigor stirred her beyond
anything she’d ever known.

On his next thrust, her body greeted him with
a liquid surge. He growled deep in his throat and bit her neck
where before he’d kissed her. Pain vied with pleasure and sent her
responses soaring. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to a
universe of passion.

The inexorable rhythm built until she turned
into his creature, a being of pure sensation. The rapturous end
rushed closer and closer, until on another broken cry, coiling
suspense snapped into brilliant, incandescent light.

Pascal muttered something incoherent as he
pushed her down into the desk with sudden fierceness. Then she felt
him jerk against her back, and his hot seed flooded her.

* * *

Exhausted, feeling as if she’d walked to
Moscow and back, Amy opened dazed eyes. Her cheek pressed against
the leather covering the desk, and Gervaise slumped over her. She
never wanted to move. Right now, she felt that she and Gervaise
inhabited a world where nothing could mar their perfect union.

They were still joined, and soft quivers of
pleasure rippled through her. The air smelled of sex and sweat and
satisfaction. How could such a flagrantly carnal act make her want
to cry at the poignant sweetness of it all?

He groaned as he levered himself up,
separating their bodies.

“That was…unforgettable.” He sounded shaken,
too.

She smiled wearily as she rose. What they’d
done had been astonishingly potent, but now she ached from the
strenuous mating. Her skirts tumbled down her rubbery legs,
restoring a modesty she’d well and truly sacrificed.

Gervaise stepped back and she turned
reluctantly. After that shattering encounter, she felt lost and
vulnerable. Only now in the aftermath did she realize what
appalling risks they’d taken. This passion for Lord Pascal
threatened to take her into dangerous waters indeed.

When he cupped her cheek, she forced herself
to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d see in his face.
Admiration? Fondness? Disgust? She’d just let him debauch her over
a desk, for God’s sake.

She bit back a gasp. She’d never seen him
more beautiful. His blond hair was ruffled, lending him an
uncharacteristically boyish air. That long sensual mouth was full
and relaxed. And his eyes were clear. He looked young and
approachable in a way she’d never seen, even during their radiant
hours outside Windsor.

He’d already tucked in his shirt and fastened
his trousers, but he was a long way from his usual elegant self.
His neck cloth was crushed, and his clothes were crumpled.

“Are you all right?” His thumb brushed her
cheek in a caress that she felt to her toes.

“Silly to feel…shy after that.” She glanced
down to where her drawers lay blatant witness to her wantonness,
white against the green and beige carpet. She shifted awkwardly
from foot to foot, and the movement reminded her of the slick heat
between her legs.

“Not silly at all,” he said, with one of
those smiles that always made her want to fling herself against him
and never let him go.

His kiss immersed her in an ocean of
gentleness. She blinked back more foolish tears, even though she
still had no real idea why she felt like crying.

Except he sliced through every attempt to
defend herself. He left her terrifyingly vulnerable, as though
she’d lost a couple of layers of skin. She’d never felt at anyone’s
mercy, the way she did with Gervaise.

To hide her powerful emotion, she bent to
retrieve her drawers. “I’d better take these. Otherwise Lord
Shelton will get a shock tomorrow morning.”

Her voice emerged unnaturally high, and she
avoided Gervaise’s eyes, although some instinct told her he watched
her closely. “Amy?”

“Please turn around.” She knew she acted like
a ninny, but she felt horridly uncomfortable. The stupid fact was
that she’d felt so alive and happy and safe with him pounding into
her like a hammer. Now it was over, she was frantic for some
privacy to gather her composure. If she appeared in the ballroom,
surely everyone must guess exactly what she’d been doing.

She chanced a glance at him. A faint frown
marked his face.

“Please,” she said with a small, imploring
gesture.

His lips compressed with impatience, but he
cooperated.

Because her hands shook so badly, she took an
age to tie her drawers back on. “You…you can look now,” she said in
a husky voice.

She’d hoped some poise would return, once
she’d got her undergarments off the floor. It didn’t.

When Gervaise turned, the eyes that met hers
were somber. “I didn’t withdraw.”

Of course he didn’t. Perhaps that was why she
was so on edge. Except she’d gloried in that luminous moment when
he’d given himself up to her.

“I know,” she said in a thready voice.

“I should apologize,” he said with a hint of
grimness. “But in truth, I don’t think I can. It was the most
perfect moment of my life.”

She searched his face for insincerity,
although she was sure he’d always been honest with her.
“Really?”

“I know it’s a disaster.” He sighed and ran
his hand through his rumpled hair. “But it doesn’t feel like
one.”

Amy examined her heart. She found confusion,
and the constant yearning that by now felt almost like an old
friend. But strangely, no regret. Even more unexpected, no
fear.

“It doesn’t feel like a disaster to me
either,” she said slowly.

He started to smile. “Well, then.”

She frowned. “Well, then, what?”

Gervaise stepped forward and caught one of
her gloved hands. “Amy Mowbray, will you make me the happiest man
in London and marry me?”

Her heart began to crash about like a drunken
sailor. Whether with horror or excitement, she wasn’t sure.
Probably a turbulent mixture of the two. “Because you’re worried
about a baby?”

He shook his golden head, and his blue eyes
were grave. “I’ve wanted to marry you from the first. I said so.
Don’t you remember?”

“I…I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I told you I was wooing you.”

“Into bed.”

“Into my bed.” He paused. “And my life.”

“Oh,” she said, wishing she could come up
with something more coherent. Tenderness softened his features, and
she closed her eyes to delay the inevitable yielding.

“May I kiss you?”

She opened her eyes and pulled away, needing
to think. And stupidly missed the contact, the moment it was
broken. “You don’t usually ask.”

“I’m not taking anything for granted.”

She liked that. But then, he knew she would.
“No, you may not kiss me.”

Disappointment dulled his eyes. “Amy, are you
saying no to my proposal?”

She hesitated. Was she ready to marry again?
If she was, Gervaise would be her choice. But would his interest in
her last beyond the illicit excitement of their affair? She
couldn’t imagine him finding her so fascinating when she went back
to being a hardworking farmer. “No.”