And then it was just a matter of turning his head and teasing the pink of her sex with his lips. “Oh yes,” she whispered, her hands clenching the coverlet. Without him having to ask, she spread her legs wider, and he could see the slick sheen of moisture. He touched his tongue to her center, tasting her. She was sweet and tangy, and he lapped at her eagerly. He didn’t bother with gentleness now. He was not by nature a gentle man, though he could be so when he chose. But now he pushed her legs as wide as he could and lashed at her with his tongue. He traced her intimately, delving inside her to touch the heat of her, then flicking at that hard little pebble.
She fell back when he did that, catching herself on her elbows and pushing against his mouth. He gripped her hips to hold her where he wanted, then flicked at the nub until she was making those kitten-like sounds again. And then, because he did not want her to come too soon, he pulled back, teasing her lightly again.
She kept up a steady stream of gibberish, most of which he could not understand but the gist of which was she did not want him to stop. She had her hands on her breasts now, her fingers massaging the distended nipples, and Ewan had to look away or else he would have lost control completely. Instead, he focused on bringing her to the brink of pleasure and then withdrawing, back to the brink and withdrawing again.
She was cursing him before long, begging him, trembling so violently he had to hold her down.
She gasped. “Ewan, please.”
It was his name that did it. He could have continued his sweet torture, but her use of his given name felled him. Quite suddenly, his hands closed on her hips and he yanked her body against his mouth. He sucked and kissed until she shattered against him. Her body bucked and writhed, and he lapped at her until she cried for no more.
Finally, Ewan released her, catching her boneless form before she could slide to the floor. He deposited her on the bed again and bent to kiss her bare shoulder and the curve of her breast. Her arms came around him then, and she pulled him close, holding him. She stroked his back and his hair and laid her cheek against his chest. Ewan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated him with so much tenderness.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her as well, but they seemed rooted at his side. She pulled back slightly, her green eyes so large and dark they dominated her face. She traced his cheek with one finger, then kissed it and his temple and his eyelid. “You are so beautiful,” she said.
Women had called him many things—before, during, and after lovemaking—but no one had ever called him beautiful.
“Women are beautiful,” he said.
“You are beautiful in a different way—in the cut of your jaw and the width of your brow and the straightness of your nose. And your lips.” She smiled a secretive smile. “I did not know your lips were to be my favorite part of you.”
“You don’t know all of my parts,” he said.
She laughed. “See, you make me laugh with your wit.”
This was not the first time she’d complimented his mind, but it was the first time Ewan realized he had said something clever. She pulled him close again, and in her arms he did not feel like the big brute. He felt cherished and loved and…as though he belonged.
Gone was the fury of a few nights ago. She didn’t love Francis. She didn’t want him. She wanted Ewan, had given herself to him and him alone.
“I never want to leave here,” she said. “I love the feel of you against me.”
He liked holding her in his arms, but he couldn’t forget she was the daughter of a duke, and that duke was his employer. “You must leave here. Did you come alone?”
“No.” She sat and pushed her long, dark hair out of her face. Her bodice still hung open, and Ewan longed to divest her of all her clothing and lay her naked on his bed.
“My maid is with me. I left her downstairs.”
Ewan wiped a hand over his eyes. He would have chastised her for coming alone, but it was almost as bad that she’d brought a witness to her foolishness. Or perhaps he should say their foolishness.
“I will escort you both home. I must speak with your father.”
Her hands, which had been busy tying her chemise closed again, stilled. “Speak to my father? You mean to tell him what happened?”
He nodded.
“Here? Between us? Your mouth… You cannot tell him that!”
“I intend to offer for your hand.”
“Why?” She all but shouted the word before jumping off his bed and straightening her skirts. She couldn’t right the bodice of her gown without his help, but she managed to yank it up over her bosom.
“If word of this”—he gestured to the room—“gets out, your reputation will be ruined and your family thrown into scandal.” He did up his trousers and looked about for a shirt.
“It won’t get out.”
“It might, and I won’t allow your reputation to be tarnished.” A clean shirt hung on a peg near the door, and he pulled it over his head.
She stared at him as though two heads had come through the neck hole rather than one. “So this is a matter of honor?”
“Your honor.”
“My father will not agree, you know that, don’t you?”
He did. He should have felt relieved knowing that he was in no real danger of being leg-shackled, but the thought seemed to bring him a twinge of pain.
“He will dismiss you and then marry me to the first man on his list of potential sons-in-law.”
“He has a list?”
“I don’t know.” She waved a hand, pacing his room. The room was only about fifteen steps across, and he was already dizzy watching her. “But he certainly won’t allow me to choose.”
“And you want to marry Francis.”
She stopped. “No.” She looked at him, and for a moment he thought she might say she wanted to marry him. Instead, she began pacing again. “I don’t know who I want to marry. Perhaps no one, but I think I should be allowed to choose or at least have some say. This is not the fourteenth century. It’s 1816, for God’s sake. I—”
“Lorraine.”
She swung around to look at him.
“This is the last time. Do you understand?”
“You won’t go to my father?”
He didn’t have to. He hadn’t ruined her—not completely, at any rate. She was still a virgin. But he did not think he could resist taking her, if she came to him again. Now that he knew the taste of her, knew the way she moaned when she found pleasure, knew how she looked without all of those clothes—or without some of them—he would not be able to stop. He would not want to stop.
“This is the end. No more kisses. No more meetings alone.”
“But your father’s estate—”
“Is not as valuable as your reputation.” He’d been a fool to ever agree to those late nights in the library, but she seemed to have that effect on him. He lost what few wits he possessed when she was nearby.
“Then I must tell you now or I might not have another opportunity.”
“Tell me what?” His entire body tensed. God knew what the woman would reveal next.
“I have solved the earl’s financial problems.”
Ewan could only stare at her.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she said quickly, her hands gesturing wildly as they tended to do when she was excited, “but I’ve had time to think, and the mortgage is only for the house, not the land.”
He shook his head. “I don’t follow.”
“The mortgage on the land in Yorkshire. It’s only for the house and the furnishings and the rents from the tenants.”
“And what good is the land without the house and the rents?”
“Don’t you remember the survey I read?”
She had read him numerous surveys.