He should have stopped it. He should have taken her home or thrown her back out the bloody window. She was too dangerous, and he too apt to act the fool for her. But he hadn’t wanted her to leave tonight. He’d wanted her in his arms, in his bed, and he’d never wanted anything—or any woman—this much.
Of course, she’d almost killed him.
She was a virgin, and he’d tried to move slowly. But every time she moaned and pressed innocently against him, he lost all restraint. He’d pulled himself back from the precipice of wild abandonment half a dozen times, in agony with need for her, wanting to tear the chemise from her body and plunge his hard member into her softness.
But his suffering had been rewarded. Her response to him had been so open and passionate, so trusting and curious, that he’d found himself caught up in the moment—relinquishing control and surrendering himself to the experience. She couldn’t know how rare a sensation surrender was to him. She couldn’t know that even now he was still awed by the experience, the torrent of emotions assailing him.
And she’d asked him if she’d pleased him. Pleased did not begin to describe it.
And he knew he’d given her pleasure—more than once. He glanced down at her. She was pink as Freddie’s new waistcoat. He grinned, wondering how she’d look in crimson. “What did you think, sweetheart? Was it what you’d expected?”
“Oh, no, that wasn’t at all what I’d expected!” She propped her elbow on the pillow beside him, chin on one hand.
He almost groaned. She wasn’t at all embarrassed by his question. In fact, she seemed eager to talk about it. But this was Lucia. The woman had more to say than three females combined.
“I’ve heard things.” The sheet slipped down, giving him a view of her breasts—creamy ivory with delicate pink nipples.
“What have you heard?” he murmured, distracted. His fingers ached to rub one of those ripe nipples between them.
“Ladies do talk, you know,” she said. “When men are not around.”
“Ladies talk?” He grinned devilishly. “I had no idea.”
She punched him lightly. “You are horrid!”
“Now give me a real insult.”
She rolled her eyes.
“But,” he said tilting her chin toward him again, “you’ve aroused my curiosity. Whatever do ladies talk about when we gentlemen are locked up with our port and cigars? Surely not their . . . intimate moments? Not to innocents like you.”
She frowned, obviously annoyed by the social etiquette. “No, they don’t discuss such things with me. But I did overhear Mrs. Witherspoon and Lady Danville once.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and scooted closer. The sheet slipped again, and he felt the soft flesh of her breasts pressed against his arm. He was hard and getting harder.
“Mrs. Witherspoon said that Mr. Witherspoon extinguishes all of the candles and the fire before he shares her bed. He insists the room be completely dark.” She surveyed his room. “You didn’t do that.”
“Mr. Witherspoon probably doesn’t want to see Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“Oh, that’s cruel!”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. If I had my way, we’d be in broad daylight right now.”
Her eyes widened. She looked the perfect innocent, and he couldn’t resist kissing her. Her response—immediate and eager—turned what he’d intended to be a playful kiss into something more serious.
A long moment later his body was thrumming with need. It didn’t help that Lucia had wrapped her long limbs around him in a provocative move straight from his imagination. He told himself it was too soon for her and forced himself to untangle their bodies. Reaching for a modicum of control, he grit out, “What else did Mrs. Witherspoon have to say?”
It was several minutes before she answered, and even then her voice was breathless. “What else . . .” She blinked, trying to compose her thoughts. He knew the feeling.
“Oh, she said that after all the lights have been put out, Mr. Witherspoon climbs into bed with her, raises his nightshirt and hers, then wiggles around like he has a spider in his breeches. He huffs and puffs for three minutes, and it’s all over.” She nodded, seeming pleased that she’d got it correct.
“I suppose Mrs. Witherspoon survives the ordeal by mentally reciting Scripture?”
“Actually.” Lucia tapped her lips, now deep in thought. “She said it offers her the perfect opportunity to plan the menu for the next day.”
Alex burst out laughing. “And were you able to plan any menus tonight, sweetheart?”
A slow smile parted her rosy lips. “You know I wasn’t.”
He squeezed her waist. “You’ll find most marriages in the ton aren’t so different from the Witherspoons’.”
