She brushed her lips over his, and their mouths heated as they came together. The kiss was soft and tentative, and then Rory put his arms around her, pulling her close. She drank him in, kissing him with all the pent-up desire she’d felt these past days. She couldn’t quite stop her mind from chanting:He’sfalling in love with you. He’s falling in love with you!She didn’t try to stop herself from savoring his warmth and the feel of his arms around her.
Abruptly, he pulled her to her feet. “If we keep this up, I’ll end up taking you on my dead wife’s grave, and as much as I disliked her, I won’t bethatcallous.”
“I much prefer a bed and seeing you undressed. Don’t lock me out tonight, Rory,” she whispered. “Forget about witches and curses, and let’s just be happy.”
They walked back to the house together and spent the rest of the day with Frances. Genevieve stole looks at Rory when she could, but his expression told her nothing. By the time she went to her chamber, bathed, and dressed for bed, she had no idea if he’d changed his mind.
Only one way to find out. She’d heard Chaffer leave a few minutes before, and now she took her hair out of its ribbon, stepped out of her nightrail, and padded, naked, to their adjoining door. She tapped on it, then, without waiting for a reply, lifted the latch. The door opened, and she let out the breath she’d been holding…until Rory turned from the hearth and looked at her.
His eyes widened and slid from her face down to her toes and then slowly, very slowly, back up again. Her breath caught in her throat at the way his gaze roamed over her. She’d known going to him naked was a bold choice, but perhaps it wastoobold? He had said he didn’t like demure women. She was proving to be the opposite of demure.
Rory set his glass on the mantel and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.” She started walking, and he held up a hand. “Slowly.”
She slowed, taking her time reaching him. When she was within arm’s reach, she heard his quick intake of breath. His eyes burned into her face now, and there was no mistaking the desirethere. He’d already discarded his coat, waistcoat, and boots, and now she reached for his waistband and tugged his shirt free. The buttons at the throat were unfastened, and his neckcloth hung down in a snowy river. She pulled the shirt up, exposing his abdomen and chest, then pulled the garment free and dropped it on the floor.
She reached out and placed her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers then sliding her hands down to grasp his own. His were clenched in fists at his sides, and she gently opened them and brought them to her hips. As soon as he touched her, she shivered. His hands closed on her flesh and slid over her hips, along her bottom, then up her back. He bent to kiss her, sliding his tongue lazily into her mouth as a hand skated down her back, following the line of her spine. She trembled when he reached her tailbone, and he grasped her bottom and pulled her against his straining erection.
He kissed her deeper, his hands roving over her to trace the curve of her breast. He’d claimed her mouth, arousing her with lips and tongue, and then his mouth roamed like his hands, finding all the sensitive spots beneath her jaw, behind her earlobe, at the base of her throat.
She was warm, too warm, and her brain felt like cream, but she managed to slip her hands down to his waistband and loose the fall. He came free into her hands, and she blew out a breath in appreciation of his hard girth. But when she reached to take him in her hands, he stepped back, slid the trousers off, and grasped her hand. He pulled her toward the bed, and she followed willingly, admiring the view of his tight backside.
This time he pulled her onto the bed with him, facing her on his side, and pulling her close enough to kiss. Time seemed to spin out as their lips met in soft, slow kisses. His hands moved slowly as well, learning every inch of her body and finding all of the places she was most sensitive. Genevieve had never beentouched like this, kissed like this. Past matings had been frantic and fueled by the heat of desire. She hadn’t known that desire could be stoked and kindled until it infused every inch of her. When Rory finally slipped a hand between her legs to find her slick center, she was so aroused that she couldn’t stop a cry of pleasure. His hands on her felt so very, very good.
She opened her eyes and found him watching her, his gaze on hers as he parted her folds and slid one finger inside. She inhaled sharply as he slid the finger deep then withdrew and inserted two. She groaned, eyes still on his. The heat in his gaze told her he was enjoying this almost as much as she. His thumb found her most sensitive place and slid over it lightly. She jumped, bucking her hips as pleasure spiraled out. “I want you inside me,” she whispered, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“In a moment,” he murmured. “I want to see you climax.”
Genevieve knew she should be mortified at the thought of him watching her in so intimate a moment, but somehow she never felt the need to hold back with him. Why not show him how much she wanted him and how much his touch aroused her?
The stroke of his thumb became even lighter, making her body strain for contact and reach for release. “Rory!” she cried, and he caught her mouth in a kiss. Then, drawing back, he withdrew his fingers, only to slide them in again, so very slowly, until he filled her. His thumb whispered against that tight bud that seemed to be all she could think of, and she gasped as she convulsed and tipped over the edge. She tried to open her eyes, to meet his gaze so he could see how what he did pleased her, but the force of the climax seemed to strip everything away until she shuddered and went limp.
Rory’s mouth on her cheeks was gentle as he kissed her and murmured, “You’re so beautiful. I want you.”
“Yes,” she managed, though her body felt boneless and thrummed with aftershocks. She tried to lift her leg so he might slide into her, but he rose and pressed her onto her belly, sliding his hands down her back to cup her bottom again. She opened her eyes and looked back at him. She’d seen farm animals mate this way, but had never thought she might do so. He tugged her hips up and spread her legs with a knee. She felt the hard length of him on her tender sex, still slick and pulsing from orgasm. Slowly, he slid inside her, and she gasped as the ebbing pleasure of her climax was immediately enhanced.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
“No.” She slid back, wanting to take more of him. When he was buried to the hilt, he rocked gently inside her, causing her sensitive breasts to slide against the bedclothes. He caressed her back, her hips, her bottom, kneading it as he began to breathe faster. Then, without warning, he pulled her tighter against him, lifting her back higher and reaching to fondle her breast so the tender nipple hardened. His hand traveled down her body until it settled between her legs, stroking her in that most sensitive place while he rocked deeper inside her.
“Rory,” she gasped as pleasure began to build again.
“You like that,” he said, and it was a confirmation, not a question. “You feel even better than I imagined. Genevieve, I can’t hold on much longer.”
She could feel him swelling, feel his thrusts becoming faster and harder. But his fingers were gentle and insistent, bringing her higher and closer to peak until, finally, she pressed her hand over his and felt the orgasm rip through her. He groaned and stilled, buried deep within her. She clenched around him, released, clenched again until she felt as though she might float away on the gloriousness of it all.
Gently, he eased out of her, lying beside her and pulling her close. She snuggled close to him and fell into sleep.
*
Rory did notregret allowing Genevieve to persuade him that the curse wouldn’t touch her just because he cared for her. He hadn’t regretted it that first night, or the three times the next day, or just about every night afterward. She was completely uninhibited, willing to try anything he liked and easy to pleasure. She didn’t need to tell him he aroused her just by looking at her. He could see she wanted him, found him desirable, sought his touch.
The feeling of being desired by the woman he wanted was novel, and he found himself seeking her out at all hours of the day and wanting to hold her every night.
He wasn’t convinced she was safe from the curse, but after their discussion in the graveyard, he’d realized that love and affection might have no bearing. Harriet had been killed, and he hadn’t loved her by that time. So perhaps love really had nothing to do with it.
He certainly hoped not, because his feelings for Genevieve were growing, and not only because she pleased him in bed. In the next couple of weeks, he spent as much time as he could with his wife and daughter. Genevieve seemed to have an endless supply of ideas for fun and games. She didn’t forget Frances’s lessons either, and her approach made learning much more enjoyable than his tutors had ever made it. The family had taken to spending the evenings in the drawing room with books and a fire. Mrs. Brooking had found several books Genevieve and her sister had enjoyed as children, and sent them home with Genevieve one afternoon after she’d gone to visit. Rory watched Frances read one now, her finger following the line of words, her little tongue stuck in one corner of her mouth, and her glasses slipping slowly down the bridge of her nose. Harriet was besideher, as always, but since their talk in the graveyard, the doll had been more of a companion than an appendage.
Genevieve sat beside Frances and read a novel. Rory himself didn’t care for novels. He had the paper before him, but nothing in the stories about war or Parliament seemed to interest him as much as his wife and daughter.
