A question or a plea or maybe both. “It’ll be all right,” he said, praying he had enough strength to keep that from being a lie, and bent his head. He opened his mouth over her nipple, dampening the fabric of her nightgown as he suckled her breast.
She gasped, arching her back, her hips brushing his groin. He was fully aroused, and the contact was an exquisite torture that sent shards of pleasure through his body, flaring his arousal into lust and reminding him that he didn’t have much time before he’d have to stop.
He reached down, working his free hand beneath the hem of her nightgown. Just as he’d imagined, she was naked beneath, and her skin was scorching hot. He slid his palm up her thigh, across her hip, and down her buttock over and over, burning the contours of her shape more deeply than ever into his memory, as his mouth suckled her breast, his tongue using the damp fabric to arouse her further.
She said his name, a soft, muffled moan, her body stirring against his, telling him what she wanted.
Glad to comply, he eased her onto her back, following her down, capturing her mouth again. Slowly, gently, he slid his hand between her thighs and cupped her mound.
She broke the kiss with a sound of shock, her hips jerking sharply as he slid his finger into the crease of her sex. She was slick, ready, and the knowledge of what was so close threatened to overwhelm him. But he knew this moment was not about him, and he strove to banish any thought of his own need. He caressed her, relishing her agitation, and her soft, panting sounds.
“That’s right, darling,” he murmured, watching her face as she approached orgasm. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed with rosy color, and he knew that no matter where he went from here, or what he did, or how long he lived, he would never see anything more beautiful than Marjorie was at this moment. “You’re nearly there.”
Even as he said it, she hit the peak, and as she came, the sight of her face as she climaxed was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
She collapsed, panting, against the carpet, but he continued to stroke her, building sensation and bringing her to orgasm again, and then again.
At last, he eased back, and as he slid his hand from under her nightgown, he once again became aware of his own need. He knew he had to leave her now, while he still had a scrap of resistance left in him.
He kissed her once more, then he sat up, agony ripping through his body at the withdrawal. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her nightclothes back down. He didn’t add to his torture by peeking down at her ripping legs and lush hips, but instead, he looked into her face.
The sight of it was like an arrow straight to the chest.
She was radiant, smiling, so lovely in the afterglow of what had just happened, and never had he wanted a woman more. His groin ached, his heart hurt, even his soul burned with longing, but he’d sworn to see that she was cared for, looked after, protected. Taking her virtue on a library floor wouldn’t just break that promise, it would annihilate it, and him, and any sense of honor he’d ever had.
He hauled himself to his feet. He held out his hand to help her up, but he did not meet her eyes, and the moment she was on her feet, he let her go. “We’d best go to bed,” he advised, staring determinedly at the wall beyond her shoulder. “Before I forget—”
He stopped, because he’d forgotten he was a gentleman over half an hour ago. “Before anyone finds us here like this,” he amended and turned away, relieved to discover he’d had the wits to at least close the door before coming in here.
“Goodnight, Marjorie,” he said and turned away. “Sleep well.”
“You, too,” she called as he left the room, and he couldn’t help a caustic chuckle, for he knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink. In fact, as he went up the stairs and across the house to his own room, he feared the memory of what had happened tonight would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Unlike Jonathan, Marjorie didn’t go straight upstairs, for to her, sleep seemed impossible. Never had she felt more awake, more alive, than she did at this moment. Or more confounded.
For weeks, he’d been polite and distant, driving her to distraction. Then, with a suddenness that had taken her breath away, he’d kissed her on theMary Louisaand made that amazing admission.
Being friends with you is killing me.
His words and actions had conveyed a passionate regard for her. At least, she’dthoughtso at the time, and she’d been left in a dizzy state of glorious anticipation as a result, dying to see him again, living on tenterhooks, only to spend the next two weeks being ignored once again. In fact, she’d hardly seen him at all, a development that had left her chagrined, insulted, and more confused than ever. In light of all that, what was she to make of tonight’s events?
Marjorie had no past romantic experience to go by. And in any case, to deem what had happened tonight romantic seemed such an inadequate description. His caresses, so hot and tender, had ignited a passion within her she’d never known she was even capable of. And the pleasure, wave after wave of it, so unexpected and so intense, she felt shattered to bits in consequence. It had all been terribly wicked, even carnal. But what did it all mean?
There was no way to answer that question, but Marjorie spent most of the night trying, and as she went over everything that had happened between them since the moment they’d met, her emotions bounced from joy to perplexity to desire to anger and back to joy again, over and over, round and round.
By dawn, exhausted and cross and more confused than ever, she gave it up. There was only one way to make sense of all this and that was to ask him.
This, however, proved to be no easy task. As had become his habit of late, he was not in for breakfast, and a discreet inquiry of Boothby informed her that he had breakfasted before everyone else and gone out, though where, the butler could not say.
He remained equally elusive for the reminder of the day, but Marjorie had no intention of spending another two weeks in this state of agonizing uncertainty. The family was going to a ball that evening, and she decided she’d find a way to corner him before he departed with the others and demand explanations. Jonathan, however, managed to thwart her plans, sending a note to Irene late that afternoon that he would dine at his club and see them at the ball afterward.
Marjorie, unable to attend because she was still in half-mourning, knew full well what Jonathan’s note actually meant. He was back to avoiding her like a disease, and she was not going to stand for it. Once the rest of the family had departed for the ball, she ensconced herself in the library to wait up until they returned, determined that before the night was out, she’d find a way to speak with him alone.
As she waited, she tried to occupy her mind with the estate papers Jonathan had given to her to study, but dry-as-dust legal and financial documents were no distraction at all from the stunning events of the night before.
The trunk was gone now, taken to the attic by a footman this morning, but Marjorie’s eyes had no trouble homing in on the exact spot where Jonathan had kissed and caressed her. She bit her lip, staring at the patch of carpet where they had lain, and even twenty-four hours later, the memories made her blush. She wasn’t ashamed, exactly, but she was a bit shocked, for she’d never known herself to possess such primitive, corporeal feelings, or even that such feelings existed.
Forsyte Academy was a proper girls’ school, and during her time there, no one had seen fit to give her any facts regarding the intimate relations between men and women. Mothers were expected to provide that very necessary information, and though Mrs. Forsyte had been the closest thing she’d had to a mother since her own had died, the headmistress had not seen fit to take on that particular aspect of a mother’s duty.
