Her gaze dropped to her lap. “It was worth another try.” She looked out the window.
“We must say goodbye,” he ground out.
“But”—she inched closer to him—“we must say goodbye in the proper way.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the knuckles, then the palm. “I love you, and I will wait for you.”
He closed his eyes, savoring her words, letting his heartbeat settle into the rhythm of them. I. Love. You. Three words to waltz to, they were. More seductive than her letter.
“You cannot wait for me. Your brother’s marriage requires an end to the scandal. That means you must marry.”
She winced. “I know. I will have to ask his forgiveness and hope for the best.”
“You do not wish to stay in the same household as your stepmother.”
“I know. But I will.” She folded her hands in her lap, then unable to keep still, those fingers moved, wiggled, picked at her pelisse. “Ever since we explored my brother's study together, I have been unable to think of another man. Marrying elsewhere is impossible when I’m unable of keeping you out of my head and my bed.”
He swallowed to soothe his suddenly parched throat. “I'm quite positive I have never been inyourbed.”
“It started as a dream. You were touching me, and then I woke touching myself.”
His muscles bunched. His lips parted slightly. His fingers twitched.
“And ever since then, those two things happen, simultaneously and quite often.”
“What two things?” His voice was hoarse. “Specifics, Lady Jane, are not only welcome but necessary.”Damn. He should tell her to stop, not beg for more.
She swallowed and licked her lips. “The touching. And the images of you.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugged. “For the same reason I wrote the letter, I believe. I quite enjoy discovering the pleasures of the body with you. I do not intend to give that up. Unless you marry another woman—”
“No. Never.”
“Well then, you may expect a letter weekly. Until you concede to marry me.” She grinned, the saucy minx.
And it was his undoing. Who knew when he would see her next? He would not let them go too far, not in a coach, not in the light of day.
In one swift movement, he slid close to her and dragged her onto his lap. His mouth claimed hers in a demanding kiss that warmed not only Jane’s body but the entire interior of the hack. When he released her lips, a demand scratched out from between his.
“Show me.”
She did not answer but went still as a rabbit chased by a dog in his arms, her eyes glazed and fixated on his lips.
“Show me,” he said again, “how you touched yourself.”
Jane smiled, a slow, sultry thing, her gaze focusing.
She placed a palm on her neck then lifted it till only her fingertips touched. Then she dragged her fingertips down over her collarbone, stopping above her breast.
“Did you stop there, Lady Jane? Or did you go further?”
“Further.” And she did so now, tracing a delicate circle around her nipple.
George groaned. “Hell.” Then his mouth pushed her hand to the side and covered her nipple, his tongue licking, teasing, until she arched and threw her head back.
He lifted his head and rasped in her ear, “And did you touch anywhere else?”
She nodded.
