Would her attentions to the center of his body give him as much pleasure as his attentions to her had done? She rubbed more, squeezed, and he writhed beneath her ministrations. Surely if she actually touched him, no barriers between them, she could transform him as he had her. Her fingers flicked open the first button of his fall and then the other.
His fingers twined with hers, and he pulled her hands away from where they were most curious to be. He clutched her to him and nestled his face in the curve of her neck. “No, Jane. Not yet. One danger at a time.” One of his arms left his embrace and wiggled between them. He re-buttoned his fall.
Shame that she didn't even get to see it, seehim. She would like to.
Where had her sense of caution gone? What he’d done to her left her feeling nothing but daring and bold.
He put her at arm's length, his hands on her shoulders. “No more dares today. I do not think my constitution can handle it.”
“Now who is too cautious?” she asked, smiling.
“You'll ruin me, Jane. I have no control around you.”
She chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events? For the woman to ruin the man.” She paced away from him, righted her shift, and tied her wrapper primly about her waist. “Is that even possible? I was under the impression that no matter what a man did his good reputation remained intact.”
George tucked his shirt tighter, but he still looked a very sinner. He tried to smooth his hair, but it did not work. It still pointed adorably in multiple directions.
Jane approached tentatively, and when he did not rear back, she fluttered his hands away and took over the job herself, smoothing, brushing, detangling. An intimate act she should avoid, but it also felt of bone-deep contentment, so she did not move away, taking what succor she could from it. When she’d done, she kissed the very tip of his chin.
He kissed the tip of her nose.
Jane’s heart fluttered.
Oh no.
It was all well and good for other parts to flutter, but her heart must remain steady and disaffected.
She stepped away from him and left Apple’s stall.
The stables seemed deserted. She’d never seen them so empty.
George joined her. “Everyone has left. There will be talk. We were not particularly circumspect.”
Not circumspect. Talk. Jane knew what that meant. It meant her choices had dwindled even further.
“Do you think,” she said, “that the suitors will mind the talk much? They are likely breaking their fast. I should hasten to the house and speak with them before they hear any whispers.”
His head jerked toward her. “The suitors? Your mind is still on them after”—he thrust a finger toward the stall—“that?”
She threw her arms out to the side. “What else should I do?”
George’s eyes were a snowstorm. Jane had never seen him like this, and his usual easy grace seemed predatory, terrifying.
He was wild, and his animal fixation—on her—shocked her to her bones. George? Terrifying? Never! Yet there was no mistaking, she was his prey, and what parts of her had escaped the shock of seeing him so, purred with admiration, attraction.
He loomed over her, so close every inch of their bodies should be touching.
“George, I—”
“No more talking. Listen to me and listen well.” His voice was a feral growl. “You’re scared.”
She waited for him to continue, and when he did not, she nodded, closing her eyes, embarrassed by the admission.
“You’re scared. But why? Because you’ve known a bit of unhappiness in your life? Because you’ve known others who have suffered because they’ve lost the ones they loved or because they’d chosen wrong in their partners? But if you choose Newburton, you choose wrong. That, not love, is the nearest route to misery, Jane.” His voice wrapped around her, a silken growl. “Tell me you feel nothing for me.”
She paced away from him.
“I thought you could not. What is it, then? Does my uncle frighten you?”
