And what did one say to that? Nothing but to hold on tight and do as her body asked her to do—roll her hips against him, wrench a moan from his lovely mouth as she pressed against the hard shaft snug between them.
He pushed away from her as quickly as he’d consumed her, pacing toward the other side of the room and thrusting his shaking hands through his hair. Did he look… pained? Last night, he’d seemed to come to the same moment of miraculous climax as she had today…
“Samuel…” She tiptoed up behind him, laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.
His chin swung around until he peered at her from the side of his hard-planed face.
And she couldn’t say it. Didn’t have the words to ask the question that poked at her. So instead, she said, “Could we… Do you think we should…”
He traced his knuckles down her face, so very patient.
She cleared her throat. “Should we leave now?”
In a series of actions that seemed to happen at the exact same time, he froze, laughed, and shook his head. Rubbing a palm down his face, he mumbled something she could not quite understand before striding to the window and looking out. “I’ll go speak to the coachman.”
And then he was gone.
The bed rose up hard as she fell atop it, punched the breath out of her. Or perhaps Samuel had done that, stolen her breath, her wits, her… heart.
She’d asked him to teach her; a request he seemed more than eager to oblige.
But he offered more, too, if she was brave enough to take it.
She wanted to step out of a midnight garden at his side and stand in the full, warm blaze of morning, his large hand wrapped around hers…
Her belly growled for it.
But… no matter the risks?
The only risks she’d ever taken were to keep her sisters safe. Could she take one that might, one day, harm them?
Chapter Twenty
Seduction was immoral, yes, and coercion not at all sporting. But Samuel could make up for it. He’d have years to make up for it, a lifetime. And if the secret book club never became public fodder, he would not have to worry about it. Neither would Emma. In fact, if they married off the girls (all six remaining unwed) as soon as could be, they only had to be wary of scandal for a decade at the most. And what a simple task that would be if he married a matchmaker.
Emma seemed particularly susceptible to seduction. His lessons could easily serve as coercion.
No. He’d never. Who wanted to marry a woman who’d been coerced? No pride in that. No love.
But…
Hell. He had an arduously long journey to consider the question, didn’t he, with the coach lurching slowly through muddy troughs quickly drying into deep ruts beneath the sun’s blinding warmth. All the time in the world to decide whether to seduce the woman sitting across from him. More than he already had, of course.
“Samuel,” that very woman said, a fraction of vinegar in his name.
The corner of his lips tugged up. “I love your voice.”
“And I love your hands with ten fingers. Could you please desist? You’re making me terribly nervous.”
“You love me?” His grin widened.
Her mouth thinned, and her eyes narrowed so the blue of them became quite difficult to see.
He glanced down at his hand, found a blade there. “Ah. I spin them when I’m nervous.” The knife with the pearl handle was cradled between two fingers. He’d not even noticed plucking it from his jacket pocket.
“Well, you’ve mademenervous with the knife in this jolting coach. If you don’t stab yourself, you might lose hold of it and stabme.”
He held up the knife, rotated it slowly between his knuckles. “Knives are simple things. The most rudimentary of tools. Can be made from anything. Can inflict more damage than one would expect considering its humble appearance.”
