Silverton’s eyes opened, and he looked up at her, cocking his eyebrow, but the way he watched her had none of his previous arrogance.
“I am glad you did not take advantage of me,” Maeve said.
Silverton’s eyes widened, and a strange look passed over his face as he sat up. “I would never do that.”
It was Maeve’s turn to look sceptical.
“In a physical manner, I mean. You know I have taken advantage of your affection for your family. If you never wish to share my bed, then it would be better if we broke off this arrangement at once—”
As he spoke, Maeve was replaying their kiss in the carriage, caught between an outrage at his assertions and pleasure at how her body had thrilled and delighted at such an interlude. Despite everything that yelled at her to be wary, to be careful around him, his very proximity and the apology yesterday had weakened her defences. And, she realised, aroused her curiosity.
Shifting her body, she lifted herself off the pillow and leant nearer to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She could not quite work out if he was shocked by her or intrigued. But that curiosity was changing into something that she recognised as desire, and it was begging her to kiss him again. With great care, her small hand came out and tentatively reached out and touched his face, her fingers moving over the rough shape of his beard and grazing a section of his cheekbone.
Silverton closed his eyes as she held his face. Their lips touched in a second kiss. It was coaxing and timid, a kiss of enquiry rather than overwhelming passion, but Maeve did not want it to ever stop.
One of his hands came and threaded their way into her hair, whilst the other came around and held her body flush against his. Then he shifted and rolled her beneath him, so that her frame was pressed close. Her gown came to rest against his nightshirt, their bodies touching despite the clothing. There was perhaps half a head difference in their heights, with Maeve being five foot six to Silverton’s taller frame, but in the confines of the bed, it felt right, the delicious differences between them. All the sensations of blood pumping through her body, the feel, and the smell of him wrapped their way around her senses deliciously.
“Are you certain?” His breath stirred her hair, and he pulled back. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
He was inches from her face, his gaze staring down into hers. If Maeve said no, she knew he would roll off her and let her go. But if she agreed, she would be tied to this stranger for the rest of his life. And who knew what it would mean for her after he was gone? The pressure swelled up inside her, the urge to go one way and then another. He was in need, she reminded herself. She had given her word and taken his money. But it was neither of those things that had her nodding her head—she wanted to say yes for her own sake—because if she did not go through with this, she would forever wonderwhat if.
“Yes,” she told him.
Silverton leant back at her agreement, leaving her feeling bereft if only for a few moments. He rid himself of his clothing in such rapid movements that it made Maeve laugh. The humour died in her throat when he turned back, and she saw his handsomely built frame, the expanse of chiselled muscles that formed his chest. Her hand reached out to touch him.
“First, you need to remove your own gown.”
She sat up in the bed, giving Silverton access so he could loosen the ties at the back of her gown. He took hold of the ends of the garment and lifted it over her head, leaving Maeve in nothing but her shift.
Sliding in next to her in the bed until their hips met, Silverton leant across and then eased her body beneath his, although he was careful not to put too much weight on top of her. They gazed up at each other, getting used to the sensation of closeness before he lowered his face and started to trail light kisses along her jawline. The movement was slow and seductive, flaming her curiosity further. With tentative fingers, Maeve started running her hands down his back, her touch lingering on the top of his shoulders before drifting lower to tense over his backside.
Lifting his face from her throat, his tongue found the point between neck and her shoulder, his teeth nipping there, and Maeve gasped, unable to contain herself.
“Gregory.” His name in her mouth. Her hands tensed on his lower back as she arched against him. “I don’t understand.” She moved again, lifting her hips, and practically grinding them against his. Her eyes levelled and then met his. Her whole body seemed to come alive when he touched her. It was unnerving; it was delightful. “I want more.”
In a flash, hardly the most dignified of movements, he was yanking Maeve’s shift over her head. Despite the rolls of bedding, and how much she was pressing herself against him, she saw enough of his body to feel both excited and concerned. Having read about the mechanics of the act, Maeve had serious doubts that this was going to work, given the size of Silverton’s appendage.
His hand reached between her legs, to play and tease at the centre of Maeve’s sex. One of his fingertips found the soft nubbin, rubbing against the tender flesh until she cried out. Unable to help herself, Maeve moaned as he pressed himself closer against her body. Her cries filled his ear, and as one of her hands stroked his back, she shifted and arched herself up. His fingers worked away until Maeve gave the kind of cry that seemed to have been pulled from her soul as the pressure released from her delightfully.
“Gregory, please.”
She was smiling up at him as he lifted her hips and then eased himself into her. There was such a tightness to her, as he moved inch by inch, deeper within her. His hand returned to her pearl and pressed gently, coaxingly against it until she shuddered and relaxed a little more.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. His mouth was close to her, and she could see the pressure within him.
“No, but it’s most odd…” She looked up at him, her face flushed, “Quite, quite odd. But don’t stop. I like it.”
There was such an intense look on his face that it unnerved her. That worry line between his dark brows was back.
He seemed to be filling part of her body that she was only just discovering. A location which she was rather pleased to find he fit so snuggly into. Gregory let out a gasp of a breath as he looked down at her. If only he would do something to aid that desirous spasming flutter which was beating through her blood. Maeve felt sure that if he did, it would be hugely enjoyable.
His hand, the one rooted in her hair, tensed and pushed some strands off her face, then he mirrored the affectionate gesture she had showed him just yesterday. A wave of shyness suddenly caught her, and she focused on his chin rather than his hungry eyes. It was a good chin, she decided, visible beneath his beard.
The problem with looking at his chin was that it was close to his delicious mouth, and he was whispering soft words of endearment, gentle snatches of which she caught and treasured.
