She whimpered and twisted, trying to force him to do more.
“Here, love?” The finger pushed and circled, teasing her. He caught her mouth with his once more as two large fingers slid inside her.
“Oh.” Petra’s head fell back as his thumb pressed against the tiny, engorged knot hidden beneath her moist flesh. “Yes,” she panted, her body on fire.
“Do you ever touch yourself, Perfect Petra?” The dark growl climbed over her skin, heightening the sensation of his touch.
“More,” she breathed, thrusting her hips up toward his fingers. She had too many bloody clothes on. Too many layers.
“Do you?” he said again, sucking her nipple in his mouth and nibbling gently. The combined sensation of his mouth and hand was nearly too much for her. “Tell me.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She had touched herself down there many times, only to become frustrated at her efforts, followed by shame that she’d done such an unladylike thing. “Yes, but I couldn’t—”
He moved another finger inside her, thrusting gently while his thumb stroked her flesh.
The most glorious feelings surged down her legs. She had the sensation something was going to burst within her.
“I will catch you,” he whispered against her neck. “I won’t let go.”
Petra gave herself over to the play of his fingers and the mounting sensation within her body. Brendan was all around her, his warmth, his scent. His mouth was hot on her breast, his body cradling hers. When at last the bubble exploded and burst, her cry was swallowed by his mouth, gentle and demanding over hers. He kissed and stroked her until the tremors of her body ceased and she was left sated, floating and safe in the circle of his arms.
Brendan’s lips moved against her ear, whispering nonsensical things to her even as his arms tightened. For the longest time he only held her, without speaking, as she listened to the beating of his heart. He was still aroused, hardness pressed against her thigh, but he made no move to ease his own needs.
Finally he pulled her gently to a sitting position, like a rag doll, and adjusted her bodice. The warmth of his lips brushed the top of her breast and he nipped at the flesh.
“Brendan?” She didn’t want him to leave her. Something had profoundly changed between them, and she wanted nothing more than to stay here with him, oblivious to the party going on in the rest of the house.
“Close your eyes and breathe, Petra. Count to one hundred before you leave the room.”
He gently disengaged her fingers from his coat and stood.
She was trembling, her body still throbbing madly, but she nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see her. The door opened, and she sensed Brendan had paused, possibly considering coming back to her. Then the quiet click of the door met her ears, leaving her in the quiet darkness of the room.
There was only one thing she could do under the circumstances.
24
“Do you wish for tea, dearest?” Mother sat at a small table in her chambers, a breakfast tray at hand. The tray held an island of toasted bread, fresh butter and some sort of fruit preserves, along with a pot of tea.
Petra’s stomach was in knots over the forthcoming discussion. “No, Mother. Thank you.”
Mother patted her lips with a napkin and moved to butter another piece of bread. “Iinsistyou get rid of that horrid gown from last night. Simon was horrified. Lady Pendleton, though too polite to say so, found the color inflammatory.”
“I’m not even sure what such a thing means, Mother. How could the color of my gown possibly inflame anyone?”
Mother’s face pinched, not caring for Petra’s tone. “You are unmarried. Pale blues, pinks and yellows are better choices. And cream.”
“I notice you left out lilac.”
The piece of toast was flung down to the plate beneath it. “I’ve had quite enough of your sass, Petra. I’ve never known you to behave in such a way. I sense you have fallen under the influence of…Arabella.”
“I’ve no intention of ridding myself of the gown.” The gown represented the death of the old Petra and the rebirth of the new. She wasn’t sure what her future held. Possibly no more than a return to London. But she wasnotgoing to marry Simon. After her intimacy with Morwick and the powerful connection she felt to him, the thought of Simon engaging her in a similar activity was repugnant to her. “I’m keeping it.”
Mother’s eyes flashed. She didn’t care to be disobeyed. Once this discussion was over, Petra thought her mother would welcome another argument about the gown.
“I came here to tell you Simon and I do not suit, Mother. He’s a lovely gentleman, but we don’t get on. I know this to be anenormousdisappointment to you, and I am sorry, but I cannot marry a man simply to please you.” There, she’d finally said it. After having kept such a thing bottled inside her for weeks, Petra was vastly relieved. “We can leave tomorrow if you like. I’ll speak to Simon today and explain myself.” Outside of being inconvenienced by having to court another young lady, she didn’t think Simon would be overly upset.
Mother set down her teacup with a rattle, her face militant. “You are only havingnerves, dearest. You and Simon are perfect for each other.” She dismissed Petra’s speech with a wave of her hand. “Now, have some tea and we can discuss your wedding plans.”
