"As for being tall … ," he went on, stroking his thumb in an arc over her cheek as he scattered random kisses along her brow and chin and neck, " … I am tall myself. I like that you're tall, too. I like that I can hold you and gaze with ease upon your face. I like it that I can do this"-he captured her lips for a slow, soft kiss-"without having to stoop or crouch or dip in order to make you fit against me. You are a perfect complement, Grace. The feminine half that makes me whole."
He bumped his hips gently into hers and drew a ragged gasp from her throat. "See what you do to me?" He cupped a hand over one breast. "See what I do to you?"
Of its own volition, her nipple peaked, the stiffened bud rising traitorously against his palm. Her breath soughed fast between her lips. Her knees grew weak, making her thankful he was holding her, since she was sure she would have crumpled to the ground in a heap otherwise.
"Put your arms around my neck," he told her.
Trembling, she did as he asked, bringing their bodies even closer together.
His thumb stroked over her breast, back and forth across the hardened tip, then back and forth again.
"Shall I stop?" he whispered, changing his caress to a circular glide. An ache rose between her legs, a yearning that drew an involuntary whimper from her throat.
"What did you say?" he asked, his breath warm against her ear.
She shook her head. "No, don't stop, your lordship."
"Jack," he said, tugging her even tighter. "From now on, you are to call me Jack."
"Yes, my lord. Yes, Jack."
And then, as if the sound of his name on her lips broke through some self-imposed restraint, he crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her with a fierce possession that scattered every sensible thought in her brain.
She jolted as his hand slid lower, his wide palm stroking over the full curve of her bottom to knead her through her gown and petticoats.
"Open your mouth," he muttered against her lips. "Let me in, Grace. Let me have you."
Blindly, she obeyed, his tongue sweeping inside the instant she parted her lips. Her heart hammered against a flood of new sensations, nerve endings sizzling in places she hadn't known she had nerves. Her body grew hot, but not from the sun shining overhead. Instead the source was an inner heat that threatened to burn her up from the inside out. She groaned, surrendering to the dark, wet, delicious slide of his flesh tangling with hers.
Ravenous, he showed her how to respond, how to follow his lead and mimic everything he did. He seemed to approve of her fledgling attempts, coaxing her to try, then try again.
When she felt his fingers working open the buttons at the back of her gown, she made no demur, too abandoned to object to anything he might do.
Jack shifted his stance, using his legs to spread hers apart so he could step between. Kissing her harder, he quaked as she tentatively used what he'd been teaching her to draw circles inside his mouth with her tongue. Her taste was intoxicating-like fresh strawberries and champagne-the sweet, light flavor tingling in his mouth and buzzing in his brain.
He knew he needed to slow things down, to put a halt to what he'd originally intended to be no more than a few simple kisses. But the moment he'd touched her, he'd been lost, unable to keep himself from wanting more, taking more. The keen ache riding him wasn't helping matters either. He was so hard it was a wonder his straining member didn't pop the buttons right off his falls.
///
He considered laying her down, finding some small patch of grass where he could take her. She would let him. He could tell she was as far gone as he. Without further preamble he could have her beneath him, her skirts tumbled upward as he thrust himself deep into her tight, wet depths.
But despite his powerful longing, some niggling spark of conscience still remained, reminding him that she was a virgin and that a hard plot of earth was no place for her first time.
And it would be her first time.
Based on her untutored responses alone, he knew she'd never even been kissed. A fierce rush of possessiveness roared through him, an atavistic satisfaction that was totally at odds with his usual relaxed attitude concerning sex and female chastity. Never before had he cared whether a woman was innocent. Rather, in the past, he'd always chosen experienced partners, women who knew what to expect and relished the opportunity to explore the boundaries of their sensuality. Virgins, on the other hand, were nothing but a bother.
Yet he thrilled now to the knowledge that he would be Grace's first. Grace's only. The one man with the privilege of touching her and teaching her everything she needed to know regarding the depths of sexual satisfaction and human desire.
Ah, the pleasure we shall find together when I get her in my bed.
He shuddered at the idea, ravishing her mouth while he tugged open the buttons on the back of her gown. He wouldn't take her today, he swore to himself, no matter how much his body screamed for release. But he had to have a little more, a last drink of ambrosia before he tore himself away.
Yanking down her bodice, he unlaced her stays, loosening the stiffened cloth enough to free one of her breasts. She cried out as he fastened his mouth over her, shuddering with a clear mixture of surprise and delight as he drew upon her tender flesh. Nestling the fulsome curve in his palm, he kneaded her with gentle finesse, licking her in gradually diminishing circles before pausing to press his tongue and teeth against her sensitized peak.
Her body jerked, her fingers sliding into his hair to cradle him closer and urge him on. With a groan, he freed her other breast and repeated his ministrations-licking and suckling and claiming her utterly. She swayed, trembling and all but insensate, when somehow he found the Herculean strength to stop and pull away.
Ragged breaths bellowed from his lungs, one fist clenched against his thigh in an agony of longing.
He nearly dropped to his knees, seriously tempted to lift her skirts and bury his face between her thighs. Given her innocence, he could likely bring her to completion and have her well on the way to a second release before she even knew what he was doing. But he supposed such diversions would have to wait for later. Closing his eyes, he fought for control.
When he opened them again a few moments later, he found her flushed pink from breast to forehead, visibly trembling as she plucked futilely at her disheveled clothes.
"Shh," he murmured, brushing a comforting kiss over her lips. "I see I've shocked you, and for that I'm sorry. Here, let's get you righted again."
With a minimum of fuss, he had her laced and dressed, her gown smoothed into place with nary a wrinkle. Anyone seeing her would assume she had merely taken a little too much sun. Unless they looked into her eyes. She wore an overly bright, slightly dazed expression-obviously still trying to adjust to everything that had just transpired between them.
Moving a few steps away, he leaned down to retrieve her bonnet. After brushing a speck of dust off the brim, he turned and gently fit it over her head.
"A shame to cover up your glorious hair," he remarked, "but you know what they say about fair-skinned redheads burning, and I believe you've had more than enough sun for today." He tied the blue grosgrain ribbon beneath her chin. "Let us retrieve your sketchbook and find your maid, then I shall escort you home." Taking her hand, he laid it over his arm.
Only then did she speak. "Jack."
"Yes?" He met her gaze.
"Did you mean it?"
He tipped his head to one side. "Mean what?"
"What you said? You know … about wanting me."
A guffaw escaped him. "After everything that just passed between us, you still have doubts?" He sobered, reading the uncertainty in her eyes. "Yes, Grace, I want you. Quite badly, in fact."
"And will I see you again? You aren't leaving town?"
"No, I'm not leaving, and you will most definitely see me again. Why do you imagine otherwise?" He paused, as a new thought suddenly struck him. "Did someone else leave you?"
She shook her head and looked away. "It is nothing. I should not have said."
///
"But you did say. Now tell me, what is this about? Did a man hurt you? Leave you?" At her renewed flush, he knew he was right. "Who is he?"
And how can I kill him?
"He is no one," she said. "And it happened long ago. I was eighteen, too young to know better than to put my trust in a scoundrel. He wanted my money, you see, and I was too foolish to realize what he was really after."