Seven Minutes in Heaven(66)

Chapter Twenty-seven




Eugenia sprawled on top of Ward in a sweaty heap, trying to catch her breath.

“What were you called as a child?” he asked, his voice rough and satisfied.

“Eugenia. What were you called?”

“Teddy. You had no pet name at all? No one ever thought you were an angel or a duckling?”

“None. I don’t like that sort of comparison. I’m the opposite of an angel, I’m afraid, and always was.”

“Are you indeed?” He waggled his eyebrows, treating her to a fine display of false surprise. “You, Eugenia Snowe, savior of disobedient children all over England, are not angelic?”

“I’m a savior of their parents. I’m sure there are many children who devoutly wish that Snowe’s would go out of business, leaving them free of a governess.”

“It’s true that they’d almost certainly prefer to make mud pies than cakes.” Ward ran a hand slowly down her back and over the curve of her bottom.

Eugenia was coming to the pleasing realization that Ward’s boast had not been a hollow one—it seemed he did possess the stamina of an eighteen-year-old when it came to repeat performances.

He raised his head and pressed a kiss on her mouth. “You are the most formidable, exciting woman I have ever known.”

Another kiss, on her nose.

“Definitely the most beautiful.”

A kiss on each eye.

“The best lover I’ve ever had. Ever.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, kissing him back.

“And the evening isn’t over,” Ward said, leaning back, his fingers laced under his head. Which put all those muscles in his arms on display, she couldn’t help noticing.

“I should return to my room,” Eugenia said, not moving. “I’m afraid one of the children will have a bout of sleeplessness and come looking for comfort.”

“I locked the door.”

“Even so . . . what if they knocked?”

“What if they did?” He rolled over on his side, head propped on one hand.

“Ward! You can’t let your brother and sister know that—that we are lovers!”

“I’ve no intention of telling anyone. If either of them knocks, I’ll go to the library and you can stay here. I like the thought of you sleeping in my bed.”

She gave him a rueful smile. Rational thought was starting to steal back into her mind. How long did affaires last? Surely one day at most when children were in the house.

He read her thought. “No,” he said. “Not yet. I still want you, and you want me.”

Undeniable. But . . .

His expression changed; he leaned over her, eyes sober. “Eugenia Snowe.”

“Yes?” She was obviously a hussy at heart, because the only thing she really wanted to do was pull him into just the right position to start all over again.

“I want you to sleep the night with me.”

“It’s not proper,” she said. Did that mean he merely wished to sleep? His body seemed to be . . .

A smile touched his lips. “I don’t care. Do you?”

She tried to think about that. She hadn’t realized how long Ward’s lashes were. They were warm brown with gold tips that touched his cheeks.

“Yes, I do. I decided as a child that I would be the most proper person in any room.”

His eyes softened. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give that up, angel.”

“I’ll call you Teddy,” she warned.

“If you stay for two weeks, a mere fortnight, I’ll let you play ‘most proper person’ every day. For a while.”

Eugenia laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“Propriety,” he said, kissing her cheekbone. “It’s nothing more than an act, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

He finally settled his groin between her legs and Eugenia let out a little moan, her hands curling around his shoulders.

“Think about the royal duke’s chamber pot.” But before she could bring it to mind, he dived into a kiss so hungry that Eugenia’s fingers clenched in his hair. They kissed for long minutes, caught somewhere between lust and satisfaction.

“Were you thinking of the chamber pot?” Ward asked huskily, pulling away.

“What?” Eugenia breathed, running her tongue along the generous curve of his lower lip.

“Everyone uses one.”

He was propped on one elbow again, which left a hand free to caress her breast. Eugenia tried to understand what he was talking about. “Are we discussing the mounting block on your carriage?” she asked.

“Propriety is nothing more than an empty game,” Ward stated. “All those ladies sitting around in drawing rooms, pretending that they don’t sweat, or piss, or break wind, are merely playing.”