Page 18 of A Gentleman’s Offer

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Meg turned to look at him properly at last. There was an inevitability to what was going to happen, now that they came to it. They were very close to each other – had they moved, drawn together by some irresistible force? – and the naked hunger in his face took her breath away, so closely did it match her own. No wonder she was shaking. It was odd, disturbing, to feel so strongly connected to someone she barely knew – she’d admitted as much to herself, not an hour since – and who barely knew her. She had secrets, and no doubt he did too. He must. She’d glimpsed the edge of something important earlier tonight, she thought: Annie, the regiment. And apart from all that, he was engaged to be married to her sister, however little he wanted it, and however little her sister seemed to want it. What a terrible coil they found themselves in, and he couldn’t see a way out of it, any more than she could. Perhaps there was no way, and they were all bound for disaster. But just now none of that seemed to matter in the least. Not compared with the irresistible temptation of touching him at last. Had she only admitted what she needed from him this morning? It seemed much longer; it seemed to have settled into undeniable fact.

‘Are you, now?’ he asked. His deep voice was amused, and there was something delicious in the way the warmth of that combined with his desire. And hers. They were alone, in a precious, fragile little bubble, as they jolted over cobblestones; the world seemed very far away and entirely unimportant. My cap over the windmill, she thought. How right you were, Mama. Here goes.

He was waiting for her, and she liked that too. It was a little awkward, here in the carriage, but on the other hand she was wearing breeches, which ought to make it easier. She leaned forward, steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder, and brushed his lips with hers. It was a tiny, brief contact, but it set a bolt of electricity jolting through her, and she made a soft little sound and deepened the kiss. He tasted so good. His hands came out to hold her then, and this allowed her to put her arms about his neck and press herself to him in the darkness. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall.

She might have started it, but he was a most enthusiastic participant. His hands were under her jacket, strong and tight about her ribcage, linen and silk sliding under his touch. Not many layers covered her skin and came between them: just three – chemise, shirt and borrowed waistcoat – but that was still too many. She knew it would be glorious to be naked, with his hands exploring her and hers exploring him. That was impossible here and now – she was not quite so reckless yet – but there was no time to regret what they could not have, because he was tasting her lower lip, sucking on it, drawing it into his hot, wet mouth, and it felt wonderful. She anchored her hands in his glossy hair and returned the favour, then let her tongue slip into him, meeting his. God, it was good. Somehow they knew instinctively how to please each other, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

It seemed impossible to be close enough, no matter how she tried. She climbed onto him with clumsy urgency, one knee set on the carriage seat, her thigh pressed to his, her other captured tight between his spread legs. He must have felt that this was a precarious position in a moving vehicle, because his hands released her, but only to slip down her body and anchor themselves on her buttocks, holding her hard and strong against him, pulling her into his body. So good. His legs trapped hers, a most welcome pressure which she returned, gripping him with her thigh muscles. Heat grew at her core, and spiralled through her. She moaned against his mouth and pressed herself closer to him. She wasn’t sure how much could be done in a moving carriage in the darkness – her previous experience had all been sadly stationary – but she’d love to find out.

But a loud banging, sudden and shocking, dragged them rudely from their absorption in each other. The carriage was no longer moving. An impatient voice: ‘Davies Street, guvnor, like what you asked for!’

‘I wish I’d told him to drive to Dover!’ he whispered, the breath feathering across her lips and making her shiver.