Page 33 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

He was about to ask when she sat down on the bed beside him, her hip touching his, and reached for his hand.

Stonehaven swallowed, all his years of experience with women suddenly flying out of the window.

He did not wish to seduce her, to use clever words and meaningless promises to tempt her to lie with him.

What he wanted sang in his heart, pure, utterly terrifying, and quite out of the question.

He gave a yelp as she pressed a warm, damp cloth to his hand, and a fierce stinging burned his skin.

“I’m sorry, but I must clean it properly. The sting will wear off in a moment.” With care and diligence, she bathed first one hand, then the other, patting them dry with a soft cloth.

“I’ll put some salve on. It will help to heal them and make them feel less sore,” she said, as he heard a lid being removed from a china pot.

The scent of lavender wafted to his nose, and he breathed in the pleasant aroma.

“Lovely, isn’t it? My s—Miss Isabelle made it in the spring. She’s clever with such things.”

Stonehaven nodded but barely paid attention to the words, his mind riveted on her fingers smoothing the cream into his skin, her touch reverent, as if she were tending to a child, not a great oaf of a man who knew better than to let himself be lulled into such a state of need and desire.

His body reacted with urgent predictability as his breathing sped, becoming erratic as he leaned closer to her.

His lips found her hair, and he pressed his nose into the soft warmth, inhaling the scent of chamomile, feeling as though he was surrounded by the sweetness of an herb garden, not the four walls of his bedroom at the vicarage.

“I h-hope that feels better,” she stammered, and he felt the movement as she turned her head towards his.

“No. It hurts,” he whispered.

“It d-does?”

He nodded, reaching for her hand and pressing it to his chest, to the place where his heart was crashing about like a lunatic with a drum. “Here,” he said. “It hurts here.”

His breath hitched as she took his hand and placed it upon her breast, and the answering beat of her heart echoed his own.

“Mine too,” she said.

Stonehaven groaned, knowing he was going to hell but feeling powerless to fight it.

He didn’t want to fight it. If he must burn, so be it.

He wanted this too much, needed her too badly.

Just let me have this, just a taste, he negotiated with his own honour.

I’ll not shame her. I’ll do nothing but make her feel pleasure.

Please, just allow me this much before I walk away.

She did not resist him as he leaned closer, allowing him to lay her back upon his bed without a word of reproach.

There was a thud as the salve fell from her hands, hitting the rug and rolling across the floor.

Neither of them cared. A soft sigh escaped her lips, as if she too had been longing for this moment, was helpless to fight it.

The sound rioted through him, lighting fires, making him feel entirely whole for the first time since the attack that had felled him and stolen his sight.

For a while, it had felt as if that stupid young drunkard had somehow diminished him.

Sally had helped him to repair his pride, his confidence in himself, with the pleasure she took in his company, with the honesty of her need for him, the way she did not pretend nor flatter but was entirely herself.

He kissed her, his hands mapping the contours of her slender form, the curve of hip and waist, the gentle slope of her belly, the soft rise of her breasts.

He felt the taut nub of her nipple beneath the soft, worn fabric of her gown and ran his thumb back and forth, desperate with the need to put his mouth there.

At least he did not need sight for this, though the longing to see her gnawed at him.

Instead, he imagined, using his touch to create a landscape of perfection in his mind.

She trembled beneath his touch, but did not shy away, clinging to him, returning his kisses with an eagerness that overwhelmed his senses.

“Sally,” he whispered, beyond coherent thought, lost only in the wonder of touching her.

Though he had always believed himself to be a considerate lover, he had never been one for kissing.

It had always seemed a waste when there were so many more interesting things to be done with his mouth, but kissing Sally was a revelation.

It gave him the same sense of exhilaration he’d experienced while galloping across Summer Hill for the sheer joy of being alive, like flying and yet being tethered securely in place all at once.

It was something he might never be able to let go of, now he knew what happiness tasted like.

The thought made him melancholy, knowing that was not a choice he could make.

He pulled back, wishing he could see her face, and reached out to touch her cheek.

He stilled, his heart wrenching as he discovered tear tracks, wet on her skin.

“What’s wrong? Did I—?”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, a soft breath of laughter escaping her. “No. I’m glad, that’s all. Foolish, isn’t it? But I also know it cannot last. I know there’s nothing more than this, but I’m greedy and giddy and happy, so I’m weeping. Forgive me, I did not mean to spoil the moment.”

“You could never spoil anything,” he said fiercely, anger and frustration welling in his chest. She felt just as he did, but they could do nothing about it.

“My lord?”

They both jumped as George’s voice sounded outside the door.

“Don’t come in!” Stonehaven yelled. “I’m— I’m not dressed,” he said, and then winced, remembering that George dressed him every morning.

“It’s just that the reverend asked if he might have a word with you?”

“Oh, certainly. Yes. Tell him I’ll be down directly,” he said, relief washing over him.

“Will do,” George said cheerfully, and Stonehaven exhaled as his heavy tread retreated down the stairs.

“Thank goodness,” Sally said, letting out a shaky breath. “That was close.”

“That was unforgiveable,” Stonehaven said in disgust. “I beg you will forgive me. I-I forget myself when you are near me. It’s a wretched excuse, and one unworthy of a gentleman, but nonetheless true.”

Sally laughed. “I forget myself too. I forget everything but the pleasure of being with you. You owe me no apologies, my lord. I knew what I was doing.”

“Lawrence,” he said, his voice gruff. “My name is Lawrence. I should like to hear you say it.”

“Lawrence,” she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to his mouth.

Stonehaven closed his eyes, savouring the sensation, feeling a tangle of emotions rise in his chest, threatening to choke him.

She said nothing more, and he did not stop her as he heard her gather up the salve and replace the lid, before taking the basin and leaving the room.