The Vagabond Duchess. Claire ThorntonЧитать онлайн книгу.
the hot urgency pulsing through his body.
He pulled up her skirts with an uncharacteristically clumsy gesture and then she felt his hand on her bare thigh. She gasped as almost unbearable tension filled her. He stroked the outer side of her leg, touching her more intimately than she’d ever been touched before.
She held her breath, her grip on his back tightening until her nails pressed into his muscles.
His fingers brushed along her legs as he found his way by touch alone. She moved restlessly beneath him, her breath emerging in quick, almost whimpering gasps.
His hand came briefly to rest on her inner thigh—then stroked boldly upwards. Potent sensation flooded her body. She trembled with an unfamiliar mixture of excitement and almost painfully urgent anticipation. She was swollen and aching, and when he touched her intimately air exploded from her lungs in a wordless gasp of pleasure.
Her legs fell bonelessly apart as he continued to stroke her hot, moist flesh. His own breathing was harsh with excitement. Her body responded to his teasing, tormenting fingers with small spasms of pleasure and intensifying need. When he took his hand away she gave a whimper of protest, but a few seconds later he lifted himself over her.
Her breath caught in her throat. The unfamiliar sensation of his erection pressing against her provoked a brief moment of clarity. She’d never thought this would happen to her. She was too tall, her personality too forthright. Men had looked with covetous eyes at her shop, but not at her. Now Jack was poised above her, his lean, muscular body taut with unfulfilled passion.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the intensity of the moment. It was so strange to feel Jack inside her, stretching her. She held tight to him, her anchor in the storm of new sensations.
He paused. She could feel the straining of his muscles as he held still. The expansion and contraction of his ribs as he braced himself over and in her.
‘Tempest?’ His voice emerged as a ragged moan.
She was so overwhelmed by the physical and emotional strangeness of what was happening she didn’t speak. Her fingers dug convulsively into his back. Pure instinct prompted her to raise her knees and he sank a little deeper inside her.
His shuddering groan reverberated through her. He began to move, his strokes steady and careful. At first it wasn’t quite comfortable, but gradually the discomfort was transformed into deliciously escalating tension. She arched her back, lifting her hips towards him. She was on the verge of something—
Jack’s thrusts became faster and less controlled. Suddenly he groaned and shuddered in her arms. She felt his hot release deep within her. His movements slowed until he was still except for his quickened breathing.
Temperance lay beneath him, her body tingling and somehow unsatisfied. She opened her eyes. She couldn’t see Jack’s expression. His head was a dark shadow between her and the lurid ceiling. She was breathing heavily. So was he. He was still inside her, yet she felt strangely disconnected from what had just happened. She’d dreamed of Jack the first night she’d met him. Now she was half-convinced she was still dreaming. Nothing that had happened in the past twenty-four hours had any place in her everyday life.
She became aware of her hands on Jack’s back, the grittiness of the soot and ash still clinging to both of them. In many ways he was little more than a stranger, and now her arousal was waning the unfamiliar intimacy of their position began to feel increasingly awkward. Part of her wanted to cling to him for reassurance, but another part of her wanted to push him as far away as possible.
Before she could do or say anything he withdrew from her, his movements carefully controlled as he lay down beside her as far away as the narrow mattress would allow.
For the first time since she’d met him their silence was oppressive with tension. It stretched taut between them, but it wasn’t the breathless, excited tension that had compelled her into his arms. It was darker, awkward and much harder to deal with.
She sensed him move and realised he was rearranging his clothes. Embarrassment burned through her. She hastily straightened her skirts, though she could still feel the imprint of his body on her and in her. She wondered how long it would be before she stopped feeling the after-effects of their lovemaking.
Dawn was casting a pale grey light over the bed. She stared out of the window and wished she was somewhere else. Morning was nearly here, but for the first time since she could remember she had no regular chores to perform. Why on earth had she allowed—encouraged Jack to make love to her? Grief must have addled her brain.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’
‘Are you blaming me?’ She was already feeling defensive—afraid she’d let him make a fool of her. She didn’t like the implication it was her fault.
‘No.’ He sat up and put his hand on her arm. ‘It was the two of us together. But I find you quite irresistible,’ he added.
Temperance folded her arms and looked away. ‘If you were a gentleman—’
‘You don’t mean that.’ He urged her to lie down again and propped himself on one elbow beside her. ‘To take advantage of you and walk away without a backward glance.’
‘Is that your idea of a gentleman?’ She looked at him. Now the room was lighter she could see his expression more clearly. What she saw in his eyes reassured her. To her relief it didn’t seem as if he regarded the loss of her maidenhead as a frivolous matter.
‘Isn’t it yours?’ he countered.
Temperance thought of some of her well-dressed, well-born customers. Tredgold, the man who’d planned to frighten his grandfather to death in the guise of a ghost, popped into her mind. If he’d been on this bed with her he wouldn’t waste any time worrying about her feelings. Mind you, she couldn’t imagine any circumstances in which she’d willingly come within ten feet of Tredgold, especially if there was a bed in the vicinity.
‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ she said, trying to make the best of things. ‘With London in such turmoil, no one ever will ever know or care what happened to me tonight.’
‘I know,’ said Jack. ‘And I care.’ He put his hand on her waist.
Temperance’s heart began to beat faster. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I wish we had more time.’ He leant closer and kissed her forehead. ‘I need to check for the latest news—and see if I can find Jakob. He was supposed to follow me to London. He’s Swedish. I hope no one mistakes him for a Dutchman.’ A shadow crossed Jack’s face.
Temperance remembered how the mob had nearly attacked Jack when they’d thought he was French. She understood his anxieties about his cousin, but she was dismayed he was leaving. After what had just taken place between them she felt awkward in his company, but she was even more upset at the idea of never seeing him again.
‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ he said. ‘Stay here. As long as you stay in this room and keep the door barred against strangers, you should be safe enough.’ He reached for his coat and the periwig he’d laid aside the previous night. ‘Here.’ He dropped a surprisingly large amount of money on to her lap. ‘I hope you won’t need it, but if the innkeeper tries to turn you out because he’s had a better offer, this should hold his hand.’
‘Is this my…fee?’ she said, staring at the coins without touching them. ‘For lifting my petticoats—’
‘No.’ His firm denial cut off her words. ‘I was going to give it to you anyway. If you don’t feel comfortable here, go back to Agnes’s niece.’
Temperance flinched at the notion of presenting herself to Agnes this morning. The old woman’s sharp eyes were sure to notice something different about her. If she was to protect her reputation, she had to ensure no one knew of her brief liaison with Jack.
‘I’ll stay here,’ she muttered. ‘Can’t I—’ She