Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows #4)

Chapter Eleven

A s Gervaise’s carriage rolled up to the pretty little manor house outside Windsor, Amy’s stomach churned with terror and anticipation.

“Second thoughts?” Gervaise asked gently.

She’d spent most of the drive from London silent and pressed close to his side. The warmth of his big male body had helped to counter her rioting nerves. It was another lovely day, and once they’d left London, rampant spring had surrounded them all the way.

“An army of them,” she admitted, firming her grip on his brawny arm.

“You can still change your mind.”

She cast him a doubtful glance, but that remarkable face under the curling brim of his stylish hat was serious. “That’s very sporting of you.”

“You look like you’re about to face the Spanish Inquisition.”

Her brief laugh was bleak. “That bad?”

He smiled with that hint of tenderness that always caught her on the quick and made her foolish heart cramp with longing. “Worse.”

“Kiss me.”

Those dark gold brows arched in inquiry. “Before I take you back to London?”

“Before I step out of this carriage, and you show me what all those wild women have taught you.”

His lips curved in appreciation—and a relief that soothed her fears. It proved he didn’t take her for granted. “We’ll need more than one afternoon for that.”

Before she could respond to his intriguing remark, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing her back against the brass rail behind the carriage seat.

She expected passion, but there was just more of that piercing tenderness. The sweetness seemed almost innocent. Absurd when she was about to give her body to a man who wasn’t her husband.

“Will you stay?” he murmured, breath warm on her face.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He stared into her eyes, as if seeking out any lingering doubts. She knew he’d find them, but she was also sure he’d see her yearning.

Inevitably yearning overpowered her apprehension. Or she wouldn’t be here at all.

A faint smile kicked up the corners of his beautiful mouth, and he glanced toward the house. “What do you think?”

He’d kept their destination secret, although last night at the musicale, she’d tried to pry details out of him. The famous Italian diva had wasted her artistry on Amy, who had spent the evening in a daze. The only time she’d come alive to the moment was when she’d spoken to Gervaise. Even then she’d been jumpy and preoccupied, convinced every person in that worldly crowd must know of her imminent fall from grace.

This morning, Gervaise’s note had arrived on her breakfast tray. He invited her to luncheon in the country and asked her to be ready at eleven. Because she’d lain awake most of the night and only fallen asleep near dawn, she had to rush to dress.

She’d left the house without encountering her friends, thank goodness. Morwenna was walking in the park—Amy wasn’t nearly ready to confide her improper plans to her sister-in-law. Meg and Sally weren’t up yet, although Sally would guess the truth when she read Amy’s note about visiting the country with Lord Pascal.

Amy didn’t mind Sally knowing. She just didn’t want to talk about it.

When the curricle turned down a tree-lined drive, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. What she found was a pocket manor, like a full-size dolls house.

Now she studied the perfectly proportioned facade and smiled. “It’s lovely. How did you find it?”

“It’s mine. The tenants left a month ago, and the new people don’t move in until June.” He clicked his tongue to the horses and steered them around the building to a neat stable block. “If we go to an inn, someone could see us. And at my townhouse, the servants might let slip that I entertained a lady.”

She began to relax, although her heart still banged against her ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage. “You’ve thought about this.”

“I don’t take this privilege lightly.” They rolled into the shadowy, hay-scented interior with its rows of empty stalls. “I’ll never do anything to cause you harm.”

She looked around, puzzled, when no eager groom rushed to take the horses. “It’s like an enchanted castle in a fairytale. Where is everyone? Asleep for a hundred years because a princess pricked her finger on a spindle?”

He smiled. “I’ve given the staff the afternoon off.”

More thoughtfulness. Everything Gervaise did today betrayed meticulous care and consideration. She’d never felt so cherished. Sternly she reminded herself that she had no intention of losing her head over Gervaise Dacre.

But she feared it was already too late.

* * *

As they crunched across the gravel forecourt to the graceful set of steps leading up to the imposing door, Amy held hands with Gervaise. They climbed the wide stone stairs, and he released her to fish in his pocket for a large iron key that also seemed to come from a fairytale.

She stepped into an airy hall, with high windows and chessboard tiles on the floor. Vases of massed spring flowers perfumed the air. He’d turned the house into a bower of earthly delights.

“Oh, Gervaise, I’m speechless.” She paused a few paces inside the room to draw a deep breath. “And all for me?”

“All for you.” He closed the door after him, but remained beside it. Without shifting his gaze from her, he took off his hat and gloves and set them on a chair.

She removed her gloves and bonnet, placing them on a chest under the window. “You’ve been busy since yesterday.”

Gervaise made her feel so special. How on earth had she managed to hold out against him for over three weeks?

“I want you to smile when you look back on today.” He removed his voluminous driving coat, then came forward and helped her with the tight pelisse. “There’s champagne and a cold collation in the dining room. Are you hungry? I promised that I’d feed you when I invited you here.”

Emotion jammed her throat and roughened her laugh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken.”

He leaned one elegant hip against the chest and watched her steadily. She shivered with anticipation and pleasure. The desire in his eyes made her feel free and powerful and, for the first time in her life, truly beautiful.

“Try.”

She swept a dazzled gaze over the flower-filled room. “I was afraid I’d feel shabby. But standing here with you, it’s like we share a glorious secret.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

Amy realized she felt more than beautiful. She felt brave. She’d hesitated enough. It was time to take a chance on what her heart had wanted since her first glimpse of him, so many years ago.

Stepping toward the oak staircase that curved up to what she guessed were the bedrooms, she held out her hand. “I don’t want to wait anymore.” Her voice was still husky. “I’ve waited too long already. Take me upstairs.”

Joy transfigured his face. She realized that despite her spoken consent, and the kisses they’d shared, and her presence here now, he hadn’t been entirely sure of her.

In a few eager strides, he crossed the room and caught her up for another of those world-shaking kisses. She should be accustomed to them by now—but every time he kissed her, the earth set off on a drunken jig through the stars.

In one powerful movement, he swept her up into his arms and began to mount the stairs. Amy gasped and flung one arm around his powerful neck. “Gervaise, I can walk.”

His low laugh made her stomach clench with longing. “Why walk when you can fly?”

“You’re showing off,” she said, to hide how this madly romantic gesture made her pulse race.

“Of course I am. I’m seeking a certain lady’s approval.”

She laid her head on his shoulder as he rounded the first landing, seemingly unwinded. His elegance was misleading. The arms that held her with such ease were hard with muscle. And he was so delightfully warm. This was like curling up beside a roaring fire on a cold winter’s day.

“She already approves,” she murmured, placing her hand over the place where his heart thudded hard and steady. Perhaps she hadn’t been far wrong when she’d wondered if this house belonged in a fairytale. Right now she felt more like a magical princess than a mere mortal woman.

“My campaign must be working.”

“Don’t rest on your laurels,” she said drily, as he carried her along a hallway. But it was impossible to cling to her level-headed self, when a handsome prince carried her away to ravish her.

They swung through an open door to a beautiful bedroom, done out in the style of last century. Windows opened onto the bright afternoon, and the air smelled of beeswax, and the fresh flowers ranged on every flat surface.

“Goodness,” Amy said faintly, her heart taking another dizzy swoop. “There mustn’t be a flower left in London.”

“Do you like it?” He stopped in the middle of the room and stared down at her.

She read the genuine question in those deep blue eyes. “I love it.” She stretched up to place a clumsy kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

He angled his head to anchor the kiss. “Any time.”

Heat sizzled through her, promised more heat to come. Impatience set her blood rushing. The excruciating wait was over, and it was time to give in to her craving for this beautiful man.

The hands she linked behind his neck were steady, although she’d expected to suffer a storm of nerves when she yielded to him. “Take me to bed, Gervaise.”

“With pleasure.”

A few steps, and he flung back the covers to reveal crisp white sheets. Gently he set her down. The clean sharpness of lavender teased her senses.

“I love this house.” She pushed up against the heaped pillows. “How can you bear to rent it out?”

The fleeting silence held a strangely discordant edge. But she forgot that odd, bristling instant when she watched him tug off his dark blue coat and lay it across a brocade chair near the unlit fire. Excitement coiled in her belly and made her skin prickle with expectation. Soon, soon they’d be naked together, and she’d at last discover sensuality’s mysteries.

“I rarely use it. It’s very old-fashioned.”

“In a charming way.”

His eyes lit as he surveyed her, lying before him in her pink silk dress. “Speaking of charming, you look delectable.”

“Thank you.” She sent him a sheepish smile. “I know it was terribly romantic when you put me on the bed, but undressing will be easier if I stand up.”

He laughed softly and crossed to offer her his hand. “Let me help.”

“Thank you.” She accepted his hand and rose from the bed. In the last weeks, she must have touched his hand a thousand times. Now, the contact resonated like music with all that was to come. “I’ll help you, too.”

She reached up to untie his neck cloth, letting it drift to the floor. His shirt fell open, revealing a hard masculine chest beneath. Unable to resist, she placed her hand flat on that golden skin and felt him shudder in reaction. He was so warm. She raked her fingers through the curls of golden hair across his pectorals.

Even now he undressed, her courage didn’t desert her. She’d expected to feel shy and awkward and inadequate. But this unpretentious house and the efforts Gervaise had taken to please her banished her misgivings.

When Sally had suggested that she should seduce Lord Pascal, it had seemed a bizarre idea. But here in this quiet room on this sunny afternoon, it didn’t seem so outlandish.

This close, she caught his delicious scent. Clean male with a hint of healthy sweat. Lemon soap. Horses. Leather. Wilfred had smelled like an old man—an old, sick man toward the end. Gervaise smelled like a vital male in his prime.

Amy surrendered to wanton impulse and leaned into him, breathing deeply. She pressed her lips to his chest, tasting the salt on his skin. The tickle of his hair against her face reminded her that this was no fairytale, but a deeply carnal encounter.

Suddenly it felt like they had all the time in the world. He held her hips, but seemed content to let her continue to take the lead, despite her inexperience. Languorously, she stroked his chest, then unbuttoned his blue silk waistcoat. Her fingers remained steady and sure as they slid the waistcoat off his shoulders.

Gervaise reached for her, but she stepped out of reach. “Let me do this.”

“You’re driving me mad,” he groaned. Standing before her in his loose white shirt and fawn breeches, he looked disheveled and gorgeous.

“Good. I want you so much.”

His smile was wry. “Not as much as I want you.”

When she glanced up at his face, stern and beautiful as a Donatello carving, she almost believed him. “I’ve been plotting to get you to myself since I was fourteen.”

“If only I’d known.”

She didn’t waste time on regrets. They’d met again at the right time. He wrenched his shirt over his head and hurled it into the corner.

The superb view made the breath snag in her throat. “Dear God, you’re magnificent.”

“Amy…” he began, but when she raised her hands to release her hair, whatever he meant to say was lost as he watched her draw the pins free. At the sight of her hair tumbling about her shoulders, his eyes flared with hunger.

She stepped forward and twined her arms around his neck. She could hardly bear to go even an instant without touching him. “Kiss me.”

Luscious, dark, succulent cooperation left her head swimming and her knees weak. Slowly he lifted away, as she struggled to remain upright on legs that threatened to fold beneath her.

“My turn?” he murmured.

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. His taste lingered on her lips. “Not yet.”

He bit back another groan and buried his hands in her hair. “Have pity.”

“Oh, no.” Amy ran her hands over his skin again. It was such a luxury, touching him like this. The firm chest, the wide shoulders, the powerful back. At his sides, his fists opened and closed, and by the time she scored her nails across his nipples, he was shaking.

Who would have thought she could make this sophisticated man shake?

Power surged higher. Daringly she released the buttons on his breeches. The intriguing bulge inside them beckoned. With trembling hands, she revealed his hardness.

At first sight of him, a gasp escaped her. Gervaise’s virility awed her, and the nerves that she hoped she’d conquered jumped up to snatch away her confidence.

She’d reached to touch him, but galloping uncertainty made her pause. Before she could withdraw, he caught her hand and pressed it against him. Every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth, as she held his heat and power.

“Like this,” he murmured, shaping her hand around him. He jerked under her tentative caress, and she instinctively tightened her grip. A low growl of masculine pleasure was her reward.

It turned out her confidence hadn’t fled after all. His response did wonders for her self-assurance. With voluptuous pleasure in what she did, Amy began to stroke him.

As he grew larger under her brazen caress, she watched his face. His eyes were half-closed, and a hectic flush marked those slashing cheekbones. A frown drew his eyebrows together, as if what she did tested the outer reaches of his limits.

When she squeezed, he opened his eyes fully. The dilated pupils took over most of the blue and betrayed his excitement. “Let me touch you,” he grated out, his usually melodious baritone as rough as gravel.

“Yes,” she whispered, swaying forward. She’d reached a point where she didn’t want to tease anymore. She just wanted Gervaise. “Touch me.”

“Amy…” he groaned and caught her hand, crushing it against him for one last breathtaking moment. He hauled her into a kiss so urgent, it left her gasping.