Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows #4)

Chapter Fourteen

W hen Gervaise filled her, Amy muffled a cry and pushed back to take him deeper. He bent over her, wrapping his arms around her with such tender care that her heart clenched into an aching fist. Even while her body tightened around him to hold him inside her.

She’d been sure nothing could rival the bliss of what they did in that big bed in his manor. But this exciting variation suggested there were many paths to paradise. What didn’t change was the sense that when their bodies joined, somehow their souls joined, too. She’d come to thirst after that feeling of ineffable completion like a drunkard thirsted after brandy.

When Gervaise kissed her neck, a tingly thrill shook her. Then with a languor that sent her up in flames, he withdrew. She felt every inch of that retreat. Before she could catch her breath, he slammed back into her.

As his ferocious possession shuddered through her, she braced against the desk. This was so different from their previous encounters, but the raw animal vigor stirred her beyond anything she’d ever known.

On his next thrust, her body greeted him with a liquid surge. He growled deep in his throat and bit her neck where before he’d kissed her. Pain vied with pleasure and sent her responses soaring. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to a universe of passion.

The inexorable rhythm built until she turned into his creature, a being of pure sensation. The rapturous end rushed closer and closer, until on another broken cry, coiling suspense snapped into brilliant, incandescent light.

Pascal muttered something incoherent as he pushed her down into the desk with sudden fierceness. Then she felt him jerk against her back, and his hot seed flooded her.

* * *

Exhausted, feeling as if she’d walked to Moscow and back, Amy opened dazed eyes. Her cheek pressed against the leather covering the desk, and Gervaise slumped over her. She never wanted to move. Right now, she felt that she and Gervaise inhabited a world where nothing could mar their perfect union.

They were still joined, and soft quivers of pleasure rippled through her. The air smelled of sex and sweat and satisfaction. How could such a flagrantly carnal act make her want to cry at the poignant sweetness of it all?

He groaned as he levered himself up, separating their bodies.

“That was…unforgettable.” He sounded shaken, too.

She smiled wearily as she rose. What they’d done had been astonishingly potent, but now she ached from the strenuous mating. Her skirts tumbled down her rubbery legs, restoring a modesty she’d well and truly sacrificed.

Gervaise stepped back, and she turned reluctantly. After that shattering encounter, she felt lost and vulnerable. Only now in the aftermath did she realize what appalling risks they’d taken. This passion for Lord Pascal threatened to carry her into dangerous waters indeed.

When he cupped her cheek, she forced herself to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d see in his face. Admiration? Fondness? Disgust? She’d just let him debauch her over a desk, for God’s sake.

She bit back a gasp. She’d never seen him more beautiful. His blond hair was ruffled, lending him an uncharacteristically boyish air. That long sensual mouth was full and relaxed. And his eyes were clear. He looked young and approachable in a way she’d never seen, even during their radiant hours outside Windsor.

He’d already tucked in his shirt and fastened his trousers, but he was a long way from his usual elegant self. His neck cloth was crushed, and his clothes were crumpled.

“Are you all right?” His thumb brushed her cheek in a caress that she felt to her toes.

“Silly to feel…shy after that.” She glanced down to where her drawers lay blatant witness to her wantonness, white against the green and beige carpet. She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and the movement reminded her of the slick heat between her legs.

“Not silly at all,” he said, with one of those smiles that always made her want to fling herself against him and never let him go.

His kiss immersed her in an ocean of gentleness. She blinked back more foolish tears, even though she still had no real idea why she felt like crying.

Except he sliced through every attempt to defend herself. He left her terrifyingly vulnerable, as though she’d lost a couple of layers of skin. She’d never felt at anyone’s mercy, the way she did with Gervaise.

To hide her powerful emotion, she bent to retrieve her drawers. “I’d better take these. Otherwise Lord Frame will get a shock tomorrow morning.”

Her voice emerged unnaturally high, and she avoided Gervaise’s eyes, although some instinct told her he watched her closely. “Amy?”

“Please turn around.” She knew she acted like a ninny, but she felt horridly uncomfortable. The stupid fact was that she’d felt so alive and happy and safe with him pounding into her like a hammer. Now it was over, she was frantic for some privacy to gather her composure. If she appeared in the ballroom, surely everyone must guess exactly what she’d been doing.

She chanced a glance at him. A faint frown marked his face.

“Please,” she said with a small, imploring gesture.

His lips compressed with impatience, but he cooperated.

Because her hands shook so badly, she took an age to tie her drawers back on. “You…you can look now,” she said in a husky voice.

She’d hoped some poise would return, once she’d got her undergarments off the floor. It didn’t.

When Gervaise turned, the eyes that met hers were somber. “I didn’t withdraw.”

Of course he didn’t. Perhaps that was why she was so on edge. Except she’d gloried in that luminous moment when he’d given himself up to her.

“I know,” she said in a thready voice.

“I should apologize,” he said with a hint of grimness. “But in truth, I don’t think I can. It was the most perfect moment of my life.”

She searched his face for insincerity, although she was sure he’d always been honest with her. “Really?”

“I know it’s a disaster.” He sighed and ran his hand through his rumpled hair. “But it doesn’t feel like one.”

Amy examined her heart. She found confusion, and the constant yearning that by now felt almost like an old friend. But strangely, no regret. Even more unexpected, no fear.

“It doesn’t feel like a disaster to me either,” she said slowly.

He started to smile. “Well, then.”

She frowned. “Well, then, what?”

Gervaise stepped forward and caught one of her gloved hands. “Amy Mowbray, will you make me the happiest man in London and marry me?”

Her heart began to crash about like a drunken sailor. Whether with horror or excitement, she wasn’t sure. Probably a turbulent mixture of the two. “Because you’re worried about a baby?”

He shook his golden head, and his blue eyes were grave. “I’ve wanted to marry you from the first. I said so. Don’t you remember?”

“I…I didn’t think you meant it.”

“I told you I was wooing you.”

“Into bed.”

“Into my bed.” He paused. “And my life.”

“Oh,” she said, wishing she could come up with something more coherent. Tenderness softened his features, and she closed her eyes to delay the inevitable yielding.

“May I kiss you?”

She opened her eyes and pulled away, needing to think. And stupidly missed the contact, the moment it was broken. “You don’t usually ask.”

“I’m not taking anything for granted.”

She liked that. But then, he knew she would. “No, you may not kiss me.”

Disappointment dulled his eyes. “Amy, are you saying no to my proposal?”

She hesitated. Was she ready to marry again? If she was, Gervaise would be her choice. But would his interest in her last beyond the illicit excitement of their affair? She couldn’t imagine him finding her so fascinating when she went back to being a hardworking farmer. “No.”

To her surprise, she watched the jaded mask descend over his features. Even more surprising, she realized she now knew him well enough to recognize that cynicism as a facade. “Then I beg your pardon for troubling you.”

A rusty laugh escaped her. “Gervaise, you nitwit. I mean I’m not saying no.”

He regarded her uncertainly. “You did.”

She shook her head. When they touched, she and Gervaise communicated perfectly. Not so much when they talked, to her regret. “Words are tangling me up.”

“Then be clear, for God’s sake,” he said roughly. “Will you marry me?”

She hesitated, even as she saw her havering tormented him. “I…I’ll think about it.”

He gave a soft growl of frustration and gestured toward the desk. “After that, you must know how good we are together.”

“We desire each other.” She swallowed to moisten a dry mouth. “That on its own isn’t enough.”

“We share more than passion, and you know it. I’ve never enjoyed a woman’s company as I have yours. Don’t you like talking to me, too?”

“You know I do.” She made a helpless gesture, and decided to take a chance with the prosaic truth. “But London isn’t my real life. When the season’s over, I’ll go back to being eccentric, practical Amy Mowbray, who spends her time tramping her fields and working on improvements to her land and stock.”

Gervaise looked offended. “You think I’m too frivolous to hold your attention?”

Her sigh carried the weight of all her years of insecurity. “No, I think I’m too dull to amuse you.”

He took her hand again. “What would you say if I told you a life in the country with you at my side sounds like a great adventure?”

Amy frowned, although this time she didn’t break free. “I’d say I still need to think.” When he loomed closer, she placed her hand on his chest to keep him at bay. “And don’t kiss me. You turn my brains to scrambled eggs when you do.”

“That’s a good thing, when people contemplate marriage,” he said, looking happier. Of course he did. He knew now how close she teetered to agreement.

“Not when I need to be sensible.” She cringed at the word. It sounded so cramped and mean after this marvelous fortnight of generosity and abundance and passion since she’d gone to his bed.

“You’ve been sensible your whole life. I’ll wager you were born sensible.” He placed his hand over hers where it lay above his heart. “Take a chance.”

Her laugh was wry. “I was sensible until the day I met you. Now I need a clear head.”

He studied her and must have seen that she was adamant. With a sigh, he released her and leaned back against the desk. She tried not to let the dejected slump of his shoulders sway her decision.

“Do you want me to woo you again?”

She found a smile. He sounded like she asked him to sign up for ten years’ hard labor in the colonies. “No.”

He regarded her under lowered golden brows. “Then for pity’s sake, what do you want?”

She wanted him, but that wasn’t necessarily a reason to accept him. “I want a couple of days to reflect upon my answer. Surely that’s not too much to ask, when we’re talking about the rest of our lives.”

He straightened, and his expression turned austere. “I’ll call tomorrow for your answer,” he said in an uncompromising tone.

His sudden ruthlessness startled her. “Gervaise…”

He regarded her impatiently. “You can’t pretend my offer comes out of the blue. If you don’t know now that we’re perfect together, you’ll never know. Say yes tomorrow, or send me away forever.”

She folded her arms and regarded him with displeasure. “You’re very highhanded.”

“Get used to it.”

The awful truth was that Amy found his arrogance exciting. She didn’t want a man who rode roughshod over her. But she respected Gervaise’s willingness to stand up to her and demand an answer. Once she’d settled into Warrington Court, she’d become the stronger half of the partnership. Wilfred had followed her every directive. As a result, she’d spent most of her marriage feeling very lonely.

She realized with a shock that when she was with Gervaise, she never felt lonely.

Now she had to deal with this new masterful version of her lover. Heat swirled in her veins, and a familiar sinful longing weighted the base of her belly. What a wanton he made her. She liked this new, daring version of Amy Mowbray.

It was as much to deny that stirring interest as to bring the difficult conversation to a close that she spoke. “We should go. I can hear music. Supper must be over.”

He studied her with an unreadable expression before giving her a brief bow as if they returned to the formality of their early meetings. “As you wish.”

Actually it wasn’t in any way as she wished. Wicked girl she was, she wanted to stay here with Gervaise and lose herself in mindless pleasure.

More. She wanted him to hustle her away and persuade her with kisses, until she forgot what an important decision marriage was. She had a horrible feeling that if she thought too hard, she’d turn into a coward and scuttle back to obscurity—and safety—in Leicestershire.

Suddenly that seemed a sad outcome to these recent, exciting weeks.

“Am I…am I tidy?” she asked in a reedy voice, as he shrugged on his coat and smoothed his hair. The efficiency of his movements reminded her, as if she needed reminding, that here was a man used to managing amorous intrigues.

His forbidding air softened at her hesitant question, and she sucked in her first full breath since he’d proposed. “Come here,” he said gently.

She stood in front of him. He tucked away a couple of stray tendrils of hair and straightened her pretty new dress.

“Will I do?”

“You’ll dazzle them all.” He leaned forward to give her another of those devastating kisses. He didn’t seem angry anymore, but she couldn’t forget his ultimatum.

Through the closed door, she heard a quadrille. “I won’t dazzle Mr. Harslett. I promised him this dance.”

Gervaise’s finger traced a burning trail along her jaw. “I wish you could dance with nobody but me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you likely to become one of those odiously possessive husbands who snaps like a grumpy dog if his wife flirts with another man?”

His expression turned wry. “You know, I think I am. Does that mean you won’t have me?”

“I’m better off knowing,” she said lightly. The urge to say yes struggled against the bonds of her prudence. A lifetime with Gervaise? It sounded like heaven. But it seemed despite tonight’s rashness, she remained by nature cautious. “Shall we go?”

“Let me check if the corridor is empty.” He unlocked the door and edged it open.

She’d started forward when he hauled her back into his arms. They both heard the nearby voices. Amy’s heart slammed to a stop, then raced like a runaway horse. She buried her face in Gervaise’s chest, as he edged deeper into the shadows behind the open door.

“I can’t believe he’d choose her rather than you. You’re accounted a diamond of the first water,” an affected, very young female voice said in the hallway. Amy didn’t recognize the speaker, but she immediately identified the girl who answered.

“He wants her fortune. Mamma says I’ve had a lucky escape,” Lucy Compton-Browne stated with her usual self-satisfaction. Meg had invited the Compton-Browne girl to tea several times. Amy had never much liked her. Or her pushy mother.

“Do you think so? He’s so very, very handsome, and everyone says he’s a great catch. Are you sure he has no money?”

Amy felt Gervaise’s body turn rigid with tension, and his grip on her tightened.

“Mamma heard it from one of his neighbours, an old school friend who regularly corresponds with her. It’s not in general circulation, but it soon will be. People can never keep a story like that secret. A storm last January laid waste to his estates, and apparently he was already up to his ears in debt after a couple of bad harvests. He needs a rich wife, and he needs her quickly.”

“Oh, that’s a pity when he’s such a gorgeous man. If he proposed to me, I don’t think I’d care that he’s a fortune hunter.”

“Have some pride, Arabella. Anyway, Lord Pascal has set his sights on Lady Mowbray—he must have decided a lonely widow without a watchful mamma would be easier prey. I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Did you hear something?” the unknown Arabella asked.

Amy bit her lip and cursed her betraying gasp. Through her numbed shock, she was desperate to disentangle herself from Lord Pascal’s grasp. Only to find he’d already released her.

“Don’t be such a henwit. There’s nobody else here. Let’s go back to the dancing. Sir Brandon Deerham has requested the next waltz—and he’s both handsome and plump in the pocket.”

Over the slow death knell playing in her ears, Amy didn’t hear anything more. Her stomach knotted into agonizing tangles as she struggled to come to terms with what she’d learned. Blindly she stared at the mahogany door and fumbled for courage, when all she wanted to do was run away and bawl her eyes out.

What an idiot she’d been. A vain, brainless, needy idiot. She knew who she was. She knew who Lord Pascal was. She should immediately have seen that he was out to make a fool of her.

But hindsight provided no comfort and pride couldn’t come to her rescue, when her heart was engaged and threatening to break. She made herself look up into that gorgeous, deceiving face. Lord Pascal appeared sick with devastation.

Well, that was what happened when a fortune slipped through your greedy, grasping fingers.

“Is it true?” she asked in a dead voice.

She waited for him to lie. How ironic that not long ago, she’d been convinced that he’d always been honest with her.

He squared his shoulders and met her eyes without flinching. “Yes.”