Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Gwen came awake to absolute darkness.

The bed was shaking, and her sleepy mind thought it must be Philip, the Bradfords’ seven-year-old son. He was terrified of thunderstorms and would often sneak through the nursery into her room and burrow under the blankets beside her. She rolled over and put out her hand until she found his body. Gently she patted his back.

About the time she realized it couldn’t be Philip, the figure was much too large to be Philip, she also realized he was crying. Almost silently, but a muffled sob now and then broke through. Instinctively Gwen scooted closer and put her arm over him.

She knew it was the captain when he seized her hand and clutched it to his cheek, where she felt the dampness of tears. She didn’t pull away, trying to provide whatever comfort she could. He must have seen terrible things in the war.

Gradually his shudders stopped, as did the weeping. She was drifting off toward sleep again when he suddenly flipped over and pulled her into his arms. She inhaled, but he just held her close, as if seeking comfort. He was very warm, and Gwen realized now that she’d been cold before. She relaxed into him, letting her arm settle over his shoulder and absently stroking his hair.

She barely felt his lips on her temple. His hand moving on her back felt wonderful, and she leaned into it with a sigh of contentment. His indrawn breath registered, and she knew what she was doing when she consciously snuggled closer.

He touched her hair, stroking it back from her face and then combing through the length, undoing whatever remained of the plait. Gwen had always loved having her hair brushed; she tilted her head in blatant enjoyment. This time she was very aware of his mouth on her brow, and she had every chance to stop things.

She didn’t want to. Not yet, maybe not at all. She’d been sacked, she had no money, and she might be about to lose her beloved gran, but she could have this.

The blankets were bunched between them, providing a barrier until she plowed her arm under it and laid her hand on the captain’s chest. He responded by dragging her hard against him, his arm flexing around her waist and his hand gripping her hip. That buzz lit up her nerves again, and she realized it was arousal. She wanted him.

He pressed his lips to her jaw, his hand still in her hair. Gwen moaned at the sensation. She arched her neck again, and this time his lips touched hers, light, gentle, maddening, until she pushed into him and kissed him. His hand cupping her cheek made her shiver, and she had both arms around his neck before she knew what she was doing.

He rolled up onto his elbow, above her, and she felt his fingers at the buttons on the front of her nightdress. Heat rolled through her at the memory of waking with his head on her breast, and she gripped his shoulder, silently urging him onward.

The front of her worn nightdress parted; he seemed puzzled by the shift beneath, but a quick tug at the ribbon opened it, too, and then his mouth, hot and wet, was on her skin, tracing sizzling paths across the tops of her breasts. Gwen whimpered, arching her back in appeal.

His hand felt very big and warm when it dipped inside her nightdress and cupped one breast. His thumb rolled over her nipple and she jerked. Then he bent his head and circled the tight bud with his tongue, and she gasped aloud in pleasure.

He made love to her breasts for some time. Gwen thought she might be drowning, she could hardly breathe—it was his weight settling on top of her, his hands fondling and stroking her breasts, his mouth tasting her skin. Her hands were in his hair, and somehow her legs had got tangled around him, as if she were clinging to him for dear life.

“Guinevere,” he breathed, sucking lightly at the tender skin just below her ear.

“Gwen,” she gasped, turning her head to let him do it again.

His hand stroked down her side, flattening the rucked-up cloth of her nightdress. He wore a shirt, but it seemed to be twisted around his waist. He caught her hip and pulled her up into him, and she felt his erection against her bare thigh.

The feel of his naked skin against hers made her feverish. She moved without thinking, rubbing against him, and he exhaled sharply. He shifted until his left thigh was between her legs, and then levered himself up until he was poised above her.

His finger brushed lightly over the curls between her legs. “Gwen,” he breathed again, with a note of question.

Eyes closed, she nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes. ”

She thought she’d break at the first delicate stroke. All her nerves seemed to pull tight, until the second stroke sent a pulse through them that made her flinch. “Yes,” she choked again, as he paused, and then she couldn’t speak anymore as he teased and stroked until she was out of her mind, gasping and pleading for more.

His fingers were inside her, his mouth was on her breast. Climax began to build inside her belly and she strained toward him, gripping handfuls of the shirt over his shoulders. His erection, thick and hard against her thigh, slipped between her legs and she unthinkingly ground against him.

“Gwen,” he gasped. His shoulders were shaking.

She was coming, her body giving way to the pleasure he had wrought. He knew it, too, his wicked fingers inside her stroking something that seemed to make stars burst behind her eyelids. “Yes,” she wept. “Please. Please .” She tilted her hips toward him and flung back her head.

He waited until the first contraction seized her, then his hand was gone, and he spread her legs wide and moved between them, driving hard into her. Gwen grabbed his arse and bucked her hips, overwhelmed at the connection and wanting more. “Christ,” he gasped at her ear, and then he was moving, matching the tempo of the glorious climax rippling through her until she was limp, and he wrenched away with a groan as he spilled himself against her belly.

Neither moved for a long time. Gwen thought she might have gone deaf, except that she could hear his ragged breathing. She groped for his hand and was reassured when his fingers laced through hers and he squeezed. She turned her head, not knowing what she would say, and his mouth covered hers. His kiss was tender, and Gwen felt a warm glow suffuse her entire body. She rolled toward him and kissed him back.

Several minutes later he sat up and rose from the bed. He gave a muffled curse as he moved about the dark room, and then he was back with a wet cloth. “’Tis cold,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

Gwen blushed as he gingerly wiped her belly. The cloth was cold, a sharp slap of reality after the dreamlike lovemaking, and she began to feel awkward. She tugged her nightdress back into place as the captain moved away again. She supposed he was cleaning up himself, or perhaps buying time to think what to say. Even though he’d been an active participant, it didn’t mean he would view this the same way she did. She knew all too well that the same man who seduced a virtuous girl would turn around and condemn her as loose, as soon as she gave in to him. Or perhaps he would fear that she would demand things of him and was already withdrawing.

But the captain didn’t say anything, and a few minutes later he slipped back into the bed. Gwen lay frozen on her side of the mattress, barely breathing, until his hand closed around hers, comforting and strong. She squeezed hard back, inordinately happy. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arm around her as if he would never let go.

Gwen melted into him. Don’t think of tomorrow , she told herself. Take this for what it is—only tonight. And finally she succumbed to the warmth of a deep, sated sleep.

Adrian woke early, thinking himself still sleeping in a narrow camp bed. His foot was half frozen, sticking out from under the blankets, and he felt in danger of falling off the bed.

It took a moment to realize that he was on the edge of the mattress because Gwen was pressed up against his back. An unconscious smile curved his lips as he remembered the feel of her in his arms, beneath him, around him, and the needy way she whispered Please .

His smile vanished as he realized what he’d done. He’d made love to the girl. He’d woken from a nightmare about a disastrous scouting expedition in Spain to find her rubbing his back soothingly, almost lovingly, and he’d clung to her as a shipwrecked man might seize a raft—and then proceeded to climb on top of her like the selfish scoundrel he apparently was.

Even worse, he wanted to do it again. He had a raging erection that twitched when Gwen sighed in her sleep and stretched her legs. Adrian broke out in a light sweat as her foot brushed his calf. He distinctly remembered gliding his hand down her bare leg and hooking it around his waist, right before he rode her until he almost lost consciousness. And if he turned over, he would kiss her awake, and feel her move against him, and it might well happen again.

He knew what he ought to do, the honorable thing to do. It even was rather appealing, as he truly liked the lady. She was clever, and witty, and she didn’t go to pieces easily. She had a streak of artless affection that warmed his lonely soul. She cared for her grandmother and she was fond of children, a savior of cats, polite to harried innkeepers, and generous with her coin even when she had few. He liked being with her. He liked pleasing her. He wanted to know her better.

But even if he was enamored with the idea, she deserved more of a choice. She’d been under a large amount of strain, from her telling, and perhaps she’d welcomed his reckless advances as a purely physical release, or even out of obligation because he’d offered to bring her to Blackthorpe.

That thought made his stomach turn, and he slid stealthily out of bed. It was dawn, but he could see her now. Her hair, wild loose waves that spread over his pillow, looked darker in the pearly light, and her face was even more lovely than he remembered. She was beautiful, he thought wistfully, and eased the blankets over her shoulders.

And he owed her a safe trip home. That was what he’d promised her, not ruination. Not only that, he needed to get home. It was shameful how little he’d thought of his family, anxiously awaiting him, while he was enchanted by Guinevere Barrett’s charm. Home was where his mind should be.

Resolve firming, he dressed in his mostly dry clothes, collected his things, and quietly let himself out of the room.