Page 68 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
A dream, then? No, it felt too warm, too realto be a dream.
He cracked open the other eye and let his blurry gaze rove over the room. A marble fireplace, embers still glowing, a plush Aubusson carpet on the floor, heavily embroidered gold silk bedhangings, and—
Gold silk bed hangings?
His bedchamber in Surrey was done in shades of blue. He wasn’t in Surrey, nor was he in his bedchamber in Berkeley Square. Where the devil had he slept last night, then? More importantly, who hadhe sleptwith?
Lady Wylde? No, it couldn’t be. In a rare display of good sense, he’d decided against that entanglement. Who, then? Because there was most definitely a lady in his arms, one hand curled on his stomach and her long legs tangled with his.
Her body felt divine snuggled against him, and so utterly right he was tempted to close his eyes and lose himself in the sleep that still lingered, but instead he pulled his head back to get a better look at the delectable creature sprawledover his chest.
All he could make out was a mess of mahogany brown waves with dozens of useless hairpins scattered among the heavy tresses. He studied the wayward curls, his eyes narrowing. They looked familiar, but he was sure he’d never before seen them spread across his chest in such wild abandon before. He reached for one and let his fingers caress the long strands. The only lady he knew with hairlike this was—
Benedict froze, the last vestiges of sleep falling away with a vengeance.
Georgiana Harley.
He threw his arm over his eyes, a low groan leaving his lips as the events of the night before came flooding back to him. Chasing after the coach, rescuing Jane and Freddy, then turning them over to Brixton. Their escape in the duke’s hired coach, and their arrival at Madame Célestine’s last night.
But none of this explained how Georgiana Harley came to be nestled in his arms. For God’s sake, she’d barricaded herself behind two dozen pillows in order to ensure not a single part of his body touched hers last night. If she’d had a suit of armor to hand, no doubt she would have donned it before allowing him to joinher in the bed.
How, then, had she ended up with her head on his chest, her hair tickling his chin, her hand burrowed under his shirt and pressed against the bare skinof his stomach?
Her hand was pressed against the bare skin of his stomach.…
Another pitiful groan escaped Benedict’s lips as arousal flooded him, and his cock did what they tended to do when they discovered a warm female anywhere in their vicinity.
It rose to the occasion.
Benedict lay there, afraid to move lest he wake her. Georgiana would go mad if she woke and found herself in his arms with his cock pressing insistently against his falls.
He was still dressed, at least, and so was she. Thank bloody heaven for that.
But how had this happened? Had he tossed aside the dozens of pillows between them while he’d been asleep, like some sort of savage intent on ravishing an innocent virgin? Had he rolled over to her side of the bed until she’d had no choice but to cling to him to keep herself from fallingover the edge?
Christ, he was almost afraid to look, but this was no time to turn coward. He shifted cautiously onto one elbow and cast a wary glanceover the bed.
The barrier Georgiana had erected between them had disappeared. He peered over the side, expecting to find confirmation of his guilt in a pile of pillows on the floor, but there was nothing there. Not a single pillow to be seen. Not only that, but he was right at the edge.
He hadn’t wriggled his way over to her side of the bed at all.
She’d wriggledherway over tohis.
Well, that was…unexpected. But did this make his situation better or worse? Benedict eased himself back down onto the pillows and tried to decide. On the one hand, he hadn’t done anything wrong aside from open his arms to her, but on the other, she was an inexperienced virgin, and he was a known rake and debaucher. Everyone knew the rakish debaucher was always at fault in such situations, no matter thecircumstances.
Yes, he was certain to be blamed for this, and since that was the case, the only rational solution was to enjoy the warm, drowsy body pressed against his while he had the chance. So, Benedict tightened his arms around her and closed his eyes, a contented sigh leaving his lips.
He didn’t fall back asleep, but lay quietly, dragging his fingertips over her back and breathing in her scent. They were safe enough for the moment, as well-hidden as they were, but he couldn’t let her sleep much longer. They needed to be on their way to Oxfordshire before the duke’s men began searching for them.
But if that threat hadn’t been there, if he’d had the luxury of holding her in his arms as long as he wished…what would that be like?
He dipped his head lower and let her silky hair tickle his nose and cheeks. Georgiana made a soft sound in her throat, and stirred against him. He knew the precise moment when she awoke and realized where she was, and who was holding her.
She went utterly still, not even drawing a breath. Benedict waited, hardly daring to breathe himself as he braced for an explosion.
It never came.
Instead, her fingers curled against his stomach. He felt her back move in a deep breath, and then…then she raised her head from his chest and tilted her face up to his. Her hazel eyes were sleepy, and she had the most adorably shy half-smile on her lips. “I, ah…beg your pardon, Lord Haslemere. I seem to have fallen asleepon top of you.”
