Page 8 of Souvenir of Love

“A dancing master, a French tutor, and a footman.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But I wasveryyoung when I kissed the footman.”

“You are still very young.” His hand drifted to her cheek, soft as the velvet wrap that had slipped from her shoulders.

The clock chimed a quarter to the hour.

He reached down and grasped the fabric gathered about her elbows, pulling it—and her—closer. “You have much to learn.”

“I know that.” She smiled, impishly, up at him. “Why else would I be here?”

“Then let the lessons begin,” he whispered, burying his regrets within the sweet recesses of her mouth.

“Moreham.”Anne Dinsmore affected an air of concern, one she’d practiced for nearly an hour in front of her mirror that afternoon. “You look worried. Is something wrong? Have you lost something?” she asked, glancing about the floor. “A button? An earbob?” As she straightened, she saw Rafe cast a questioning look at his wife and Alix respond with an almost imperceptible, negative shake of her head.

“In a crowd such as this,” Anne continued with a gesture that set the scarlet ribbons at her elbow fluttering, “delicate things can so easily be caught underfoot and crushed. I once had a diamond hairpin that belonged to the third Duchess of Dinsmore. It slipped unnoticed from my hair and, by the time I found it, it was ruined beyond repair. Shall I call a footman to help?”

“It is nothing,” Rafe replied, “nothing you need trouble your staff over, Lady Anne. We were just discussing…”

“Louisa,” Alix said, finishing the sentence for her husband. “She’s caught a bit of a chest cold, I’m afraid.”

“And we were wondering whether we should leave early to make sure her condition has not worsened,” Rafe concluded.

“If my dear mother were still alive,” Anne said, clasping a hand to the flat of her chest, “I know I should feel the same. If you need make your farewells early, I assure you, I shall not take the slightest offense. As a matter of fact, I shall have your coachbrought round to the front of the line right now. It will be waiting at the ready.”

“That is most kind of you, Lady Anne.”

“It is nothing.” She waved dismissively. Then, as if just noticing Elizabeth’s absence, she said, “But where is Lady Elizabeth? Surely you will want to let her know that you are planning to leave…”

“I believe she is dancing with Thomas Stirling,” Rafe said smoothly.

“A charming gentleman,” Anne said, nodding approvingly. “Well then, if there is nothing I can do here, I will be off to the library. My father has had some improvements made, and when I described them to Lady Morton and some of the others, well, nothing would satisfy them but to see the room for themselves. Would you care to join us? You both have such impeccable taste. I should be delighted to hear your impressions…”

Rafe shook his head.

“Ah, well,” she sighed, “I do hope you change your mind and decide to stay at least a tiny bit longer. I have arranged a number of entertainments for this evening that I’ve no doubt you will all find most diverting.”

Champagne and sugar cakes,James thought, as he tasted Elizabeth’s lips. An odd combination of sophistication and sweetness, much like the womanly girl he held in his arms.Soft lips.He traced them with his tongue and she parted them. He entered, not with ferocity, but with tender, ticklish exploration. Each dip of his tongue a little deeper, until at last she drew him in, demanding more.

He was sitting on the couch, Elizabeth between his knees.

He pulled her up against him, hands sliding up the arms that tangled around his neck. And down. He caressed the draped curve of her arms.

“That tickles, James,” she giggled, breaking their kiss.

He looked down at her rosy face and smiled, his blue eyes burning like the deepest part of a fire. “But does this?”

His hands moved lower, following the downward curve of her breasts, then trailed his thumbs under and up, toward the tips straining against silk. As his thumbs brushed against her nipples, he heard her sudden intake of breath.

“I didn’t think so,” he whispered. His thumbs swept round them, like the relentless hands on the clock; James glanced briefly at the mantel—ten minutes before one.

“Shall I stop?” he whispered, his teeth nipping at the silken lobe of her ear, knowing that he should.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not yet.” And leaned into his hands.

The heat of her, the scent of her, the taste, drove all thoughts from his head. But he could feel. And he wanted to feel her beneath him. Needed to feel her there. His hands slid down her back, sweeping aside folds of velvet, crushing layers of padding and petticoat, until he felt the firm backs of her thighs. Still kissing her, he lifted her up. Her body pressed hard against him, nearly as hard as the length of him.

Dear God, to be rid of the layers of satin and silk, muslin and cambric that separated them!He laid her back against the couch, settling between her legs, mouth and hands desperately seeking naked flesh. He kissed her eyes, her nose, brushed a farewell kiss against her lips as his mouth descended to her neck. She surrendered this smooth white property to him, bending her head back so he could more fully explore its curves and hollows. Like a thief craving riches, he plundered and moved on, toward the ripe promise of her breasts. He slid his hands to her shoulders, pushing her gown down, down. She arched up,freeing her aching flesh as he longed to free his…Would there be time?

“Oh please, God, yes!” Unwittingly Elizabeth gave shuddering voice to his own silent prayers.