Page 62 of A Much Maligned Miss

It was open-mouthed for starters and very wet. That didn’t seem right. Then his wicked tongue slid against hers, making her whole body jolt in shock. As he was bearing down on her this brought them into even closer contact, but instead of turning stiff or bristling as one might expect, Caroline felt herself melt.

Gervaise did something even more startling. He groaned loudly into her mouth, and she felt her whole body perk up as though she had been in deepest winter, waiting for the breath of spring. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting him closer, wanting more of whatever madness this was. He tore his mouth from hers. “Enough?” he asked, panting.

Enough? Caroline shook her head, then realized he could not see her. “No!” she gasped, running her hands over his shoulder blades. “No…don’t stop.” He was wearing a nightshirt of very fine cambric. It flashed into her mind that she would much rather feel his bare skin.

He made a huffing sound. “Such bravado,” he scoffed, then dragged a slow, deliberate hand down the front of her nightgown, giving her breast a lascivious squeeze. Oh God. Caroline whimpered and Gervaise’s hand halted, though he did not remove it.

“Stop?” he rasped.

“No.” She hesitated. “It’s just—”

“What is it? Tell me.”

“Can you take off your shirt?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer for a few heartbeats. “You want me naked, Miss Halperston? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“It’s just… Yes, yes, I do,” she answered shakily.

“You do realize you’re straying into dangerous waters here,” he scolded, but even as he said it, he was pulling his nightshirt up and over his shoulders. She could not hold back the glad little cry she let out as he settled back against her, naked in her arms. “Caroline,” he breathed reproachfully. “For fuck’s sake, stop being so…encouraging!”

“Kiss me, Gervaise,” she murmured, grateful there was no light to see by. The dark was so utterly freeing, and she felt entirely shameless about her eagerness. He did so, with a thoroughness that left her thrilled and breathless. The hard press of his body against her own made her feel wild with some kind of rising need.

Finally, she knew why they called Miss Pomfrey a wild woman. She felt wild. She felt as reckless and desirable as any artist’s model or the belle of any provincial ball. Gervaise desired her. He had felt obligated to offer marriage, but he was not acting from duty or responsibility now. She was sure of it.

His kisses were hungry and so were his roaming hands. He too felt as though he could not get enough of her. His body felt so different to hers, muscular and sinuous, where she was soft and smooth. So excited was she that she should probably be embarrassed by it. Here in the dark, however, she did not care to hide the fact and gave herself free rein to explore his intriguing body at will.

He breathed heavily as she ran her hands over his jaw and neck, then down over his chest. “Why, Gervaise, you’re hairy!” she exclaimed in surprise, wishing the first time for light to see.

“Yes,” he murmured in husky agreement before taking her mouth again. When her questing fingers slid lower, he caught them and held them fast. “Caroline…” he burst out, chest heaving, and to her great surprise, he sounded panicked. “Have mercy, for pity’s sake.”

She held still at that, blinking in the dark. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to take pity? What had she done wrong? she wondered, her thoughts scrambling. Had she been too greedy for him? “Very well,” she resolved. “You must touch me then, instead.” She tugged lightly on her hands, and he released them at once.

He took a deep breath as though fortifying himself for some ordeal and Caroline’s confidence wavered slightly. Did he not want to? The thought was a lowering one. Before she could grow too dismayed, she felt the back of his hand stroke gently over her cheek, down her neck, then lightly caress her collarbone.

Even this featherlight touch made her heart race. “You have been deprived, haven’t you?” he marveled, but he did not sound mocking this time. For some reason the words still stung, and Caroline shut her eyes tight. His hand slid back up to cup her cheek, preventing her from turning away. “Shhh,” he soothed her though she had not spoken a word. “Let me be good to you, Caroline. I want to be, if you will only let me.”

What did he mean by that? Before she could puzzle it out, his lips were back on hers, scattering her thoughts. This time his kisses were cautious and tentative. They were quieting kisses, soothing kisses with only the faintest suggestion of his tongue which eluded her own, darting and withdrawing where before it had swept in so boldly.

They maddened her. She chased his tongue with her own, her arms winding around Gervaise’s neck so he could not escape her. Finally, finally he relented and their tongues tangled together in a searing kiss which had Caroline moaning into his mouth.

When he broke the kiss, he swore softly, then trailed small kisses along her jaw. “I want to perform a service for you,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I suspect you will enjoy it but there are no guarantees.”

“A service?” she repeated, feeling confused. Like turning down the bed?

“Mmmm. Shall we try it?”

It did not sound very exciting. “You think I will like it?”

“You’ve liked everything else so far,” he reminded her, his breath tickling her ear.

“Then yes,” she agreed easily.

He expelled his breath noisily. “Bend your knees, then spread them,” he instructed and she felt him shift down the bed, peeling back the covers, then dragging them around. He was remaking the bed, she thought with crushing disappointment. They must be finished here.

Her face felt very hot from lying there with her legs apart. She felt exposed despite the decent cover of her nightgown and prey to a sudden fear she was strangely wet between her legs. How odd. The next thing she knew, he was bundling a blanket about her shoulders. “Don’t want you to grow cold,” he muttered.

“You are the one who is naked,” she reminded him.