“Hold off what?” Her question was lost in his ragged groan. He lifted her off his staff, his groan transforming to a drawn-out growl as hot liquid dripped upon her belly. Before she could come to terms with this stunning development, he’d swiped it away with his palm and collapsed atop her. He let out a long, contented breath.
How strange and mysterious he seemed to her now. She had known August as long as she could remember, but she’d never known this side of him, this sweating, kissing, licking, thrusting part of his nature. How comfortable he was in such activities. Why, she believed he was falling asleep on top of her.
“Milord,” she whispered, stirring. “Please, I must go.”
“Not yet.” He moved a little off her, so she could breathe again, but he kept her trapped beneath one arm and one muscular thigh. “I don’t want you to go yet. Just a little while and I’ll let you up, and send you back to bed with a bit of sweetness for your trouble.”
Sweetness. What did he mean by that? Money? Tears pooled in her eyes. Oh, she’d done an unforgivable thing. She’d gone from a kitchen maid to something more like a whore. She knew that men weren’t perfect, especially men like August who were reputed to be fast with women, but she’d never expected to be confronted with this side of him so…intimately.
She had to get away.
“Please, milord.” She tried again to squirm from beneath him.
He caressed her arm. “No, not yet. You smell so sweet, and you’re soft and warm. And it’s my birthday, did I tell you? Just a few minutes more.”
All right. A few minutes more. The last few minutes, because then she’d have to leave this bed and never, ever tell a soul about what had taken place. She’d have to see Lady Priscilla on August’s arm, and exchange words with the two of them, for August was one of her brother’s closest friends. Meanwhile, in her mind she’d be remembering August’s scent and the feel of his naked skin. She’d helplessly recall the scratchiness of his stubble beneath her fingertips, and the firm hardness of his...
Oh. No.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away before it could alert him to her distress. What a colossal mistake she’d made. Warren had always fretted that her sleepwalking would be the death of her. He would probably prefer her death to a situation like this.
But for these last few minutes, she would soak in everything sensual and compelling about August, because she would never be this close to him again. She would remember the feel of his body against hers, his tender kisses and grasping hands, and his heavy satisfaction. She would tuck it away in her memory for the future, which, in her case, had come to look terribly bleak.
Chapter Three: Minette
August stretched and tightened his hold on the delectable female beneath him. The subtle musk of lovemaking still lingered in the air, along with the scent of her soft, alluring hair. They must have fallen asleep after their sensual exertions. He needed to rise and fetch her a douceur for her willing company, and send her on her way.
In a moment. First he groaned and pressed his cock against her. He was rigid as a rail. A small voice responded, “Oh, no.” It wasn’t Mary’s voice, but a voice he recognized.
He just didn’t understand why he was hearing it in his bed.
His eyes wrenched open. The serving lass squirmed beneath him, only she wasn’t a serving lass. August blinked, then blinked again. His cock wilted with tremendous speed as he stared down at Minette’s terrified blue eyes and mussed blonde hair.
“I’ll just— Oh, bother. I fell asleep,” she said. “If I could just get my shift—” She wiggled back from him and tumbled right over the side the bed.
“Jesus. Minette.” He sat up to help her, and then he saw the blood. It was all over the sheets, all over her shift.
All over him.
No. This wasn’t happening. He’d taken a servant girl to bed, a melting, shy, pleasing servant girl, who at some point had inexplicably transformed into his best friend’s sister. He reached down and caught her arm, and saw more blood between her thighs. He knew some virgins bled, but it looked like he’d slaughtered a goddamned animal.
He hauled her to her feet and helped her pull her night shift over her head. Her fingers scrabbled at the laces, drawing it closed about her neck. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he...he couldn’t get the sight of her bloodied thighs out of his brain. Her gaze dropped to his waist, and lower, to his half-erect cock. Didn’t his body understand this crisis? He pulled the sheets up over his randy organ and wished himself to the devil.
What the hell was he to do?
He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t make this different. He had done this thing—bedded his friend’s sister on a cursed Hallowe’en night. He would have to marry her now, to preserve her honor, and his. Not that he had much honor to cling to in this whole mess. Good God, Minette. He’d taken her virginity, and he hadn’t been respectful or tender about it. He’d bedded her exactly like what he thought she was, a saucy servant girl. August lay back on the bed and covered his face with his hands.
“This can’t be happening,” he muttered. “I was supposed to marry Priscilla. I was to offer for her this week.”
“You still can,” Minette said. “I’ll go. We’ll just...forget this ever happened.”
He caught her wrist before she could skitter away. “You can’t go. I’ve been inside you. I’ve had your virginity.” His gaze returned, along with hers, to the stain between them on the bed. “I thought you were the goddamned kitchen maid. Why didn’t you stop me?”
Minette stared at him, wringing her hands. “I don’t know. I was asleep in the beginning, and then it began to feel rather pleasant and...” She clutched her night shift closer across her chest. “I had no idea what you int
ended to do at the end.”
“No idea?” He threw out his arms in disbelief. “I did exactly what happens when ladies slip into gentlemen’s beds in the middle of the night, you blighted innocent.”
“I didn’t mean to slip into your bed. I was asleep! I always sleepwalk when I’m troubled.”
“Did you have to sleepwalk to my room? I thought you were someone else.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. She blinked and they careened down her pale cheeks, sparkling trails of grief he’d caused her. He’d utterly debauched the girl, his best friend’s sister, the woman he’d long looked on as a sister of his own. He took her hand, because he couldn’t bear to touch any other part of her.
“God, don’t cry. We have to think about what to do.”
She wiped her tears away, but more overflowed. “Let me go to my room, August. I’ll wash up. We can hide the sheets somewhere, or burn them. You don’t have to marry me. Let me sneak back to my bed before the entire house is up.”
“I’m not talking about the marriage part, dear girl. I’m talking about Warren. Your brother will call me out for this, if he doesn’t murder me where I stand.”
“He’ll never know,” she insisted. “I won’t tell him. I swear, I never will! I ought to have stopped you. I wish I had stopped you!”
August yanked back the curtain on his side and searched for his breeches. Very well for her to wish that now, when it was far too late for either of them. He’d have to marry her, or spend the rest of his life knowing himself for a detestable villain. How was he to manage this debacle? His mother wouldn’t understand. Lord Colton would be livid, and Warren would think he’d lost leave of his senses when he offered for Minette.
Minette. God save him.