“Partly. It’s also never mattered what kind of bed I sleep in, or what kind of chair I sit on.”
“But it does matter.” It concerned and puzzled Garrett that he would deny himself an ordinary life of comfort. “It should matter.”
Their gazes met for a long moment. “It does now,” Ethan said in a low voice.
Filled with tenderness and worry, Garrett laid her hand against his lean cheek. “You haven’t been kind to yourself. You must deal more gently with yourself.”
He nuzzled into her palm. “I have you to be kind to me. I have you to deal with me in any manner you wish.”
“I’d like to domesticate you just a little,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart. “But not so much that you would feel like a lap dog.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It all depends on the lap.” He pressed her to the white cloth on the ground. His lips touched her collarbone and followed it to the base of her throat.
A glittering mosaic of sun, blue sky, and green leaves filled her vision as he browsed over her slowly, drawing in the scent and taste of her, feeling the shape of her limbs through her thin dress. “Someone might see,” she protested, squirming as she felt his tongue swirl in the hollow of her clavicle.
“We’re behind a pair of hampers the size of river barges.”
“But if one of the footmen should come back—”
“They know better than that.” He unfastened her bodice and inched it down until the tips of her breasts were revealed. His thumbs grazed the soft buds in circles, bringing them to aching tightness, making them ready for his mouth.
Garrett closed her eyes against the dappling of light from the branches far overhead. By now her body had become so attuned to the sensitive skill of his touch that it took only the slightest overture for her nerves to light with anticipation. His lips closed over her breast, tugging at the swollen pinkness, the tip of his tongue flirting and stroking. Lightly his hands moved over and beneath her clothing, unfastening, gently pulling, until the thin layers of fabric offered no defense.
There were times when desire made her restless, wanting to clamber all over him. But there were other times, such as now, when a strange hot lassitude weighted her limbs, and she could only lie beneath him passively, her heart pounding, her muscles twitching and laboring for the pleasure he offered. He murmured in between kisses, telling her how beautiful she was, how he loved the softness and strength of her. His thumb and forefinger closed over each satiny inner lip of her sex in turn, fondling delicately. A moan broke from her lips, and she lifted to him, her hips catching a helpless arch.
“Patience,” he murmured, a smile curling against her skin. “You’ll have your pleasure when I’m ready to give it.”
But as his thumb slid to the inflamed little crest of her clitoris, gently stroking and cossetting, a deep pulse of ecstasy went all through her. She quivered hard, sensation running through her with the resonance of a bell tone. Ethan gave a subtle growl of delight and kissed her throat. He scolded her softly, pretending displeasure at her lack of control, her wetness, and while he was admonishing her, he slipped two fingers deeply inside and teased her into more delicious spasms.
She was too dazed to summon words, only clutched her arms around his neck and spread her legs wide, wanting him so badly that nothing else mattered.
A whisk of laughter fanned her ear. Ethan whispered that she was lovely and shameless and naughty, and there was only one thing to be done with her. Her skirts were pulled up high, and he mounted her, the masculine weight of him lowering between her thighs. He entered her with infinite care, filling her not as an act of possession but of worship, using himself to caress her inside and out. His kisses tasted of spearmint and his skin was fragrant with salt and sun, the wonderful smell of summer. His eyes were ardent, the color of a hot blue midnight, his face flushed as he thrust slowly within her.
God, the way he moved . . . sinuous and natural, like the flickering of a flame or the rippling of water. Undulating, surging. One of the long strokes angled just the right way, rubbing exquisitely inside her, while his groin nudged the tingling center of her sex, and she whimpered in response. He did it again, and again, while his mouth fastened over hers in a deep, drugging kiss. She felt her body clinging to him, reshaping itself for him. She felt him in every part of herself, in her blood and bones, in the primal earthly rhythm of pushing and pulling, opening and closing, rising and falling.
Half mad with desire, she tugged her mouth away from his. “Finish inside me,” she begged. “Don’t pull back at the last moment, I want all of you, I want—”
Ethan hushed her with his mouth, kissing her strongly. “Acushla,” he said with a low, uneven laugh, “for a woman who doesn’t like to be spontaneous, you have your moments.” He pressed his shaven cheek hard against hers. “When we’re back safe in London, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I want a life with you.” Years with him. A fireside of children with him.
“My life is yours,” he said huskily. “You own every minute I have left. You know that . . . don’t you? . . .”
“Yes. Yes.” Sensation flooded her and swept away every thought, every awareness except the two of them, summer-heated and bound in love, merging and fusing until it seemed as if they were sharing one body, one soul.
Chapter 23
In the three weeks since she had arrived at Eversby Priory, Garrett had discovered that, contrary to popular opinion, one did not sleep more deeply in the peace and quiet of the countryside. Without the familiar lulling mixture of city sounds, she was surrounded by silence so comprehensive that even the hopeful chirp of a cricket or the croak of a lonely toad, would bring her sitting bolt upright in bed.
Since she couldn’t resort to medicinal remedies to induce sleep, she had tried reading, with mixed results. A book that was too interesting only made her even more awake, but if it was too dull, it couldn’t hold her attention long enough to help her relax. After searching through the extensive library on the ground floor, she had finally found Livy’s History of Rome condensed into five volumes, which suited her perfectly. So far, she had finished the first volume, ending with the first Punic War and the destruction of Carthage.
Her rest was especially difficult tonight. She tossed and turned in the broken hours past midnight, never descending into a full sleep. Her brain refused to stop milling, grappling with the knowledge that they would return to London the day after tomorrow. For a brief, longing moment she considered going to Ethan’s room for reassurance and comfort. However, she knew exactly where that would lead, and he needed rest far more than she did.
Wishing she had thought to bring volume two of the History of Rome upstairs with her, Garrett debated whether it was worth going down to the library in the middle of the night. After plumping her pillow, she lay back in her rumpled bed and tried to concentrate on something monotonous. Sheep marching single file through a gate. Drops of water falling from a rain cloud. She recited the alphabet forward and backward. She went through the multiplication table.
Finally, she gave an exasperated sigh and went to squint at the mantel clock. It was four in the morning, too late and yet too early, the hour of dairy farmers and coal miners and insomniacs and the History of Rome, Volume II.