Through the steamy haze in her mind, she realized he was caught in this whirl of pleasure and hadn’t heard. She cleared her throat and spoke more loudly, “Not here.”
He growled with frustration and lifted his head. “Where?”
With every second in his arms, the horror of Lord Neville’s assault receded, submerged in a wild, reckless elation that turned the night brighter than the Harmsworth Jewel. She fumbled for his hand. “Follow me.”
With her other hand, she tugged her bodice across her breasts and wrapped his coat around herself. Modesty was absurd after he’d touched her so carnally. But she was reluctant to wander the woods half-naked like a nymph.
He groaned. “This is revenge, isn’t it? For the times I teased you about your embroidery or interrupted your work.”
Laughing softly, she squeezed his hand. Sweetness leavened desire until her heart brimmed so full, it must surely burst from her chest. She hardly noticed Christopher collecting the lantern. She turned toward the end of the pond, shrouded in thick trees and bushes.
Richard struggled to leash his urge to tumble her where they stood. She seemed so eager, but he couldn’t forget how she’d looked crushed beneath Fairbrother. She needed a perfect lover now, a man to worship her, treat her the way he’d treat antique lace or Venetian glass. Richard wanted her so much, more than he’d wanted any other woman, but tonight of all nights, he couldn’t let his selfishness rule him. This was about restoring Genevieve’s bruised spirit.
In a daze of anticipation, he followed her through the dark woods. She pushed through low branches. Richard was so focused on Genevieve, he needed a moment to identify the structure rising from the undergrowth as if planted there. But it was manmade. And completely hidden from anyone passing a few feet away.
“I had no idea.” In amazement, he stared at the tiny white temple shrouded in greenery.
Genevieve led him up cracked marble stairs, littered with dead leaves. “I found it not long after we came to Little Derrick.” She paused. “My mother died just before that. This provided the perfect place to hide and grieve.”
“Darling—” Fierce compassion pierced him. Tenderly he raised her hand and kissed the knuckles.
She turned in the doorway, shaking her glorious hair back from her face. “Welcome.”
His breath caught at the sight of her. She gleamed gold in the lantern light and her face was as pure as an angel carved on a cathedral front.
With a cursory glance at his surroundings, he stepped through the columned entry. The space was astonishing enough to occupy his attention, if the woman he loved hadn’t stared at him as though he brought the stars down from the sky to set at her feet.
“Good God.” With a shaking hand, he set the lantern on the marble floor with its geometric patterns. She’d furnished the summerhouse with candles and a table. And, praise the Lord, pillows. Pillows and cushions stacked against columns. Pillows and cushions piled to form a bed worthy of a harem.
She smiled. “Do you like it?”
He smiled back and gently drew her down to the bed until they kneeled facing one another. “Yes. You must tell me about it.” He caught her thick fall of hair in his fist, revealing the graceful curve of shoulder and neck. She was so delicious, he could eat her up. “Much later.”
He swung her close for a drugging kiss. She responded without hesitation, her mouth open and ravenous. Her hands curled around his arms.
Giddy with love, he kissed her throat. Her scent invaded his head. Warm flowers. Female musk. Genevieve. Above all, Genevieve.
He nipped her earlobe. Her breath escaped in humid little gasps and she arched, the peaks of her breasts grazing his chest through his shirt. She was no passive lover. Her capable hands grabbed his open collar. He waited for her to push his shirt aside, but her impatience exceeded his. With a grunt, she tore his shirt in two, then rose on her knees to skim her mouth across his pectorals.
Her desire fed his. Made him ready to take on the world and win. How had he lived without her? Still he couldn’t forget her ordeal with Fairbrother. The memory tempered passion, made him careful, as he couldn’t remember being careful with a lover.
He caught her face in his hands, chary of her bruised cheek. “I want to see you naked.”
Her eyes were dark and mysterious. “I want to see you naked too.”
For all her boldness, her hands trembled as she brushed his ruined shirt from his shoulders. Then slowly, so slowly that it was excruciating torture, she touched him, learning him with her fingertips. His heart threatened to burst under the powerful sensations.
Her fingers glanced across one nipple and he jerked with shock. She stopped and regarded him uncertainly. “Should I stop?”
“Hell, no.” He loved the drift of her hands. Even more than her touch, he loved her wondering expression. As though his body was the gateway to a magnificent kingdom that she’d never dreamed existed.
With a few deft movements, he rid her of coat, dress, and corset, then pulled her torn shift over her head. Her torso rose from the froth of white petticoats like a perfect flower. When he took her beaded nipple into his mouth, her taste made his head swim.
His fumbling fingers—no woman in years had made him fumble, but Genevieve demolished practiced technique—released the tapes fastening her petticoats. The need to see her pounded like an army of drummers. He edged her back into the cushions. He drew away petticoats, then slippers, scuffed and dirty after tramping through the woods. Then stockings. With unsteady hands, he tugged her drawers down her long legs.
Dear God in heaven. He’d caught a hint of how exquisite she was when he’d surprised her at the pond. But nothing compared to this moment when she lay bare before him, flushed with desire.
Genevieve’s hands coiled nervously at her sides. He knew she desperately wanted to cover herself.