“If you stay, we’ll end up shocking Sally’s gardeners.”
He gave a huff of amusement and stole another kiss before he let her sit up. “I have arrangements to make.”
“And we’ll meet tonight.”
“If you look at me like that, everyone will know what’s in store.”
“I can’t help it. I feel like I’m about to take flight.”
Pascal kissed her hand again, not trusting himself to kiss her lips and retain the will to leave. And he intended to make everything perfect for her. That meant putting some thought into his plans and giving orders to his staff. “Tomorrow we’ll take to the sky. Will you walk me to the back gate? In this state, I don’t want to run into Sally or Meg.”
Amy glanced down at him and blushed. “What about your carriage?”
“The moment I got your note, I dashed over.”
“Not even time to harness your horses?”
“Not one second. And it’s only a ten-minute walk. That I did in five.” He’d been hard put not to run, but while she was his mistress, not his wife, he intended to shield her name. She was the next Lady Pascal, even if she hadn’t yet admitted it. On their wedding day, he wanted her to hold her head high.
Pray God, that wasn’t far away.
“Oh, Gervaise…” she sighed and tumbled into his arms again.
It was considerably later when she let him out the back gate with a kiss and a whispered promise of tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
As Gervaise’s carriage rolled up to the pretty little manor house outside Windsor, Amy’s stomach churned with terror and anticipation.
“Second thoughts?” Gervaise asked gently.
She’d spent most of the drive from London silent and pressed close to his side. The warmth of his big male body had helped to counter her rioting nerves. It was another lovely day, and once they’d left London, rampant spring had surrounded them all the way.
“An army of them,” she admitted, firming her grip on his brawny arm.
“You can still change your mind.”
She cast him a doubtful glance, but that remarkable face under the curling brim of his stylish hat was serious. “That’s very sporting of you.”
“You look like you’re about to face the Spanish Inquisition.”
Her brief laugh was bleak. “That bad?”
He smiled with that hint of tenderness that always caught her on the quick and made her foolish heart cramp with longing. “Worse.”
“Kiss me.”
Those dark gold brows arched in inquiry. “Before I take you back to London?”
“Before I step out of this carriage, and you show me what all those wild women have taught you.”
His lips curved in appreciation—and a relief that soothed her fears. It proved he didn’t take her for granted. “We’ll need more than one afternoon for that.”
Before she could respond to his intriguing remark, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing her back against the brass rail behind the carriage seat.
She expected passion, but there was just more of that piercing tenderness. The sweetness seemed almost innocent. Absurd when she was about to give her body to a man who wasn’t her husband.
“Will you stay?” he murmured, breath warm on her face.