Reluctantly she pulled away until her arms loosely encircled him. The interior of the ancient carriage they’d hired in Clifden was dim, but there was enough light to illuminate the hunger in his face. Over the last six months, she’d learned to recognize this expression.
Her lips twitched. “When we get back . . .”
His eyes glinted with sensual purpose. “No, I want you now.”
He sounded ruthless and determined. Excitement rippled through her. “But we’re in a carriage.”
A wicked smile curled his lips. “I haven’t debauched you in a carriage.”
She blushed. “Actually you have. In your gig in the woods at Keddon. I got a kink in my neck.”
Amusement flickered without dissipating the intensity of his desire. “I don’t recall you complaining.”
As if he’d heard consent, he inched her skirts up. The trailing heat of his hand on her stockinged leg shot another quivering thrill through her. She caught his hand as it reached the bare skin above her garter. “So you do remember we’ve made love in a carriage.”
“A gig. Not a carriage.”
“Do you intend to tumble me in every possible location, my lord?”
He scattered nibbling kisses up her throat and his answer was muffled against her skin. “A man needs a hobby.”
She bit back an unsteady laugh. “Anything to keep you occupied and out of trouble.”
“Very wifely, my love.”
His hand escaped her admonitory grasp and continued up under the leg of her drawers. Then he stopped, curse him. So close to where she wanted him. After six months, she knew he liked to tease.
“I’ll arrive in Clifden looking the veriest hoyden.” She liked to tease too.
“How else would the veriest hoyden look?” he asked with a sly look.
She arched her eyebrows. “Very droll.”
“I promise the jokes will improve if you sit on my lap.”
“They’d better.” As a sign of acquiescence, she removed her bonnet. Because of course she wanted him too. She’d succor him against the world’s harshness. As he said, very wifely.
The road was pitted and winding and the carriage’s springs were at least thirty years old. Clambering across him, she nearly lost her balance. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed his shoulders and rested her knees on the worn seat on either side of him. Even when his hands circled her waist, her position felt precarious.
She stopped worrying about falling when he stretched up to kiss her. She tasted hunger. More, she tasted the turbulent emotion of the last hours. She wasn’t surprised. His lighthearted act was just that, an act.
Love surged in a great wave. She’d use her body to heal the gash in his heart. She’d give him her soul for his plaything. She’d do anything for him.
She kissed him back with every ounce of love she felt. His lips lured her into a magical world where only Nicholas and his touch existed. Until the carriage lurched into a pothole and she nearly toppled into the well between the seats.
She laughed breathlessly as she tightened her grip on his shoulders. “This seems a dangerous occupation.”
“Love is always dangerous,” he said softly, and cupped her breasts with exactly the pressure she liked.
With pregnancy, her breasts were particularly sensitive. Under layers of wool and linen, her nipples tightened. Liquid pooled between her thighs and she shifted restlessly against his legs.
He groaned into her lips, kissing her again. “Hold on.”
She leaned in, brushing her breasts over his chest. The clothing that separated them created unbearable frustration. So quickly he’d stirred her need. He slid his hand through the opening in her drawers and stroked deeply. Stifling a moan, she closed her eyes.
He tugged his breeches open and shifted her so she bore down on the hard pressure. She lifted slightly, delaying the moment of joining.
He buried his face in her neck and she felt his breath, hot and moist, on her skin. She braced against the carriage’s sway and sank down.