“She did, but Mrs. Hawthorne held her ground on the subject of necklines during a first season.”
“Necklines?”
Gillian waved her hand before her chest. “How much cleavage a young woman should show to avoid appearing fast in her first season.”
“Is that the usual sort of conversation you must endure every night?” He winced. “It is times like this I despair of being a man.”
“Why is that?”
“As a man, I enjoy a lower neckline. But as a father, I feel quite the opposite.”
Gillian chuckled, and then realized that despite kissing Stapleton, they were still the same people. There was no awkwardness between them anymore. “I am certain most fathers grapple with that dilemma.”
“What is your advice, Mrs. Thorpe?”
“For necklines? That you leave those decisions to her current dressmaker. The woman has excellent taste.”
“No doubt you are right, as you have been in so many things.” His smile returned. “Well, if there
is nothing else, I should not keep you.”
He stood, and held out his hand to assist her up, something he’d never done before. When Gillian slipped her palm over his, he gripped her hand gently. She could leave, and he would not mind that she’d denied him.
Or she could stay and discover if he did everything as well as he kissed.
She stood and kept hold of his hand, but her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
Nicolas paused, and then dipped his head slowly toward hers. Their lips brushed, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to light a fire inside her. Gillian slid her hands up his forearms until he embraced her.
“Ah, Gillian,” he whispered between kisses. “You honor me.”
Gillian wound her arms about his neck and gave herself up to Nicolas’ passion. His grip was strong around her body, his hands slow in exploring her curves. She could not get close enough, and when his lips left hers, and his breath came hot against her throat, she moaned.
“Shh,” he whispered. But his kisses grew bolder, the flick of his tongue teasing into her mouth more insistent, until Gillian could barely hold two thoughts together.
His hands cupped her breasts, and she gasped as he removed her shawl.
He lowered her into a chair gently and knelt before her on the rug. Then he buried his face between her breasts. “Necklines,” he whispered, then laughed as he grasped her gown at the shoulders and tugged gently to lower hers.
His breath was hot and panting against the upper swells of her breasts. Gillian curled her fingers into his hair as he revealed one nipple. When he blew over the rosy peak, she almost launched herself into him. Wallace had only ever held them in his dry hands, and only in their bed at night. She was already well out of her depth with Nicolas but loving every moment.
“Patience,” he whispered just before he took her nipple into his mouth. When he sucked, she swallowed a moan, astonished with how utterly good it felt to be made love to.
Nicolas made her wish that her marriage had been different. Her husband had merely lifted her night clothes, and quickly thrust into her a few times before groaning and rolling off to fall asleep immediately after. Her whole experience of the marriage bed had lasted mere minutes each time.
Seventeen times, to be precise.
She would not mind Nicolas’ haste. She wasn’t a wife but a lover, and as impatient as Nicolas appeared to be, too. She assisted him in removing his coat when he began to struggle out of it but became trapped by the tight sleeves.
Once he was free, Gillian grasped his shoulders again as he sank lower. His lips were on her knee, his hands skimming her thighs when sanity briefly returned. “The door.”
“Locked.” He pulled her forward until she perched at the very edge of the chair. His fingers teased between her legs until she was gasping in shock and anticipation.
Nicolas bit his lip again before murmuring, “Do you mind if I indulge you first?”
Gillian shook her head quickly without really knowing what he was suggesting. He could touch her anywhere he wanted, or she’d have to imagine him doing so later when she was alone in her room.
His head dropped, and his lips caressed her inner thighs, and then…