‘It would be wrong. Sinful, if I felt like that.’
‘I asked for facts, not a moral judgement,’ he said and saw her flinch at his harshness.
‘Yes,’ she threw back at him. ‘Yes, I want to be your lover. Yes, I want to give my virginity to you. There—does that make you feel better? Because it makes me feel wretched.’ And that time her sob was one of grief as well as anger.
‘Averil.’ The lust drained from him as rapidly as it had come, leaving him empty. ‘Averil,’ and he lifted his hand to touch her cheek. He could not take her virginity, he knew that. If she had a faint chance of making this m
arriage happen, then he had to leave it to her. Somehow he had let himself care that much.
The tendrils of hair that curled around her ears brushed his fingers as she made a little sound that might have been a shocked gasp, that might have been Yes, and feeling came back in a rush. A reluctant tenderness and desire and the realisation that she was his for the asking, here, now.
‘You will go to London and you will be brave and honest and if Bradon does not take you with open arms, then the man is a fool,’ he said. He could not entrap her in the coils of her innocent passion, but he could plan for the inevitable.
‘I would rather not marry a fool,’ she said, a shaky laugh in her voice. ‘I hope he is a good, compassionate man who will forgive all this and makes a kind husband. I hope he makes me feel like this when he touches me.’ Luc pulled her into his arms and bent his head. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Let me make love to you, Averil. This once. I swear you will go to him as much a virgin as you are now.’ And then, when Bradon showed her the door, she would know who to turn to—her desire and her passion would bring her to him.
She tipped up her head, her expression in the silver light eager, all the anger gone. ‘You can do that?’
‘I can give you pleasure and not harm you if you will trust me.’ It was not harm, he told his conscience. The choices were all with the other man.
‘Here? But—’
‘Here.’ He guided her into the arbour that faced away from the house towards the shelter of the slope. ‘Here, now.’
She trusted him. Why, she did not know, for this was her virtue she was risking, not her life, which she knew he would protect at the cost of his. Luc had asked her to be his mistress, he had kissed her until she was dizzy with desire, he was the last man she should yield herself to. And yet she had no will to deny him. Or was it herself that would not be denied?
He pulled her down with him on to the broad-planked seat and kissed her, slowly, druggingly, until analysis was impossible and all that was left was the heat and strength of him and the caress of his mouth and the drift of his hands.
The neckline of the simple gown was no barrier to long fingers sliding under the lace trim to catch and tease her nipples. He rolled them between finger and thumb until she squirmed against him, panting with shocked pleasure. It was as though the wicked play of his fingers pulled on hot wires that led straight to the pulse that beat with urgent insistence between her legs. Averil moaned against his mouth and he stroked his tongue into hers as though to soothe, yet the caress was like pouring oil on to the flames of desire.
‘Please,’ she gasped against his lips. ‘Please …’
She did not know what she was asking for, what to expect. The night air on her legs as Luc’s hand lifted the full silken skirts made her stiffen, but his mouth and his other hand on her breast held her in thrall. Her hands were clasping his head, her fingers laced into the dark hair, his skull hard and shapely under her palms.
‘Relax,’ he said and she almost laughed because she was quivering with tension like an over-tightened violin string and surely she must snap. Luc had her sprawled in utter abandon across his thighs. The hand on her breast held her to him, the other smoothed back the rustling silken skirts until her legs and the paleness of her belly were exposed. In the semi-darkness the dark triangle at the top of her thighs showed stark against the white skin.
‘Luc,’ she whispered. It was shameful and shameless, but he was looking at her with utter concentration, his palm smoothing down over the quivering skin, and under her she felt the heat and thrust of his erection. He found her desirable, and that was infinitely exciting.
But he had promised he would not take her virginity, so what happened now? Surely he would not leave her in this state—aching and needing and so taut that she was trembling?
His big, calloused hand cupped her mound under its sheltering curls as his mouth caught her whimper of protest. One finger slid between the hot, wet folds and began to rub in time to the thrust of his tongue and Averil arched into his palm, pressing against it, instinctively trying to intensify the pleasure.
He had found that tiny knot of sensation where the strange, aching pulse quivered into life every time he touched her and he teased it until he found the rhythm that had her sobbing into his mouth. ‘More,’ she said, her tongue tangling the word into a groan. ‘Oh, more, Luc. More.’
Somehow he must have understood. He lifted his mouth from hers and she saw the glint of moonlight on his teeth as he smiled. ‘More like this?’ he asked and slid a finger deep into her.
She clenched around him, tight, desperate, as the tension swept through her, an irresistible wave, and she lost all hold on reality and screamed as his kiss swallowed the betraying sound.
Chapter Thirteen
‘We had better go in.’
In where? Averil wondered, as she drifted back to reality. Or perhaps it was a dream. She was warm and safe and Luc was holding her and little ripples of pleasure kept running through her body. If they went in, wherever that was, the pleasure would stop.
‘No,’ she mumbled against his shirt front and heard the laugh rumble in his chest.
‘Yes. Come on. Can you stand up?’