Chapter Seventeen
HE WAS UNDONE by her sob, the clenching of her cunnie, and the spasms of her limbs. With his own body falling into that tantalizing paroxysm, Alastair withdrew before the pressure raging inside of him shot forth, though his seed sprayed onto her belly before he could direct it elsewhere. He tried to contain the shudders from collapsing him atop her as pleasure ripped up and down his legs. When the last of his seed had been milked from him, he remained hovering above her to catch his breath.
Looking down at her, he realized he had been undone minutes earlier when their gazes had locked. The bloom of her earlier orgasm and the flush of desire renewed, mixed with a look of wonder, had pushed him past the point of no return. Seeing the furrow of her brow, knowing that euphoria approached for them both, was the most scintillating moment.
Lowering himself, he kissed her brow before rolling off of her. She caught his arm before he left the bed to fetch linen.
“Thank you, Alas—my lord.”
He would have allowed her the use of his name. Taking her hand from him, he kissed it and smiled at her. He glanced down at the emission sliding from her belly.
“Your pardon,” he said.
She followed his gaze, and an impish smile hovered about her lips. He stayed the temptation to kiss her again and went to the sideboard, where he found linen in one of the drawers. He wet the linen in a basin of water. Returning, he cleansed her belly and her thighs. She might not have the most perfect form, but, with her unblemished skin, she was worthy of painting.
“Thank you,” she said again.
There was a captivating sparkle to her eyes, and he gave in to the temptation. He tilted her chin and took her lips, admiring their soft fullness. She gave a contented sigh after they parted. He went to pour her a glass of water, but when he turned to face the bed, he found her stretched upon the bed, her head upon the pillow and her eyes closed.
The bed was barren save for a single bedsheet and the plainest of pillows. He found a blanket in the armoire and covered her. His nightgown was in his bedchambers, but he did not wish to leave her alone.
Climbing into bed beside her, he let out his breath. A part of him wondered that he had taken matters as far as he had, but once he had entered the vortex, he had found his cousin more alluring that he had ever expected. He was glad that she had enjoyed the evening, but would she wake with regrets in the morning? Should he renew his scolding—and add Katherine to his admonitions?
He fell asleep before putting his questions to bed.
* * * * *
When his cousin awoke the following morrow, it was nearly noon. She opened her eyes to find him fully dressed. He had been sitting in a chair, viewing her as she slept, still in amazement of what had happened last night. He had a whole new appreciation for Millie.
Poor Millie. Her misery over her engagement to Haversham was greater than Alastair had cared to understand. It took courage to venture to a place such as the château to honor the carnal cravings inside her. He would never have guessed that she had already compromised herself, but it did not diminish his admiration for her spirit. But now that the port had worn off, would the light of day bring with it the remorse he had sought to save her from?
“Good morning, Millie,” he greeted, and rose from his chair to ring for a servant.
She flushed. “Good morning, er, my lord.”
“It is Alastair now. How fares your backside and other parts?”
She shifted beneath the blanket. “Well, my lord.”
He resisted taking a seat on the bed and returned to his chair. “I will have breakfast brought to you—or lunch, if you prefer.”
She sat up, drawing the blanket over her bosom. “Lunch! Good gracious, what time is it?”
“The noon hour.”
“Heavens! I never sleep this late!”
He smiled. “You did have a strenuous night.”
“Yes, I did,” she said slowly.
He expected the repentance to emerge at this time, but, instead, she smiled and looked at him. “Thanks to you.”
He cleared his throat and crossed one leg over the other to contain the surge of tension at his crotch.
“You have no regrets?” he asked.
“I am fully content with what has transpired.”