To Love and to Loathe (The Regency Vows #2)(49)

There were a few moments of adjustment as Jeremy got all of his limbs comfortably situated—he turned his back to rest against the curve of the window and stretched his legs out fully on the seat before him—as, all the while, Diana trembled with indignation atop him.

Only with indignation, she reminded herself firmly, though she was not certain she had been entirely convincing.

“That was not precisely what I had in mind,” she said stiffly, alarmed to discover that the most comfortable posture in this new seating arrangement involved her reclining against his chest. She fought the temptation, keeping her spine uncomfortably straight, even as something deep within her urged her to sink back against him.

“And yet look how nicely it serves us,” he said, his voice lazy and seductive and amused. An arm snaked around her waist, and she stiffened further. “Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re supposed to enjoy my touch, remember?”

“I believe that that is entirely up to you,” she replied, but she abandoned her resistance and sank back against him. The solid warmth of his chest against her back was surprisingly comforting, and she racked her brain for a moment, trying to think if a man had ever held her so. She thought not.

“How right you are,” he said, his mouth still perilously close to her ear, and a moment later she felt the warmth of his lips against the side of her neck, tracing a path from the underside of her jaw down to her collarbone. Her traitorous body responded immediately, of course; her breath quickened as her heart began to pound more rapidly in her chest, and she hoped that he was too occupied with the task at hand—which currently involved placing a lingering kiss at the spot where her neck met her shoulder—to notice. His hands were tucked snugly around her waist, keeping her pressed tight against him, and his hair tickled under her chin where his head was bent. She used her last passing moment of lucidity to wonder if he was going to get a crick in his neck from keeping it at such an angle for so long. At that moment, however, one of his hands slid upward to cup the heavy weight of her breast, and all intelligent thought abandoned her.

She reached her hand up to cradle the back of his head, twisting her head and drawing his mouth up to meet hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss. His tongue twined with hers, and suddenly her body was awash in sensation from the base of her stomach, where a fire was slowly building, to the delicate place between her legs, where her pulse was pounding. She broke away with a gasp, attempting to turn so that she could kiss him properly, but he pressed her back against him more firmly, preventing her from moving.

“Willingham—” she said breathlessly.

“What did we discuss about your use of my name?” There was a teasing note in his voice, as ever, but she was pleased to hear the ragged edge of his breathing.

“Jeremy,” she said from between gritted teeth, but he silenced her with another kiss. She was so consumed by the heat of his mouth and the warmth of his hand at her breast that at first she didn’t notice the downward progress his free hand was making as it inched south, working its way between the layers of skirt and petticoat that shielded her skin from view. She closed her eyes again with a moan at the first kiss of cool air upon her ankle, then moaned again as his warm hand slid up, up along her thigh, growing closer to where she needed him so desperately.

She drew his tongue into her mouth and sucked just as his hand slid between her thighs—

And then, suddenly, everything ceased to be quite so lovely.

It wasn’t that Jeremy was doing anything precisely wrong, of course—he had his hand in the right general area, and even seemed to know which specific portion of her anatomy was most desirous of his attention. Diana had limited experience in this regard, but she understood from other ladies that even this was something of an achievement. His technique, unfortunately, left something to be desired. He was simultaneously moving too fast with one finger and too slowly with another, leaving nothing in his wake so much as a general feeling of frustration.

And while some frustration, of course, heightened the anticipation in these circumstances, Diana thought she had had quite enough anticipation. She was ready for—well, for something she had never experienced with a man before, given that her late husband had been a rather unenthusiastic lover.

Men were confused creatures, and they undoubtedly lacked the capacity to think clearly in these circumstances. Perhaps Jeremy simply needed a bit of silent encouragement.

She tilted her hips upward, trying to force him into a rhythm that was more comfortable for her. He, however, seemed to take her motion as endorsement of his efforts, with the effect being his redoubling of them, to her continued dissatisfaction.

Drat. She was starting to lose some of the lovely, lust-induced fuzziness in her mind. Even his kisses—distracting as they were—were losing their power, as her attention focused on a more southern part of her anatomy.

At last, deciding that the time had really come for action, she broke the kiss, raising her hand to forestall another. She panted for a moment, and felt him breathing heavily behind her. His hand below had, mercifully, stilled, and she decided that this was a perfect opportunity for an instructive moment. Because while Diana might not have had as much practical experience as she might have wished by this point in her life, she had done her best to make up for it with avid—perhaps excessive—reading.

About this topic alone, of course. Heaven forbid anyone ever accuse her of being a bluestocking.