Once Upon a Winter's Eve (Spindle Cove #1.5)(18)

He laughed a little, just to mitigate the sting to his pride. And then the memories of her—of that night—surged to the forefront of his mind, chasing out every other emotion. How she’d laid a hand to his cheek, just at the moment they’d joined. The sweetest gesture, layered atop the purest bliss.

Nudging aside the silk of her hem, he slid a single fingertip along her stockinged ankle. Beneath his touch, she felt so sleek, so sweet. In his misspent youth, Christian had skimmed his fingertips over many a silk stocking, but now… Almost a year had passed since he’d caressed anything this fine.

He was no confident seducer now. He was a coarse, humble farmhand with his hand under a well-bred lady’s skirt. In a house full of sleeping people who might wake at any moment. The pleasure was deliciously forbidden. The potent rush of arousal was like life itself. And the crisp rustle of her petticoat was the most arousing sound he’d ever heard.

Unable to resist, he slipped his hand up her calf. He pressed two fingertips to the hollow of her knee. A warm pulse fluttered beneath his touch.

“Christian…” Her voice was breathy. Needy.

He ought to leave, he told himself. He must flee before the militia descended, or it would all be over. His career—and perhaps his life, as well—depended on his making a swift exit.

But his soul needed this.

He eased closer, resting his brow on her shoulder. “Give me another chance, Violet. I have so little to offer you, and we have so little time. Let me give you pleasure, at least.” He swept his hand farther up her leg. “Let me show you how good it can be.”

As he caressed her thigh, Violet’s breath left her lungs in a long, languid sigh.

“Violet.” His lips grazed her throat.

Was this truly happening? Was she truly allowing it to happen, again?

As he kissed her neck, he nudged her chin upward. She let her head roll back in implicit surrender. While his hot tongue drew wicked patterns on her skin, she stared up at the ballroom’s Christmas splendor. The unlit chandelier branched high above. Lush red and green swags festooned the columns, and gold-foiled cut stars dangled from the ceiling beams.

He bent his head to her décolletage, nuzzling the exposed tops of her br**sts. He trailed little kisses along her neckline. All the while, his questing fingertips climbed the slope of her inner thigh. His touch, while rougher than before, still left her damp and yearning. Just as it had that first night.

“Let me show you,” he murmured. “There’s so much pleasure to be shared.”

He slid his hand between her legs.

Oh. Oh, so good.

Her ni**les drew to tight points as he stroked her there. She twisted a little, letting the sensitive tips chafe against the restrictive boundary of her corset. He was teasing her, and she teased herself. Making the ache so sweet, so good. Making everything worse.

“Yes,” he moaned, pushing aside the folds of her drawers. “This time, I’ll do right by you.”

His words gave her the jolt of reality she needed. He’d do right by her, he said. How, precisely? By using her body, then leaving in the morning?

“Stop.” She clamped her thighs together, trapping his fingers. “Stop.”

He kept right on kissing her cle**age. “Darling, I promise, this time I’ll make it good. Better than good. We can make bliss, between us. Greater joy than you’ve ever dreamed.”

He stretched his trapped fingers, striving to reach her intimate flesh.

She tightened the vise of her thighs. “Truly. Do you truly believe you can stumble in here tonight, rave nonsense in an obscure language, drug my protector, and—despite the wrong you did me last time—convince me to lie back and lift my skirts for you? Here on the floor, in the center of a ballroom? Do you really think I’m that foolish?”

“Well, I…”

She sniffed. “Of course you think I’m that foolish. Why wouldn’t you? After all, I am the same girl who followed you up to your bedchamber and surrendered her virtue whilst our parents played cards downstairs—with no offer of marriage on the counterpane, much less declarations of tender love. It shouldn’t be any great trick to seduce me tonight. Is that what you’re thinking?”

He shook his head. “No. No, I—”

“I’m a fool.” Her voice broke. “Too easily dazzled to resist. Too dimwitted to pause a moment and consider the consequences. Too stupid to know what an orgasm is. ‘Oh, Violet,’” she mimicked. “‘Let me show you how good it can be.’ Well, allow me to show you something, Christian.”

She raised the pistol and pressed the barrel to his temple.

He cringed. “Violet, for the love of God.”

“Remove your hand. Now.” She relaxed her thigh muscles just enough that he could slide his hand free.

He wisely complied.

“You’re going to listen to me for a minute.” She drew a deep breath, inching backward on the waxed parquet until a yard or so separated them. With steady hands, she kept the pistol aimed at his chest. “I adored you. All my life, I adored you. I asked nothing of you. No promises, no courtship. I surrendered my virtue. I gave you my trust. And you left me with a note.”

His mouth twisted in an expression of regret. He pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m so very—”

“Twenty-six words!” she shot back, in the loudest whisper she could manage. “I gave you my virginity, and you left me twenty-six scribbled words.”