Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(32)
His cock twitched.
Unbelievable. He was completely wrung out and yet stirring again. He walked across the room and opened a drawer to reveal a pile of soft white linen towels. Ruby always had everything prepared. He took one out and wet it in the pitcher of cool water. He wished there were ice. Maybe with ice he could have cooled his heated body—although he doubted anything could cool the fires that lay banked and ready in his mind.
He wiped himself clean and refastened his trousers. Maybe if he put it away, his cock would get the message that this interlude was over.
He grabbed another towel and wet it. Then, holding it tight in his hand to warm, he turned and moved back to the bed.
She laid there, quiet, legs spread and face turned away. Her dark-blond hair was fanned out across the white linen of the pillows, her face relaxed, her eyes closed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her more beautiful. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out with the now-warm cloth. She started at his stroke but did not pull away, even when his touch became most intimate.
Her eyes opened slowly and she stared up at him, not searching for secrets but gazing softly and contentedly.
“You liked that?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“It would be hard for me to deny and you do insist on truth, so, yes, I enjoyed it, although ‘enjoy’ seems like a very mild word for that.”
“For an orgasm. The French call it ‘the little death.’?”
“Le petit mort. That is fitting. I do feel rather like I have died and been reborn.”
He took the two used cloths and walked across the room to place them in the washbowl. He stood for a moment facing away from her, delaying whatever would come next. He did not know what to do. This was the point where either he left or his partner did. The encounter was concluded. There was no need for further small talk or…
“You have grown quiet,” she said, shifting upon the bed.
He turned to find she had pulled up her bodice and rearranged her skirts. Only her hair and the flush upon her pale cheeks hinted at what she had been up to.
“I am merely thinking. This evening did not go as I expected.”
“You mean I did not leave as I was supposed to?”
“Yes. I did not think things would go this far between us.”
“You do know that I ask nothing more of you,” she replied.
“Nothing more?”
“Well, I admit that I would like for us to meet again. I would like to do that again, to experience it again—and more. I now understand why people risk all for it.”
And she had not even experienced the full of it, did not know the difference between an orgasm one gave oneself and that experienced with another. “I do not know if that is wise.”
“Are we back to this argument?”
“I will agree to meet here again—tomorrow. We will talk then.”
“Talk?” Her disbelief was clear.
“Yes. There is much to be decided if we are to pursue this further.”
“Then why not meet in the park?”
“We may do that later, but for now we will meet here, where I am sure we will not be overheard. The discussion I wish to have is not fitting for a morning stroll.”
“Fine.” She did not sound happy—and still clearly did not believe him.
“Good; we will discuss our future then.” He turned from her. He was so tempted to partake again, her tousled appearance calling to him. “I will leave first. And I would suggest you then follow in a few minutes. If I am seen by myself, it will not seem odd, but with a mysterious companion, questions may be asked.”
“Do you not come here with other ladies who must keep their identities secret?”
“Now, that would be telling.” He walked to the mirror and fixed his neckcloth and smoothed his hair. It was remarkable how little damage had been done to his appearance.
She had not been as lucky. “Do you need me to send a maid to you to fix your hair?” he asked.
She slid from the bed and came to stand beside him. “No, I will be fine. My cloak will cover all, and I will slip into the house when I return home.”
“And how do you plan to proceed home?” For a man who tried to consider everything, he had not thought about that. Did he need to escort her?
“I have a groom and carriage waiting a street over. Ruby has promised to find a footman to walk me there.”
“Is that proper?”
She laughed, the sound delicate and delighted. “Do you really think this is the time to be asking about such things?”
No, he supposed it was not. “Fine,” he said, more curtly than he meant. But it was good to remind her that emotions were not involved.
And then, without another word, he walked to the door and slipped out.
—
Strangely deflated, Angela stared about the chamber. A few moments ago she had thought life could not be more wonderful, and now she only felt empty. It was like opening a present to discover a box filled with dust and cobwebs.
She walked across the room, reached into the pitcher of water, and splashed her face, then stared into the mirror. Her cheeks were so red, her lips slightly swollen from where she had bitten down on them. She could not decide if it was an attractive look or not. If she had run a mile race she would look about the same, she imagined. She splashed her face again.