The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(103)

If this is what it was like to be intimate, she had nothing to be afraid of. Jasper was strong and sure of himself. Completely in command of the situation.

Or so she thought.

Only a moment later, it was he who broke the kiss, his breath coming in harsh rasps. He gazed down at her, his gray eyes brilliant with heat.

She brought her hand to cradle his jaw.

He turned his face into her palm, pressing a kiss there.

It was a small gesture. Almost courtly in comparison to the kisses they’d been sharing. The sweetness of it resonated within her, flooding her with a peculiar warmth. Everything at once felt too tight and constrictive. Her corset. Her gown. Her own skin. She was as restless as a wild bird.

He bent his head to hers, nuzzling her cheek, and pressing soft kisses to her lips to soothe her. “You said you wanted to be with me. Is that still true?”

“Yes.”

“I want it, too.” He moved one large hand over the curve of her spine. “But there’s time. We needn’t rush anything.”

“I don’t feel rushed. I feel impatient.”

His mouth tugged into a faint smile. “What would you like me to do about it?”

She flashed him a disgruntled glance. “You don’t know?”

A husky laugh rumbled in his chest. “I do,” he assured her. “Do you?”

She stiffened. Was she supposed to know something? None of the other young ladies of her acquaintance did. Not that she was aware. It was information meant to be imparted by one’s mother—at least, that’s what Mary had claimed. Julia doubted whether her own mama would have taken the trouble. Likely, she’d have left the matter to Julia’s future husband.

Julia felt a rush of relief that it was Jasper she was having this conversation with and not the Earl of Gresham. “I haven’t been given the particulars,” she said. “Though my maid did mention—” She stopped abruptly, too embarrassed to continue.

“What did she say?” Jasper’s lips brushed her temple. “Whisper it to me in my ear, sweetheart.”

Julia sank her voice, a blush burning her face. “She mentioned a minute or two of discomfort.”

Jasper’s hand stilled on her back. “Ah. That.”

She pulled back to look at him, her senses alert. “Is it true?”

He frowned, seeming to consider his words. “The first time may not be entirely comfortable for you.”

“Why not? Is it because of our difference in size?”

“God no. It isn’t . . . That is, it shouldn’t . . .” A red flush crept up his neck, barely visible in the glow of the oil lamp. “What I’m trying to say is . . . I’m going to be careful with you. Gentle. You know that, don’t you? I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Some of the tension eased in Julia’s limbs. “I know,” she said. “I trust you.”

It was the right thing to say. A tacit permission for Jasper to take charge.

And he did.

He gathered her close and kissed her again. He kept kissing her, kept touching her, until she forgot her shyness. Forgot her concerns about his past and her worries about the future. Until she was warm and pliant in his arms.

By the time they were both unclothed and he’d taken her to their bed, her body was awash with passionate sensation. Any discomfort was fast replaced by a feeling of infinite closeness. As if they shared the same breath, the same heartbeat. He had become a part of her.

It wasn’t at all unpleasant. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, either. It was raw and elemental—a moment so powerful in its connection it made tears smart in her eyes.

Never in her life had she been so vulnerable with another person. So totally open and exposed. And Jasper was there with her all the way, just as vulnerable as she was, and as much in need of tender reassurance.

She gave it to him instinctively. Kissing him, holding him, and cradling his big body with her own.

A long while later, as they lay sated in each other’s arms. Julia could think of nothing to say that would do the experience justice.

Jasper had no such difficulty. “I love you.”

Her gaze jerked to his in the waning light. “What?”

“I said that I love you,” he repeated. “You’re not obliged to say it back.”

Emotion closed her throat. She swallowed hard. “Jasper—” She felt him flinch.

Drat it. She’d forgotten his unaccountable dislike of his Christian name.

It was a pity. In that moment, it felt right to call him Jasper. What could be more intimate? More personal? A name was important. She’d told him that herself.

“I realize you aren’t ready,” he said. “How can you be, given what you’ve learned of my past? But I want you to know, despite your reticence . . .” He smoothed a damp strand of hair back from her face. “You have my hear?t, utterly.”

If she hadn’t already been? aglow from his lovemaking, his words would have made her so. “Did I seem reticent?”

“No, you didn’t. But physical passion is easy. Love is something else altogether.”

“‘An ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken,’” she quoted to him from one of her favorite of Shakespeare’s sonnets. “Yes, I know what love is.”