A Dangerous Fortune(52)

Hugh drew up the chair from the desk and made her sit down. He knelt in front of her, took off her shoes, and dried her wet feet with a fresh towel. She closed her eyes: the sensation of the warm, soft towel on the soles of her feet was exquisite.

Her dress was wet through, and she shivered. Hugh removed his coat and boots. Maisie knew she could not get dry without taking off her dress. Underneath she was quite decent. She was not wearing knickers—only rich women did—but she had on a full-length petticoat and a chemise. Impulsively she stood up, turned her back to Hugh and said: “Will you undo me?”

She could feel his hands shaking as his fingers fumbled with the hooks-and-eyes that fastened her dress. She was nervous too, but she could not back out now. When he was done she thanked him and stepped out of the dress.

She turned to face him.

His expression was a touching mixture of embarrassment and desire. He stood like Ali Baba staring at the thieves’ treasure. She had thought vaguely that she would simply dry herself with a towel and put her dress back on later, when it had dried, but now she knew it was not going to be like that. And she was glad.

She put her hands on his cheeks, pulled his head down and kissed him. This time she opened her mouth, expecting him to do the same, but he did not. He had never kissed that way, she guessed. She teased his lips with the tip of her tongue. She sensed that he was shocked but excited too, and after a moment he opened his mouth a fraction and responded shyly with his tongue. He began to breathe harder.

After a while he broke the kiss, reached for the top of her chemise and tried to undo the button. He fumbled for a moment then grasped the garment with both hands and tore it open, sending buttons flying. His hands closed over her bare breasts and he shut his eyes and groaned. She felt as if she were melting inside. She wanted more of this, now and always.

“Maisie,” he said.

She looked at him.

“I want to …”

She smiled. “So do I.”

When the words were out she wondered where they came from. She had spoken without thinking. But she had no doubts. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything.

He stroked her hair. “I’ve never done it before,” he said.

“Nor have I.”

He stared at her. “But I thought—” He stopped.

She felt a spasm of anger, then controlled herself. It was her own fault if he had thought she was promiscuous. “Let’s lie down,” she said.

He sighed happily, then said: “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” she repeated. She could hardly believe he had said that. She had never known a man who would ask that question. They never thought about how she felt. She took his hand in hers and kissed the palm. “If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.”

She lay down on the narrow bed. The mattress was hard but the sheet was cool. He lay beside her and said: “What now?”

They were approaching the limits of her experience, but she knew the next step. “Feel me,” she said. He touched her tentatively through her clothing. Suddenly she was impatient. She pulled up her petticoat—she had nothing on underneath—and pressed his hand to her mound.

He stroked her, kissing her face, his breath hot and fast. She knew she should be afraid of getting pregnant, but she could not focus on the danger. She was out of control: the pleasure was too intense for her to think. This was as far as she had ever gone with a man, but all the same she knew exactly what she wanted next. She put her lips to his ear and murmured: “Push your finger in.”

He did so. “It’s all wet,” he said wonderingly.

“That’s to help you.”

His fingers explored her delicately. “It seems so small.”

“You’ll have to be gentle,” she said, although a part of her wanted to be taken furiously.

“Shall we do it now?”

She was suddenly impatient. “Yes, please, quickly.”

She sensed him fumbling with his trousers, then he lay between her legs. She was frightened—she had heard stories about how much it hurt the first time—but she was also consumed by longing for him.

She felt him ease into her. After a moment he encountered resistance. He pushed gently, and it hurt. “Stop!” she said.

He looked at her worriedly. “I’m sorry—”

“It will be all right. Kiss me.”

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her lips, gently at first and then passionately. She put her hands on his waist, lifted her hips off the bed a little, then pulled him to her. There was a pain, sharp enough to make her cry out, then something gave way inside her and she felt a tremendous release of tension. She broke the kiss and looked at him.

“Are you all right?” he said.

She nodded. “Did I make a noise?”

“Yes, but I don’t think anyone heard.”

“Don’t stop,” she said.

He hesitated a moment longer. “Maisie,” he murmured, “is this a dream?”

“If it is, let’s not wake up yet.” She moved against him, guiding him with her hands on his hips. He followed her lead. It reminded her of how they had danced together just a few hours earlier. She gave herself up to the sensation. He began to pant.

Distantly, above the noise of his breathing and hers, she heard a door open.

She was so absorbed in her feelings and Hugh’s body that the sound failed to alarm her.