He smiled as if he understood her silence, though he could not possibly understand anything at all. ‘Let us do this properly, shall we?’ he said.
‘Is there any other way?’ she said more boldly than she actually felt at that moment. A doubt niggled at the edges of what remained of her brain. Would she meet his expectations? Harry had accused her of being boring and after a few short weeks had gone elsewhere for his pleasure.
Ethan gave her a sweet smile. ‘Let us hope not.’
* * *
Lying on her back, her face eager, bright and flushed, Petra looked strangely innocent for all that she was so bold. He liked her daring. Certainly, he would not have let things go so far had she not made it perfectly plain what she wanted.
He’d been wanting this for days when he usually didn’t allow himself to want anything at all. One day at a time had been his philosophy for years. It avoided disappointment. That was until he met Sarah. He’d allowed himself to dream of a different future then. And hadn’t that been a stark reminder of why his usual philosophy worked so well?
The here and now was what counted and he was going to make sure she enjoyed their encounter as much as he did. More. Because not only was that what a gentleman did, it was what he wanted for her. It was what she deserved.
Luckily, he had been blessed with the tutoring of one of the most accomplished courtesans in London while he kicked his heels waiting for his orders to come through. She’d had other moneyed clients whom she charged a fortune, but for some reason she had picked him to be her lover on the side for those few short months. Perhaps she’d felt sorry for him. Or enjoyed showing off her prowess to a younger man. He’d never asked. One did not look a gift horse in the mouth. And it was certainly a gift that was being offered to him now. A liaison with a widow, with no strings attached.
But Petra was a different proposition to a courtesan. Or even Sarah. Beneath her prickly outer shell, he sensed she had a delicate centre that would be easy to crush. A soft heart that had likely been crushed in the past.
The thought gave him pause.
‘You truly are sure you want this?’ he asked, gazing into her deep blue eyes already hazy with desire from their kissing.
‘Positive,’ she said, smiling at him. A shadow passed over her expression. An expectation of hurt? ‘Unless...you’ve changed your mind?’
He didn’t want to hurt her for the world. ‘Not a chance,’ he said, kissing first her chin and then her collarbone where it peeked at him above the neckline of her muslin gown. He swirled his tongue around the little hollow of her throat and she shuddered. ‘I simply want you to be sure.’
And he did not want her to feel as if she did not have a choice.
‘I am sure.’ Her eagerness sent the blood from his brain straight to his shaft.
‘I am happy to hear it.’ He smiled down at her and she smiled back. It was if they shared a secret, though he had no idea what it was. But whatever it was, it deserved a kiss.
As they kissed, he undid the bow at the neck of her gown and eased it down over her shoulders. Such delicate pale skin compared to his, which was bronzed by the sun of many summers abroad. Reverently he traced the rise of her breasts where they swelled above her stays and chemise. Small breasts, but beautifully formed. He kissed them one at a time and she gave a soft moan and arched towards him.
It would be easy to hike her skirts and lie between her thighs, but he wanted to reveal all her loveliness, to pleasure her as she deserved. ‘Let me help you out of your gown,’ he murmured close to her ear.
He helped her to stand and turned her around, kissing her lovely nape as he undid the tapes of her gown and her stays. They fell to her feet and, stepping out of them, she turned to face him with a shy and mischievous smile.
He really liked those smiles. He never wanted to see her sad or unhappy. He drank in her beautiful shape, tiny yet with curves in all the right places, and marvelled at his good fortune.
She raised her eyebrows and pointedly glanced down at his breeches, where his erection must be evident through the tight fabric. ‘Do you need help?’
Good lord, he must have been standing here staring at her like some besotted fool. Quickly, he disposed of his boots and stockings and, turning his back, peeled off his breeches.
When he turned to face her, she was once more sitting on the blanket, watching him with an avid expression. He felt like preening.
Inwardly, he laughed at his schoolboy inclinations around her. He’d always told himself that one lover was like any other. That women in general were to be treated with kid gloves and not to be trusted, but with this one he seemed to be constantly battling to retain his guard.
When she opened her arms to him, her high, pert breasts pressing against the filmy fabric of her chemise, he forgot all about such thoughts and fell to his knees beside her, losing himself in her kisses, savouring the hot dark warmth of her mouth with his tongue.
While his lips paid homage to her mouth, his hand found one small breast, its tip furling tight as he circled it with his thumb. With a last lingering kiss to her mouth, he lowered his head and kissed the hard little nub. He suckled, the muslin a sensual counterpoint to the silkiness of her flesh against his tongue.
She sighed her pleasure and her hips arched towards him. He pushed the chemise up to her waist and gazed down her length. The pale gold curls at the apex to her thighs were damp with her desire. He petted the pretty curls and she parted her thighs, giving his fingers access to her hot wet core. He stroked his fingers along her slit until he found the source of her pleasure. She made soft keening noises that drove him nearly insane with desire.
And when her fingers curled around his shaft, squeezing and stroking with a knowing hand, his mind went dark. The urge to plunge into her rode him hard. But he was so bloody big and she was just so tiny.
He rolled over on his back, bringing her with him. She squeaked in surprise, but when she found herself straddling him with his erection pressing against her belly, she smiled and rose up and took him in.
How he survived the first shock of sliding into those tight warm depths without losing control he didn’t quite know, but he gritted his teeth and hung on. At first, she seemed uncomfortable with the position, but with his hands clasped around her waist he helped her find a rhythm and depth that suited her and soon she rode him with the skill of a woman who knew what she liked.
The pleasure on her face was nearly his undoing. He shifted within her until he found the spot that sent shudders rippling through her and made her cry out. A few swift strokes and she came apart.
As she collapsed on his chest, he withdrew from her body, and his own petite mort racked him from head to toe.
He lay panting and boneless for what seemed like for ever. At long last, his breathing returned to normal and a great lassitude came over him. He forced himself to lift her off his chest and cleaned them both up with his shirt tails.
With a sigh of satisfaction, she curled up against him. He enfolded her in the crook of his arm and covered her with his shirt. Hopefully, she would not regret the gift she had bestowed on him when she awoke. He fell into warm darkness.
* * *
A heavy weight pressing on her hip brought Petra to her senses. What...? Oh, yes. Ethan. Warm and alive and one exceedingly heavy thigh across hers. Recollection flooded in. The way he had given her control. The unbelievable pleasure. The complete loss of herself in those last few moments, like falling apart and reforming as someone new.
Had he felt the same thing? Was it something that happened only occasionally during lovemaking? Nothing in her marriage had prepared her for such a shattering experience.
Yes, there had been pleasurable sensations when Harry made love to her...but that explosive ecstasy she’d just felt? No. Compared to the way Ethan made love, Harry seemed clumsy and rushed. As if he’d always been in a hurry to be
done with her. The withdrawal thing she did understand. Harry also had not wanted children. He’d wanted to wait. He’d been having far too good a time as a newly minted member of the ton.
The warm heavy weight shifted as Ethan rolled away. She quelled a shiver at the loss of his heat. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, opening her eyes, surprised to see the sun still shining and glinting through the leaves above their heads. She felt as if she’d slept away a whole night when in truth it must have been only a few moments.
He rose on one elbow to look down at her. ‘Are you all right?’
She stretched. All right? She felt wonderful. Full of energy and lax all at the same time. She smiled into his concerned expression. ‘I am more than all right. Thank you. That was lovely.’
A warm smile lit his face and his eyes danced. ‘My pleasure, I assure you.’
They both laughed.
‘I think perhaps we should dress in case anyone comes along,’ she said, running her hand over his heavily muscled flank and down over the hard, round buttocks. They were positively delicious. So masculine and firm. Sensual. It was going to be a shame to cover them up.
‘Yes, I suppose we should,’ he murmured, leaning forward to lick at her breast.
Her nipples hardened instantly. Tension began building deep in her core.
She glanced down at his now-flaccid member resting against his magnificent thigh. Even at rest it was impressive. And already hardening.
As quick as that, she wanted him again. Wanted to live through that amazing exquisite delight. If it was possible to feel such things a second time?
He rolled away and rose to his feet. ‘You are right, my dear. We do not want to be discovered. Think of your reputation.’ He pulled on his shirt and helped her to rise.
Disappointed, she sighed, but nodded agreement. They had already risked a great deal out here in the woods where anyone might trip over them. Discovery would without a doubt put paid to her and Marguerite’s independence. She really could not do that to Marguerite. She must be more careful next time.
Oh, heavens, was she already planning a next time? Was she really so wanton?
He helped her into her stays and gown, fastening them with all the expertise of a ladies’ maid. Clearly, he had done this before. A pang of jealousy took her by surprise.
To hide her chagrin, she sat down to put on her sandals. ‘If I am to help you today, we should hurry.’
He hunkered down beside her and took over tying the strings. His hands were large, but he accomplished the task with meticulous dexterity. He shook his head. ‘I think you should not come to Longhurst today.’
She froze. He didn’t want her at his house? Did he think less of her because of what they had done? Had he found her lacking in some way as Harry had done? Cold trickled into her chest.
‘I told Mrs Stone I would be gone all day,’ he said. ‘It might look strange if we were to arrive there together.’
Cold was replaced by a flood of warmth. He was thinking of her, not himself. Oh, how she loved—appreciated—his generous nature. Harry had only ever thought of himself. ‘You are right. I shall come tomorrow.’
‘If it is convenient.’
‘I will make it convenient.’
‘I will give Mrs Stone an errand in Sevenoaks.’
She giggled. ‘Perfect.’
‘Do you want to know what is even more perfect?’ he said, smiling and picking a leaf out of her hair.
‘What?’
‘There are beds at Longhurst, with nice, soft mattresses.’ He grinned in triumph as if he had produced a rabbit out of a hat.
She could not help laughing. ‘It sounds heavenly.’
Chapter Eight
Over the next week or so, Petra had found every excuse to be out of the house. Hazelnuts ready for gathering, elderberries ripening in the hedgerows and even a visit to a sick neighbour on the other side of the Parish when Marguerite was otherwise engaged.
While they were not ladies of the manor, since Longhurst had no wife, someone had to take on the role, particularly since Mrs Beckridge found the idea of visiting ill people distasteful.
Petra never went home to Westram Cottage without completing her stated task, but always managed an hour or two in Ethan’s company, either in his arms or poring over the journals. Or both. Little by little, together they uncovered all the secrets in the journals. And little by little, she grew closer to Ethan until on the days she could not go to Longhurst for one reason or another, she felt lost.
* * *
Today was one of those days. She put aside her needlework and went to the window to see if the rain had abated. She had not seen Ethan for two days and she missed him terribly. She felt as if she could not breathe. No, it wasn’t only him she missed, it was the enjoyment of working with him, of imparting all her knowledge to someone who sincerely appreciated the help.
And, if she was honest, she adored their interludes in bed where she’d experienced that indescribable pleasure each and every time.
Sadly, there was no sign of a break in the weather.
‘What on earth is the matter, Petra?’ Marguerite asked, putting down her pen. ‘That is the third time you have looked out of the window.’
Petra winced. There really was no excuse she could think of for going out on such a miserable day. She flopped down into a chair. ‘I am bored.’
A pained look crossed Marguerite’s face. ‘Are you, dearest?’
Petra hated giving Marguerite pain. ‘It is this weather, getting me down, that is all.’
‘Perhaps life in the country does not suit you after all?’ Marguerite sounded as if she had an idea on her mind.
Petra straightened. ‘What are you saying?’
Marguerite glanced down at the letter she had been writing. ‘I was thinking a visit to London might do us both good.’
A chill entered Petra’s chest. ‘Are we running out of money? Do we have to return home to live with Red?’
‘No. At least, not yet. But things are getting a little difficult, as you know.’ She glanced at the empty hearth. They had agreed to hold off lighting the fire, despite the growing chill of autumn, and were both wrapped in warm shawls.
‘So how will going to London help?’ Petra tilted her head. ‘You can’t be thinking about marriage.’
‘Certainly not,’ Marguerite said swiftly, sharply. ‘I need to meet with the publisher, personally. I am owed some money.’
‘But Red—’
‘It will never come to Red’s ears. Unless you tell him.’
Petra gasped, ‘I would never say a word. But someone is sure to tell him we are in town.’
Marguerite smiled grimly. ‘I will tell him we are in town. He will understand perfectly, when I say we need to shop.’
Oh, indeed. Petra grinned. Red assumed that all women wanted to do was spend money in the shops. His series of mistresses had trained him well, poor dear. But to leave Westram and go to London meant leaving Ethan. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that.
‘You go. I will stay here and look after things.’
Marguerite folded the letter and added it to a bundle of folded papers, which she proceeded to wrap in brown paper. ‘Nonsense. I could not possibly leave you here alone. And anyway, I’m not yet sure whether I will be going at all. It will depend on the answer to this letter.’
Petra went to her side as Marguerite daubed sealing wax on the strings around the parcel. ‘What is that?’
‘Some drawings that I am hoping to sell. I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for a sketch artist.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Marguerite pressed her lips together. ‘I don’t know if my sketches will be accepted, but if they are you will need to take on more of the housekeeping. I hate to burden you with it.’
Petra gasped, ‘D
o you think I am so spoiled I would not willingly do whatever is needed?’
Her sister closed her eyes briefly. ‘It is not that. Of course it is not. You have always done your share and more. It is my fear that it may all be for nothing.’ She sounded...mortified. ‘I am not sure they are any good.’
Marguerite was sensitive about her art. She rarely let anyone look at it.
‘They are sketches of what?’
‘Samples of my work. Diagrams. Watercolours. So they can see what I can do.’ She shrugged. ‘It is for a book.’
‘There is more to it than that.’ Petra just knew it.
‘I am trying to make sure of our independence,’ Marguerite said. ‘And that is all that needs to be said.’
Petra eyed the package. There was no address on the outside. ‘Do you want me to take it to the post office?’ It might give her an excuse to run across the fields and visit Ethan, if only for a few minutes.
Marguerite snatched it up. ‘I prefer to take it myself. I won’t be long. When I come back, we will see if we can turn some of the elderberries you collected into cordial before they go bad. I am sure we have enough sugar on hand. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking them off the stems in the meantime.’
She whisked out of the front door and was off down the lane with her umbrella over her head before Petra could argue.
Dash it all. Why was Marguerite being so secretive? But then they all had secrets, didn’t they? Petra wandered into the kitchen and eyed the basket of elderberries she had picked two days before. She sighed. If she was going to bring fruit home, then she really ought to be prepared to deal with it. She pulled the scissors out of the drawer and began snipping off the stems.
What would Ethan be doing on such a wet day? Would he be staring out of his window, hoping she might come? Likely he would not expect her in such weather. Perhaps he was out riding his estate, verifying the information in the journal, as he so often did on the days she could not go to him. Or paying a visit to Lord Compton. The two men were becoming fast friends. Or at least that was how it appeared.
An Earl for the Shy Widow Page 11
