So forgetful of his station was he, that he was actually reaching down, seizing a handful of her gown and pushing the material up her legs.
All thoughts of Marianne and discovery went up in smoke when he moaned into her cleavage at the exact moment his hand reached the soft flesh of her inner thigh. He was being so eager, so ardent. If anyone dared to interrupt them now, she would probably scream with frustration.
For this was absolutely heavenly. She’d never felt anything so utterly delightful.
Until his exploration became shockingly intimate.
She winced, and yelped, at the startling, and rather painful intrusion of his fingers.
‘I’m sorry,’ he growled into her ear. ‘I thought you were ready.’
Ready? For him to touch her there? How could she have imagined he’d want to do such a thing? Not that she could protest. Else he might stop altogether. Which was the last thing she wanted. They had to be discovered locked in a passionate embrace, not sitting next to each other demurely begging each other’s pardon.
While she was still puzzling over what response she ought to make, he dropped to his knees on the floor and pushed her skirts right up to her waist. She almost cried out a protest. It had been hard enough having her bosom on show all evening let alone her most private parts. Not that he could actually see anything in the darkness, nor was he trying to, Julia suddenly realised in shock. What he was doing was lowering his head and kissing her. Nibbling at the top of her tightly clenched thighs, and then, when the sheer bliss of it had her relaxing, he pushed her legs apart so that he could kiss the exact place where his hand had ventured.
Julia almost panicked and pushed him away. Surely he couldn’t want to kiss her there? Could he?
Oh, heavens, whatever was she supposed to do now? What would Nellie do in her place? Was she used to men doing this sort of thing? Was she…?
Oh, heavens but that felt…
Oh, goodness, if he kept on doing that…
Oh, goodness, she hoped he would keep on doing that. That was…that was…
Excitement built in her, just as though he’d lit a fuse. It went fizzing through her, burning brighter and brighter, until somehow, she knew, there was going to be some sort of explosion.
It burst through her, startling a scream of pleasure from her throat.
He knelt back with a satisfied growl. Got up, bent one of her lax legs at the knee and propped it up against the wall. He then pushed the other down so that her foot was on the floor and came back down on top of her.
‘Unnhhh…’ She tried to say something, anything. But she was still stunned by the force of the explosion that had just flung her skyward. She was still floating, somewhere far above the earth, as he settled between her legs.
It was only when he surged forward she realised that at some point he’d undone his breeches and was sliding inside her. She tensed, remembering the discomfort his fingers had caused. But this didn’t hurt. Not even when he started thrusting into her—clutching at her bottom with one hand, and propping himself against the kitchen wall with the other.
And then he exploded, too. She felt him pulsing deep inside her as his whole body shuddered over her.
She slid her arms round his neck, hugging him in sheer delight.
‘Oh, David,’ she sighed. ‘We’ll have to get married now.’
He tensed.
Well, she’d been prepared for that. He must be shocked to learn that she was the woman he’d just ravished.
But before he could say anything, someone flung up the sash window and stepped into the orangery.
He didn’t have time to do more than lift his head and swivel it in that direction, before the light of two lanterns flooded the scene, clearly showing the unmasked faces of the three people standing there.
The Neapolitan Nightingale, her mouth agape.
And Marianne, her hands clasped to her bosom.
And, worst of all… David.