His smile broadened. He stood, extending his hand. “I will before I’m done. Will you come with me, Eleanor?”
Feeling like her heart expanded to the size of a mountain, she rose on her elbows. It was silly to be uncertain. After all, they weren’t in this cottage to play piquet. But she suddenly felt very small and defenseless. She swallowed to dislodge the lump in her throat.
“Yes,” she wavered and took his hand. His touch restored faltering courage and she met his eyes with something approaching confidence.
He kissed her. She awaited passion, but there was only more of that aching tenderness. Sweeping her up into his arms, he sipped from her lips as if he couldn’t get enough of her.
“Leath!” she gasped, clinging to his neck. “You can’t carry me upstairs.”
His laugh rang with triumphant happiness. “Right now, I think I could carry you to London.”
She tugged the wet black hair at his nape. “I don’t want to go quite that far.”
“In that case, Miss Trim, let me take you above and ravish you.”
She loved the way he said “Eleanor.” She loved the way he said “Miss Trim.” Dear God, she was in such a bad way, she just loved him.
“I’ve wanted you to do this ever since you first kissed me,” she admitted shyly, leaning her cheek against his chest as he mounted the narrow staircase.
“Ah, that powerful infatuation.” She heard the smile in his voice, although she was too bashful to meet his eyes. While she wasn’t a timid woman, she’d never before had a handsome man carrying her away for his pleasure. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since that first night in my library.”
She couldn’t resist glancing up. “Surely you believe that I’m smitten.”
It seemed safe to admit that much. Something told her that he wouldn’t welcome hearing of the depth and power of her love. His conscience already pricked him. If he knew the extent of her emotional vulnerability, she had a horrible feeling that he might send her away.
He shouldered his way into the bedroom where she’d lain alone, missing him, the last two nights. Earlier she’d drawn the curtains and lit the fire. In the flickering flames, the four-poster bed loomed like a challenge.
He kissed her and she strained after him, seeking more heat. When he kissed her, she couldn’t think. Now, she desperately didn’t want to think.
“I’m rather smitten myself,” he admitted. “You have magic, Miss Trim.”
Juggling her in his arms, he flung back the covers before gently setting her down. She sank into the bed and stared up at the man who would soon possess her. In his gray eyes, she caught an echo of her troubled thoughts. They’d battled their better selves to reach this point.
She rose against the pillows. “Whatever happens, I’ll never regret this.”
“I pray not.” He stroked her cheek as he sat beside her. “I’ve dreamed of seeing your hair loose. May I take it down?”
Although her presence gave him permission to do much more than unpin her hair, she inched forward. “Yes.”
She knew he’d had lovers. She knew that she wouldn’t be the last woman he enticed to his bed. He wasn’t a rake, but he was an attractive man in his prime who led an active life. Whatever her heart might wish, she didn’t even believe that she meant anything special to him. She invited complete devastation if she placed a romantic gloss on this affair.
Every sensible reminder faded to naught when she saw the care and need in his face. Any illusion that he entered this liaison lightly vanished. He looked as though tonight his world changed forever.
With breathtaking slowness, he drew the first pin from her hair and the significance of the action made her want to weep again.
She sat motionless as he slid another pin free, then another. One heavy blond tress tumbled over her shoulder. She closed her eyes to hide her tumult. This unbinding of her hair, hair that she’d never let down for a man, marked her transition from virginal Nell Trim to Eleanor, captive of sensuality.
More would come. He’d undress her. She’d see his nakedness. His body would slide into hers. Yet this moment seemed the beginning of true intimacy.
By the time her hair flowed around her, Leath breathed in gusts. His hands touched her delicately, as if the slightest fumble might shatter her.
Then nothing.
Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Leath stared at her as though she was a star fallen from heaven to light his way.
“It’s glorious.” Her heart expanded at the awe in his voice. “You’re glorious.”
He caught her hair up against her cheeks so it slipped like silk against her skin. “Kiss me, Eleanor. Kiss me before I die of wanting you.”