Louise Allen - Regency Surrender - Passion And Rebellion

‘Your first?’ He rolled off her and raised himself up on one elbow to glare down at her. ‘Do you mean to tell me you now plan to make a habit of taking lovers?’

No, she hadn’t meant that at all, but she could see why her words might have made him think so. But he had an infernal cheek to look so disapproving, with the reputation he had!

‘I don’t know. I might one day, I suppose. After all, I’m not going to stay in Paris for ever. And I most certainly am not going to marry you.’

‘You’ve already made that crystal clear.’

He was positively glaring at her now.

‘There’s no need to look at me like that, for heaven’s sake. You don’t want to marry me either! Don’t let’s spoil this by quarrelling. I was only trying to reassure you that I have no designs on you, just because you happened to be the man to whom I gave my virginity.’

‘No, I...no, I see that.’ He pursed his lips in a way that, had he been a woman, she would have described as a pout. ‘But I cannot help wondering why you did choose me for this singular honour.’

Irritating man! She was trying to reassure him that his precious freedom was not in jeopardy and he was twisting her words to make it sound as though...as though...well, into an insult, anyway.

‘There is no need to be sarcastic,’ she huffed, reaching down blindly for the quilt. Or a sheet. Or anything to cover herself up with.

He shifted, releasing a swathe of quilt which he tucked up over her breasts.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said drily. ‘But for your information, I was not being sarcastic. I do feel that you paid me a great compliment in coming here tonight and permitting me to initiate you into the joys of lovemaking.’ He looked troubled when he added, ‘I only wish I had done better...’

Her immediate reaction was to try to console him.

‘Oh, no, you were very good. Really.’ What was the matter with her? Trying to make him feel better? He was a man, for heaven’s sake. A fully grown man. Just because he’d pouted like a sulky boy, then looked a bit hurt, that was no reason to pander to his vanity.

‘Except to start with,’ she therefore reminded him and, feeling a twinge of conscience, hastily added, ‘And that was partly my own fault.’

He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Thistle,’ he said, and kissed her shoulder. The one bit of her that was peeping out from under the quilt. ‘You really are prickly, aren’t you? Most women would be purring like a contented kitten after that.’ But she wasn’t most women. And he’d hurt her so badly before, of course she was going to throw up a shield of sarcasm, from behind which she could jab at him with her sharp little tongue. It was all the protection she had.

‘Well, if that’s going to be your attitude...’

He held her tight when she would have rolled away from him and clucked his tongue.

‘I am not criticising you, not at all. It was merely an observation. And a note to myself that I need to do better next time.’

‘Next time?’ Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her knuckles white as they clutched the quilt to her chin.

‘But you will have to give me a little respite,’ he said, rolling on to his back and tucking her into his side.

‘Respite? What do you...oh! Well, I didn’t think we’d be doing that again. Not now.’

‘No, not now,’ he said amicably. ‘In just a little while.’

‘No, really, I...’

‘Don’t be so demanding, woman,’ he said. ‘I have told you I need a little rest before the next round.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant! I...oh...’ she glanced up at him when he started to chuckle ‘...you’re teasing me.’

‘Has nobody ever teased you before?’

She shook her head. ‘Not since...well, you.’

‘You must have mixed with some very dull people since we last met then. Want to tell me about them?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Well, what would you like to talk about, then?’

Her fingers clutched at the quilt a bit more tightly. Her eyes narrowed warily. If he wasn’t careful, she would retreat behind her protective shield and he wouldn’t be able to find out anything about her. And he had this burning need to find out what had happened to her after he’d abandoned her. He couldn’t bear to imagine her life being as miserable as his had been. If he could just find out that she’d found some contentment in her spinster state, it might assuage his guilt. A tiny bit.

He shrugged one shoulder, as if her next words weren’t going to matter to him one way or another.

‘If you don’t want to tell me anything personal, then...you could recite some poetry, I suppose.’

‘Poetry?’

‘Yes. To get me back in the mood. I don’t suppose you know anything naughty, do you?’

‘Of course I don’t!’

‘Been living a pure and simple life, have you? Tucked away in that rectory with your parents?’

‘No. Far from it,’ she huffed.

‘Oh?’ He permitted himself to show curiosity now. ‘Then you’ve been...travelling the world, posing as a lightskirt, perchance? Using the man who calls himself Monsieur Le Brun as...cover for your work as a spy?’

‘Now you really are being ridiculous.’

‘It is worth it to see that smile return to your eyes.’ He cupped her jaw and turned her face up to his. ‘Come on,’ he said in a cajoling tone. ‘Tell me one thing about yourself. Satisfy my curiosity. Otherwise I am going to imagine all kinds of wild and inaccurate things about you.’

‘Such as, for instance, that I have such poor taste that I would sell my body to a man like Monsieur Le Brun?’

‘Well, if you cannot give me a better excuse for travelling with him, what else am I to think?’

‘That my friend and I hired him, perhaps? To act as courier and guide, since it isn’t the done thing for two single ladies to travel without protection?’

Her voice had an acid tinge to it that made him think of tart, ripe berries. Which in turn led to him thinking about puckered, pink nipples. How did she do this to him? Get him roused simply by sniping at him?

‘You hired him?’

She tensed again. She really didn’t want to let him know anything about her life, which made him all the more determined to find out all there was to know about her. Everything she’d done since she’d vanished so completely from London.

He slid his hand under the quilt and toyed with one of her breasts until the nipple formed into a tightly furled, mouth-watering little berry.

‘Who is this friend of yours? How do you know her?’

‘What is this? Why are you interrogating me?’

He rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

‘Because you won’t tell me anything. Tell me just one fact about you. Satisfy my rampant curiosity.’

Her eyes widened at his deliberately suggestive tone. She’d also registered that it wasn’t only his curiosity that was rampant.

‘One fact,’ he growled.

‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘Fenella and I...’ She gave a little wiggle. ‘Fenella is a widow, with a small child and no income. I have inherited a house, from a rather eccentric aunt, with whom I lived in the latter years of her life. We have...an arrangement.’

‘That’s...’ his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate ‘...seven facts. Very generous of you.’ He dropped a kiss on her brow. ‘I think that deserves a reward.’

He nudged her legs apart.

‘You really are the most arrogant, conceited, infuriating man...’

‘Don’t forget irresistible,’ he said, sliding into her. ‘And before you claw my eyes out, remember, I think you are irresistible too.’

Her eyes widened. Her muscles relaxed.

‘You do?’