Sleepless at Midnight (13 page)

And was instantly lost. In the heady, flowery scent of her and the delicious, warm taste of her. He eased one hand slowly down her arm then around to the small of her back, and urged her closer. God, yes, she was soft, just as he’d known she would be. Warm and curvy, and she tasted so good…so damn good. And it had been so long since he’d held a woman. Kissed a woman. So damn long…

He sank deeper into the kiss, his tongue exploring the velvety heat of her mouth. She hesitated for several seconds, and then, with a low moan, her lips parted farther and she touched her tongue to his. And suddenly what he’d thought would be a simple kiss felt anything but. It felt hot and urgent and fired pure lust through him. And made him crave more. More…

Without breaking their kiss, he moved closer, pinning her to the wall with his lower body, and insinuated his knee between her legs. He might possibly have retained a small modicum of control if she’d remained passive, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, rose up on her toes and pressed herself more fully against him.

His body’s reaction was swift and unstoppable, and with a groan he slowly rubbed himself against her, pressing his hardness against her softness.

Pleasure shuddered through him and he lost all sense of time and place. He was intoxicated by the feel of her arching against him, a sensation that made it seem as if she were melting into him. One kiss melded into another, deep, drugging exchanges that grew in urgency. Mindless, heedless, to anything save the taste and feel of her, his hands smoothed over the curve of her bottom then came forward to cup the fullness of her breasts. Her head fell limply back, and he ran his lips down the fragrant curve of her neck, his tongue tracing the frantic beat of her pulse as her fingers slipped into his damp hair. Erotic sounds vibrated in her throat and she squirmed against him, stripping away another layer of his control. His erection jerked and he pinned her more firmly between himself and the wall.

Stop… He had to stop this madness, because if he didn’t, he was going to sweep her up in his arms, carry her to his bed, and put out this bloody fire she’d ignited. But he couldn’t do that…for some reason…some reason which entirely escaped him.

You’re looking for a wife, his helpful inner voice reminded him. And this woman who is not an heiress is not a candidate.

Right. And her very good friend was a candidate. Besides that, he wasn’t entirely certain he trusted this woman, again for reasons he couldn’t recall at the moment, but even in his lust-rattled brain he knew they existed. Which made this interlude a very bad idea. In every way. But bloody hell, she felt so damn good. In every way. And she made him feel better than he’d felt in a very long time. He needed to stop…yet he simply could not.

Reaching up, he gently grabbed one of her wrists and pulled her hand down, slipping it inside his robe and dragging her palm across his bare chest. A groan rumbled in his throat, and he urged her hand across his chest again. She’d just made a tentative, slow sweep of her own accord when a sound penetrated the fog of lust engulfing him. A low, deep sound that resembled a Woof.

Bloody hell. With a Herculean effort, he raised his head. And stared, captivated by the sight of her. She looked utterly aroused, and appeared lost in the same foggy haze as engulfed him. Erratic breaths puffed from between her full, moist lips, and her eyelids drooped half closed. He turned his head and shot Danforth a glare that should have sent the beast slinking from the room with his tail tucked between his legs. Instead, Danforth’s gaze bounced between him and Miss Moorehouse, and Matthew could almost hear his canine musing: Well, well, what have we here?

Danforth gazed up at Miss Moorehouse with an adoring expression, licked his chops and issued another woof. The beast then appeared to actually grin, and with a firm push of his snout, nudged Matthew back a step and insinuated himself between him and Miss Moorehouse. Then sat. On Matthew’s bare foot. And proceeded to pant hot doggie breath. Against Matthew’s bare leg. Bloody hell.

He turned his attention back to Miss Moorehouse. She was staring at him with a dazed expression that perfectly matched the way he felt. Her hand still rested on his chest, right above the spot where his heart pounded as if he’d just sprinted to Scotland and back.

“Good heavens,” she said in a husky, breathless rasp.

If he’d felt capable of speech, he would have voiced a similar sentiment, although his most likely would have been more along the lines of Holy bloody hell, what just happened?

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “I’d wondered…but never suspected…not in my wildest imaginings.”

A long, pleasure-filled sigh escaped her, blowing warm against his skin. “Oh, my…”

He frowned. Her words made it sound as if she’d never been kissed before. But surely a woman who’d sketched a naked man had been kissed. Yet there was something extraordinarily innocent about her. And her response to him, while undeniably heated, hadn’t felt the least bit practiced. Was it possible he’d been the first?

Before he could find his voice to question her, she blinked several times, then lifted her head from the wall and squinted toward the floor. “I’m guessing that blurry brown blob is Danforth?”

Upon hearing his name, Danforth issued a deep woof and swiped his tail across the parquet floor. Matthew cleared his throat. “I’m afraid so.”

“How did he get in?”

“He can open doors.” He glared at his pet. “I taught him that.” And right now he wished like hell he hadn’t. Damn dog was too smart for his own good. And his timing was heinous. Or was it perfect? His better judgment told him Danforth had quite saved the day. Had put a halt to something that never should have begun. His aroused body, however, wholeheartedly disagreed. And one look at the moist-lipped, loose-haired Miss Moorehouse had him longing to snatch her right back in his arms.

Her hand slid slowly from his chest, and he immediately missed her touch. With a self-conscious sound she pushed back her mass of disheveled hair. “I…I feel the need to say something, yet I’ve no idea what.”

She said the words without a trace of coyness or guile, and he couldn’t stop himself from tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are…magnificent.”

She nodded, her expression serious. “Yes, that seems appropriate. You are magnificent.”

His lips twitched. “Thank you. But I meant you are magnificent.”

She studied him for several long seconds, confusion flitting across her features. Then she shook her head. “I’m not. I know I’m not. And this…what happened between us, should not have occurred. I shouldn’t be in your bedchamber and we shouldn’t have…”

“Kissed?” he supplied helpfully when her voice trailed off.

“Kissed,” she repeated in a husky whisper that had him clenching his hands to keep them off her. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it of cobwebs, and reached out to pluck her glasses from his desk. After putting on the spectacles, she looked at him. All traces of arousal and desire had vanished from her eyes, replaced by a coolness he didn’t care for in the least.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t normally…” She frowned, then continued in a brisk tone, “…conduct myself in such a way. I think we should forget this ever happened.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“I think you’re correct that we should try. However, I think we shall fail.”

“Nonsense. One can do anything one sets one’s mind to. And now, I must go.” She stepped away from him, then reached down to pick up his shirt, which she’d dropped. Danforth was sitting on the sleeve and she had to tug several times to slide the material from beneath his rump. And then the woman who only moments ago had trembled in his arms strode across his bedchamber and quit the room without a backward glance, closing the door quietly behind her. He stared at the door for several seconds, then with a sigh raked his hands through his hair and slid his foot from beneath Danforth’s bottom. Perhaps Miss Moorehouse would forget about that kiss, but he knew he wouldn’t.

The question was, what did he intend to do about that? And about her? He had no idea. Then there was the fact that she’d seen him naked, and he’d always been taught that turnabout was fair play. What did he intend to do about that?

He certainly knew what he wanted to do.

Hmmm. It appeared his many questions regarding Miss Moorehouse would require a great deal of thinking about. And he was hit with the very unsettling realization that thinking about her would not pose any difficulties.

Chapter 7

Ten minutes before the other ladies were due to arrive for their one A.M meeting, Sarah stood before the cheval glass in her bedchamber and stared at her reflection. She’d changed into her plain white cotton night rail, secured the sash of her plain white cotton robe around her waist, and braided her unruly hair into a plain, single thick plait. She looked the same as she did every night utterly plain. But she didn’t feel the same.

She raised her hand and skimmed her fingertips over her lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed and a sigh of pure pleasure escaped her. Never, not even in her wildest dreams, not once during the countless hours she’d lain awake at night imagining being kissed, touched by a man, had she ever suspected that the actual act could be so incredibly wondrous.

The delicious sensation of his body pressing against hers, his lips on hers, his tongue touching hers, his hands sifting through her hair, skimming down her back, urging her closer. The knee-stealing feel of her palms skimming across his chest, the sound of his rapid breathing, the heart-stopping sensation of his hardness nestled against the juncture of her thighs. Heat rippled through her and she clamped her legs together in an effort to lessen the aching throb where he’d pressed so intimately against her, but her effort proved futile.

He’d felt so warm. So strong and broad. Being wrapped in his arms was like being cuddled in a heated blanket fresh from drying in the sunshine. His wet hair had slipped through her fingers like dampened silk. He’d held her, kissed her, touched her, with a fiery passion she’d never dared dream she would experience outside her imagination. And as active as her imagination was, she had never conceived of a scenario like the one she’d shared with Lord Langston. Why? Why had he kissed her like that? She opened her eyes to study herself and shook her head, utterly confused. Nothing reflected in the mirror would inspire a man’s passion. Perhaps he really had been foxed, although she hadn’t detected the smell, or taste, of spirits about him. As humiliating as it was to consider, most likely he’d been thinking about some other woman. Pretending she was someone else. Someone beautiful. There was no other logical explanation. Unless……

Perhaps he’d kissed her in order to distract her from the fact that he kept a knife in his bedchamber a knife he’d pressed to her throat when he believed her an intruder bent on doing him harm. Did all gentlemen keep weapons at the ready as Lord Langston did? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was only those gentlemen who had something to hide. And she’d been considering just that about him…until he completely changed the direction of her thoughts with his kiss. Another sigh escaped her. Regardless of whether he’d been thinking of someone else or attempting to divert her, now she knew of this magic she’d overheard other ladies discussing. This enchantment Carolyn had often alluded to. It was intoxicating. Addicting. And, she very much feared, unforgettable. Would her sister, her friends, be able to tell? Did the heated, pulsing glow she felt within show on the outside?

She leaned closer to the mirror. No. She still looked like plain, bespectacled Sarah on the outside. A soft knock sounded on the door, and she pulled her gaze from the mirror to quickly cross the room. She opened the door to find Carolyn, Julianne, and Emily in the corridor, clutching bundles against their robes.

“It looks as if you all were successful in your scavenger hunt,” Sarah said after the trio had entered and she’d closed and locked the door.

“Yes,” said Emily, her eyes glowing with excitement. “Did you get Lord Langston’s shirt?”

Among other things. Heat crept into her face. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Everything went smoothly for all of you, I trust?”

“I was in and out of Lord Thurston’s bedchamber cravat in hand in less than one minute,” Emily reported with a smug grin while setting her treasure on the bed. “It was almost too easy.”

“Same for me,” said Julianne, adding the pair of Lord Berwick’s boots she’d procured. “I didn’t encounter anyone, but my heart was pounding so hard I thought I might swoon.”

“Plucking Lord Surbrooke’s breeches from his wardrobe was as simple as picking daisies in the garden,” Carolyn said with a smile, holding her offering aloft before setting it on top of the other things on the bed.

“Sarah asserted that men are nincompoops,” Emily said with a devilish grin, “and it would appear, at least in regards to this situation, she is correct.” She turned to Sarah. “How did you fare?”

Sarah’s face burned hotter and she knew the blotches were on their way. “Fine. No problems.” At least none she was willing to share. She added Lord Langston’s shirt to the pile and forcibly banished from her mind the image of him, wet and naked, and instead concentrated on Carolyn’s smile.

“We’ll be able to fashion a very fine facsimile of our Perfect Man with these articles,” Sarah said.

“All we need are some rags or batting with which to stuff Mr. Franklin N. Stein.”