A man chuckled. “It would seem we must find another secluded bower, my dear. This one is already occupied.”
The woman murmured something indistinguishable in response. Louisa realized that the voices were growing softer as the pair moved away into another section of the gardens, but she was no longer paying attention. All she could think about was the feel of Anthony’s arms around her. Heat flooded through her. It did not matter that the kiss had never been intended as an act of seduction. The impact was akin to a lightning bolt searing her already sensitive nerves. Everything inside her was ablaze.
“Anthony,” she breathed against his mouth.
He gave a soft, husky groan. His arm tightened. His mouth was suddenly rough and demanding. He was kissing her for real now. The same way she was kissing him. There was so much sizzling electricity snapping and crackling between them she was vaguely surprised her hair was not standing on end. His hands moved on her back, closing fiercely around the snug bodice of her gown.
She was inexplicably frantic, shivering with need. Caught up in the maelstrom of a force she could only dimly comprehend, she clutched Anthony’s shoulders, hung on for dear life, and kissed him back.
He broke off the kiss and cupped her face between his hands. “Say my name again.”
In the shadowy glow of a nearby lantern his expression was not that of a gentle lover. What she saw in his face was a raw, compelling hunger that matched her own.
“Anthony.” She shivered but not from nerves this time. Anticipation pulsed through her. “Anthony.”
He took his hands away from her face and put them around her waist. Then he bent his head and kissed her throat. His mouth was wet and hungry on her skin. She felt his teeth at one point. An exquisite excitement made her catch her breath. This was what she needed. This desperate, intense passion would sear the twin images of Thurlow’s and Gavin’s bloodied heads from her thoughts, at least for a while.
Anthony scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the door of the conservatory.
“Open it,” he muttered.
She reached down, found the knob, and twisted. The door swung open, and a wave of humid warmth flowed over her. She inhaled the scents of greenery and flowers and freshly turned earth, the fragrance of life not death.
Anthony carried her through the opening and set her on her feet near a workbench. He reached back, closed and locked the door. Then he turned to her and pulled her to him again. His hands went to the fastenings of the bodice of her dress.
She was amazed to realize that his fingers, so skilled and sensitive with locks and keys, were actually trembling. She could hear his breathing now. Hot. Urgent. When she touched him she discovered that the muscles of his shoulders beneath his coat were rigid.
Hope spiraled through her. He had loved his dear Fiona, but perhaps there was room in his heart for another woman.
Her bodice came undone. She was intensely grateful for the deep shadows around them. The thin fabric of her chemise was all that veiled her breasts.
He bent his head and kissed her throat. His thumb grazed a nipple, sending little tremors through her. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting to explore the strength and power she found there, wanting to learn him more intimately, but he gave her no chance.
“Louisa, you don’t know what you have done to me. I want you now. I need you.”
Without warning he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the workbench. Everything was happening so quickly. She could no longer think. On the other hand, thinking was the very last thing she wanted to do.
The next thing she knew his mouth had taken the place of his hand on her breast. He dampened the fabric of the chemise with his tongue.
The sense of need clawed at her. She threaded her fingers through Anthony’s hair. When his teeth closed around her nipple she gasped. Immediately he raised his head to silence her with another smoldering kiss.
He caught the skirts of her gown and pushed them up above her knees. His hands closed over her thighs above her stockings, pushing them apart.
Her pulse skittered wildly. She was still adjusting to the stunning intimacy of his touch when he slid his fingers inside the open-crotch seam of her lace-trimmed drawers. The searing heat of his palm on the most private portion of her anatomy was both utterly outrageous and exquisitely thrilling.
“You want me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Say it. You want me as badly as I want you.”
“Yes.” She tightened her hands in his hair. “Oh, yes.”
Her head was spinning. The world outside the conservatory ceased to matter. This was what it meant to be consumed by passion. She marveled at the exhilarating sensation. The novelists and playwrights were correct. This was why people got involved in illicit love affairs.
“You are so soft,” he said, stroking her intimately. “You are driving me mad.”
She realized that he was opening the front of his trousers. When she glanced down she caught a glimpse of his hand wrapped around his erection. He removed a square of white linen from another pocket and dropped it on the bench beside her.
Fascinated, she started to reach down to touch him, but he was already pushing himself into the melting core of her body. The pressure felt very, very good. She wanted more. Desperate, she urged him closer.
He gripped her buttocks and pulled her onto his shaft with a single violent thrust, sinking himself to the hilt inside her.
Pain arced across her overwrought senses. Jolted by the abrupt transition from unbearable desire to unpleasant reality, she gasped and went utterly still.
“Damnation.” Anthony froze, also. “You’re a virgin.”
“Well, yes, but I really don’t see that as the issue here.”
“Why in blazes didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?”
He sounded furious. What right did he have to be angry at her? She was the one who was in pain.
“I did not think it was any of your business,” she said, her temper crackling to life.
“How can you say that it is none of my business?”
Anger swept through her, dampening some of the physical discomfort. “Really, sir, you would hardly expect me to discuss such intimate details of my life with a gentleman with whom I am barely acquainted.”
He looked down at her with a strange expression. “May I remind you that you are in the midst of making love to a gentleman with whom you are barely acquainted?”
“We are not making love,” she said gruffly, not wanting to admit to herself, just how much that fact hurt. “We are engaging in an act of illicit passion.”
“I see. You are an authority on such matters?”
“Illicit trysts are different. One is under no obligation to confide one’s personal affairs to one’s lover.”
“I cannot believe that I am receiving a lecture from you on the subject of how one conducts an illicit love affair.”
She winced. “I think it would be best if you, uh, removed yourself, sir. As you can tell we are not a good match.”
“How would you know?” he said, making no move to retreat.
“I would think it is obvious. You are much too big.”
“I think we are a perfect fit.”
He started to ease out of her. She held her breath.
But he stopped just short of her entrance and pushed slowly, steadily back into her.
She gasped. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Allow me to inform you, Mrs. Bryce, that you are no expert.”
He kissed her deeply, silencing her before she could argue further.