The Beloved Scoundrel by Iris Johansen

Author:Iris Johansen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307815729
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-01-24T23:00:00+00:00

May we go upstairs now?” Jordan asked as soon as his breathing steadied. He lifted his head. “You probably have bruises. This floor is damnably hard.”

She stared up at him dazedly. He was still within her; she felt as if he had been there forever, a part of her. “I … don’t think so.” Perhaps she was bruised, but it didn’t matter. It was a small price to pay for what had gone before. “It felt …” She did not go on. There were no words.

“I’m glad your first time was not a disappointment.” His lips gently brushed her forehead before he moved off her and adjusted his breeches. “But now it’s time to go to bed.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Ready?”

Her knees felt weak, and she swayed. He caught her and lifted her in his arms.

Her glance fell on the chair, and, incredibly, she felt a faint stirring.

“Oh no.” He instantly shook his head. “I’m beginning to regret telling you about that particular vision. We have to go slowly.” He left the workroom and climbed the stairs two at a time. “Everything in its time.”

She became suddenly aware of her nakedness against his fully clothed form. It gave her an uneasy feeling of vulnerability that caused a little of the dreamlike sensuality to disperse. “Where are you taking me?”

He shifted her in his arms and opened a door. “Your chamber, my lady. I thought you’d prefer it to mine.” He laid her on the bed and turned away. Only embers remained in the fireplace, and Jordan was moving about the room in darkness. “It’s easier to accept new experiences if you’re surrounded by the familiar.”

Clever, she thought drowsily, Jordan was always very clever. “I believe you’re a trifle late. I’ve already accepted the new experience.”

“Not entirely.” He was suddenly on the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms.

Solid, warm flesh. Naked flesh.

She instantly flinched away from him.

“Gently.” His hand gently stroked her hair. “You’ll grow used to me in your bed. It’s only the next step.”

“You have your own chamber,” she said stiltedly. “You need not be here with me. Dorothy says, even in marriage, gentlemen usually only pay their wives visits in order to indulge their lust or beget children.”

“I admit it’s not my custom either, but I find I want this. Indulge me.”

“I don’t wish to indulge you. It makes me feel … uncomfortable.”

“Did your father only pay visits to your mother’s bed?”

“No, but then our cottage was very small.”

“Would he have occupied a separate room if he’d had a residence as large as Cambaron?”

“No.” She was silent a moment. “But that was different. There was not only lust between them, there was true feeling.”

He kissed her temple. “And is there no feeling between us?”

“Not love,” she whispered. “You do not love me, and I do not love you. There is something … but it’s not what they had.”

“Perhaps it’s something far more interesting. I’ve noticed that given time, what people call love usually degenerates to mawkish sentiment.

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