My Last Duchess, стр. 67

“Darling,” he said, walking closer.

Philippa flicked her eyes to his face, then back down. The agonized doubt on her face almost had him doubling over with laughter,but he couldn’t do that. Instead, he swept her up in his arms and lowered her onto the bed.

She lay in the path of the moonlight coming through the window; it flowed across the floor, up and over the bed, spillingon the window and splashing light over her white-blonde hair as it spilled over the pillow and down the side of the bed. Shelooked ethereal, like a fairy and not an Englishwoman, some sort of fabulous sprite he’d captured and brought to his bed forthe night.

He sat next to her on the bed. “Why did you ask me whether you should undress?”

“Rodney didn’t, that is, he undressed but he didn’t remove my clothes.”

“Rodney,” Wick stated, “is a fool and a bungler. I don’t suppose he used a French letter either, did he?”

“No.”

“It will prevent your being with child,” he told her. “Our child.” There was a little stab to his heart as he said it. Hewould give anything to have his baby growing inside Philippa, to watch her stomach round, to see her eyes in the face of alittle boy or girl . . . But since he didn’t know if the obstacles to their marriage could be overcome, the French letterwas necessary.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, but still, she looked strained and uncertain. He lowered himself slowly until he layon his side, and gently, very gently, leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. His hands tangled in all that gorgeous hair,drawing locks of it through his fingers like silk spun on Jove’s own looms.

He kissed her until she opened her mouth to him and turned toward him. He kept kissing her, not moving, letting her body inchtoward his, letting her hands take the initiative, slipping from his neck to his shoulders, down his back.

Her touch made him shake with ferocious need, but he schooled himself. He remained still, telling himself that he must notfrighten her. Philippa had already had one unpleasant experience; if he muffed this, she’d likely be put off for life.

He waited until her eyes flew open, and she said, “Wick.”

“Yes?” He couldn’t stop grinning.

“Don’t the gentlemen do more with the strumpets they buy?”

“What sort of thing would you like me to do?”

“You should know. And stop smiling at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her lips, her cheek, her feathery eyelashes. “I’ve never laughed inbed with a woman before.”

“That’s probably because you were more busy than you are now,” she remarked, and he nipped her earlobe, then felt the shudderthat pulsed down her body.

“You look like a fairy, a sprite,” he said, running his hand down the long line of her leg. She seemed to have a fascinationwith his chest: she was tracing little patterns on it. “But you sound like a schoolmarm.” The last word was strangulated,as Philippa had leaned toward him and was tracing the same patterns with her tongue.

Slowly, slowly, he slid his hand under her nightgown, over her slender thigh, the tender curve of her waist.

“I just want to say one thing,” Philippa said, abandoning his chest, much to his regret.

“Mmmmm,” he said, his fingers gliding over skin as soft as daisy petals. His heart was thudding in a way he had never experiencedbefore.

“No tiddle-taddling,” she said.

Wick’s hand was caressing her generous, lush breast, and couldn’t think very clearly. Philippa’s head fell back against thepillow as he brushed past her nipple and a small moan broke from her lips, so it seemed she wasn’t exactly clearheaded either.“Is this tiddle-taddling?” he asked, rubbing that sweet raspberry with his thumb.

Another strangled moan, a tiny pulse of air, flew from her throat. “No,” she said with a gasp. Then: “You don’t know whatit is, do you? I should have known only Rodney would try to engage in something so distasteful.”

It struck Wick that bedding his beloved was the most delightful, funny, and passionate activity he had ever engaged in. Hekissed her again, letting his fingers wander, marking what made Philippa arch her back, instinctively falling into a positionto give . . . and take.

Slowly, slowly he inched her nightgown all the way above her breasts. She didn’t seem to notice until he replaced one of thehands that was caressing her breast with his mouth—well, she noticed that. And he stayed there, learning her secrets, tastingher sweetness. Savoring her. Every startled gasp made laughter and desire double in his chest.

“Lovely Philippa,” he murmured, sometime later, “is this tiddle-taddling?” And just to make sure she knew what he was talking about, he leaned down and gave her other breast a kiss,the kind that claimed, that was a little rough and a little wild.

“No!” she gasped and then, “Oh, Wick, that feels wonderful.”

Her hands reached out, rather blindly, toward him. “Does it feel the same for you?”

Once they had established to both their satisfaction that, yes, it did feel just as good for him, Wick was flat on his back with Philippa lying along his side, one of her legs entwined with his.

“Philippa,” he said, dimly hearing the hoarseness in his voice. “May I remove your nightgown now?”

She looked at him, her eyes shining. “If I kiss you here, Wick, your whole body jerks in response. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Quite,” he managed, and whipped her billowing nightgown over her head. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, awestruck.

Philippa followed Wick’s gaze down her body. The moonlight had turned her limbs to alabaster; she tried to imagine herselfas he saw her. But she would rather look at him.

“Just one thing,” she said trying to gather her thoughts. “What I said before . . .”

But his hands were at her waist and his mouth closed over her breast and she lost the sentence, the words, the thought altogether.

“Yes?” he asked.

All the secret parts of her were throbbing, which was such an odd sensation that . . . still, she needed to make the