Page 81 of In With a Chance

Oh, for goodness’s sake! Does the man really need this spelled out for him?

Clearly he did, for as she looked up at him, Gwen could see the worry in his eyes was not for himself, but for her.

He was worried that she would regret the decision she had made.

Her expression softened. “I did it for you—for us, Ernest. I-I love you—I told you—and I want to be with you. You think I could go ahead with a wedding to another man, knowing you were out there in the world?”

Ernest groaned and lowered his forehead to hers, pressing it against her as he murmured, “I never expected you to give all that up.”

“Give what up?” Gwen whispered, reveling in the intimacy, in the closeness that they were enjoying, more than aware that they could be found at any time. Perhaps that was what was giving her an extra thrill. “Ernest, I gave up a half-life. It would have been dull, staid—dutiful, yes, but with none of the pleasure and joy I share with you.”

“I would give you the world if I could.”

“I don’t want the world. I just want you by my side, night and day,” Gwen said as she gave a laugh, trying hard not to think too much about the ‘night’ side of her statement. “I want to argue with you and apologize to you, not nod politely next to a man whom I know could never love me.”

There was a fierce sort of determination in his eyes, and when Ernest spoke, it was clearly with great difficulty. “But you will have a better life with him, Gwen. With Lord Ravenshurst. You could write to him and tell him you made a mistake, tell him—”

“No.” Gwen leaned back, breaking the physical connection between them, but only so she could look deeply into his eyes as she spoke. “I know you want the best for me, but you are it—you are what’s best for me. Ernest, I gave up a life of misery; don’t ask me to take it back! Besides,” she added, a delicious thought slipping into her mind, “I have a feeling you are going to make it up to me.”

For a flash, she was worried she had overstepped. That a genteel young lady should not even know about such things, let alone say that.

Her mother’s best attempts notwithstanding, Gwen had been vaguely educated in the manner of amorous congress by her two oldest sisters, and by an overheard conversation between her brother and her Cousin Percy that had been most illuminating, if not a little unnerving.

The point was, she knew what she wanted from Ernest.

Why wait until their marriage?

For they were engaged to be married. They did not need to have the words spoken, not like with Lord Ravenshurst; there was no hint of uncertainty in Gwen’s mind that she would soon become the Baroness Frasemere.

So why wait until their wedding night?

Ernest stared down at her, clearly none the wiser. Then his eyes shot wide open. “Gwen!”

“What?” she said innocently—or at least, as innocently as she could manage. “I just said—”

“I know exactly what you said, and I know exactly what you mean!” he hissed, clearly reveling in the shocking nature of her statement. “You want me to bed you!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no,” said Gwen with a laughing shrug, but the laughter faded away as she gazed up, the possibility sparking up and down her body. “I wouldn’t say no, Ernest.”

The bedchamber fell silent and Ernest bit his lip, an erotic movement that only made the ache between her thighs all the more potent.

She wouldn’t say no. In fact, she wanted to say yes. The man before her had entranced her for so long, the connection between them growing powerfully before Gwen had truly understood it, that it felt as though she had waited an age even to kiss him.

And now that she had kissed him, she wanted more.

“You want me,” Ernest murmured, taking a long, deep inhale before he continued. “Well. I suppose I can give you a taste of me right now.”

Excitement thrilled through Gwen’s very bones, though she could not quite understand what the man was suggesting. To be sure, kissing here in one of Lady Romeril’s spare bedchambers was delightful, but precisely how was continuing to do that any different to—

Gwen gasped. “Ernest!”

“You want me to stop, you stop me,” he murmured, trailing kisses down her neck and shooting hot desire through her. “Just say the word…”

Gwen was not going to say the word. She was also never going to speak again because that would require air in her lungs, and Ernest was taking it from her with every scalding kiss he bestowed upon her.

She moaned as he buried his head in her décolletage, her nipples budding with hot need, and she wanted—she wanted something she did not understand, but she needed—

“Ernest!”