“Good?” he asked, drawing back to smirk at her.
“Very much … good …” she uttered, not caring she was murdering the English.
“I came by my … reputation honestly … you know.”
“I see that,” she said, and squirmed a little until he was slamming against her where she wanted him to be. “Oh-h-h, yes. Yes. Like that, Heath. Yes …”
That made him thrust harder, deeper, as he used one hand to fondle her breast quite deliciously. “You are quite … the seductive … minx …”
“And you, sir … are a true … rogue.”
They were both panting now, their bodies entwined, each of them seeking pleasure from the other. Soon, she was feeling those same wild sensations from before, and her body seemed aflame, and her blood trampled through her veins, and her breath … she could not … catch her breath because she had to … had to …
Scream! And she did, as her body vaulted into a glorious release. But he must have anticipated the scream, for he was already cupping his hand over her mouth. He gave one last deep plunge and let out a broken string of French curses—or English prayers?—as he reached his own release.
Then he collapsed atop her before rolling off to lie beside her, clearly spent. His breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes slid closed. “That was … amazing.”
It was, indeed. She felt happy and sated and warm all at once. If she were a cat, she would lie here purring, but since she was not, she merely curled up against him and laid her arm across his waist.
He pulled her closer and nuzzled her hair. “I’m sorry, Giselle,” he whispered.
She frowned. “For what?”
“For taking you like a madman run amok.”
“If that is what a madman run amok is like, then I say, bring on the madmen.” When he chuckled and relaxed, she added, “I did not know what to expect offaire l’amour. But I very much enjoyed it.”
“So did I.” Mischief shone in his face. “And may I still call youmon petit chou?”
She tilted up her chin. “I do confess I rather like having you eat my pastry.”
“I rather like eating your pastry, too,” he said, and kissed her forehead softly.
They lay there in utter contentment a while longer, warm and pleasantly spent.
“May I ask you something?” she said after some time had passed.
“Anything.”
“Did you become a rakehell because of Lily? Because she made you doubt all women?”
He sucked in a harsh breath, then let it out. “Not exactly. If you’ll recall from that day in the Court of Chancery, I wasn’t a saint before she and I tried to elope. At Eton, Jon and I spent plenty of time with loose-living barmaids and married women and the like.”
“Jon?Really?”
“Oh, yes. We were both rascals … and Percy, too.”
“And Captain Scovell?”
He shook his head. “Not Scovell. That one tried to serve as the conscience to all of us.” He turned grim. “Not that it worked. Jon was wild because his parents coddled him, Percy was wild because he had no father to rein him in, and I was wild because I had too rigid a father.”
“Or perhaps you were all wild because you were young and rich and simply liked being wild,” she ventured.
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Quite possibly.” He sobered. “But once I met Lily, I honestly decided to be better. I had no intention of being a faithless husband. I’d seen that too many times among the parents of my other friends at school—some of the lads even joked about their fathers’ mistresses. Even then, I could hear the pain behind the jokes, and I swore I’d never be one of those fathers.”
She propped her head up on one hand. “Until after Lily betrayed you.”
“My father betrayed me first, because I was in love and he didn’t understand it, or at least that’s how I felt then. He decided Lily was wrong for me.” He got a distant look in his eyes. “Looking back, I can see he was probably right about her, but at the time I could only see that he didn’t trust me to make my own decisions, to choose the woman I loved. That he thought only money and consequence mattered in a marriage.”