Phoebe shot him a questioning glance.
Guiding her further along, then stopping near the wall beside a corridor leading deeper into the house, he met her gaze. “Are you hungry?”
She blinked. “No…” Her gaze dropped to his lips. She licked hers and softly said, “At least not for what Lady Griswald will be serving.”
She was an innocent, yet that action and her words could have been delivered by the most gifted of courtesans.
They certainly had the requisite effect on him.
His hand tightened over hers where it rested on his sleeve. He cast a quick glance at those still filing out of the music room. Those who had seen them separate from the crowd had already moved on. Those just coming out didn’t glance their way but instead turned left, following those ahead of them.
One step to the side, and he drew Phoebe around the corner and into the deserted corridor. She blinked, but said nothing; she kept pace as, her hand locked in his, he led her quic
kly on.
Where to, he wasn’t sure; he didn’t know this house. They passed the opening to another corridor on their right; he glanced down it as he strode past—and saw the perfect spot. Halting, he tugged Phoebe around and led her into the darkness of the narrower corridor. “This way.”
He made for the alcove at the end.
It was perfect—not for intimacy but for seduction. The corridor ended in a bow window, glass panes set in wooden frames curving from one side to the other. The windows started at knee height and reached nearly to the ceiling; the twin panels in the center of the bow had been left open to the mild night. But what rendered the semicircular alcove absolutely perfect were the thick velvet curtains that hung suspended from brass rings at either end of a polished pole that stretched from wall to wall.
Halting within the alcove, Deverell released Phoebe. Reaching to either side, he pulled the heavy curtains across, sealing them in, concealing them, creating a quiet, private space where no one would find them.
The curtains cut them off from the world.
Turning, he saw Phoebe standing before the open windows, hands grasping the frames on either side, head tilted. He drew closer, then heard it, too—the distant playing of the musicians in the music room.
They played in fits and starts, clearly using the time to practice. Like the alcove, the music room looked over the side garden filled with trees, large shrubs, and dense shadows. Some of the music room windows were open; they’d be able to hear the rest of the performance.
The spot couldn’t have been more perfect for their needs.
Sensing him near, Phoebe started to turn; swiftly he stepped closer, eliminating the gap between them. Sliding a hand across her waist, he smoothly drew her against him, her back to his chest, her bottom against his thighs. Not tightly, but enough to let her know that that was where he wanted her. “Leave your hands where they are.”
She stilled within his hold but didn’t freeze. Twisting her head, she glanced back and up, caught his eyes.
The question in hers was easy to read even though the soft wash of moonlight pouring through the windows did little to illuminate the blue-violet depths.
“No kissing,” he told her. “At least, not lips to lips.” Raising his free hand, he brushed aside the bobbing strands screening her nape, bent and pressed his lips to the soft skin beneath. And felt her melt.
She breathed in; he felt her lungs swell. Felt her hold the breath as he moved his lips lightly over her sensitive nape.
“This time,” he murmured, “you don’t have to do anything…except feel.”
Lids falling, Phoebe heard the words, a dark whisper sliding through her mind. She felt herself relax against him as his lips trailed across her shoulder, then he nudged her head aside and pressed a hot kiss at the junction where her shoulder met her neck.
He seemed to know all the places where just a light touch made her inwardly shiver, where the brush of his lips seemed a subtle intimacy.
He shifted, and his other hand joined the first at her waist. Then in concert they rose. Closed over her breasts, but gently, kneaded but lightly—just enough to make the heat well beneath her skin, make her breasts swell and warm and tighten.
Then his fingers moved to the tiny gold buttons closing her bodice. In anticipation, she’d worn another gown with a bodice that opened fully at the front, rather than a gown with back laces. From beneath her lids, she peeked down, and watched as he peeled away the cornflower blue silk, then her chemise, exposing her breasts, already peaked and firm, to the night.
To the cool breeze that laid sensory fingers across her already flushed skin. To the faint moonlight that turned her skin pearly white, framed by the blue of her gown, by his darker, lightly tanned hands as they cradled, then closed.
Her lids fell; her head lolled back against his shoulder, her spine arching as his hands and fingers worked, and pleasure bloomed and spread beneath her skin, then heightened and coursed through her, tightening nerves, heating, melting…and still he continued, languid, unhurried, until a nameless longing rose within her, making her restless under his hands.
Unbidden, her hips moved against him.
He bent and set his lips to cruise her nape and bare shoulder, lightly nipping, then soothing.