Page 35 of Impetuous

“That wasn’t a dream, was it?” she asked huskily. “That night when we met…I wasn’t dreaming. You were doing those things….”

“Yes.” Blood was pounding in his loins. “I kissed you.” Cassandra’s hand went unconsciously to her breast. “I touched you.”

He reached out, laying his hand over hers. She looked up, startled, and her eyes were caught by his. Mesmerized, she stared into the dark depths of desire glittering in his eyes, and her hand dropped away. His palm settled on her breast. His fingers curved around the soft orb, hot even through the cloth of her chemise. Heat flooded Cassandra’s face, but she could not tear her gaze from his. She was too breathless to speak, and her brain could not find the words to protest, anyway. Her thoughts were too jumbled, too searing.

His hand moved up and then down beneath the light chemise, gliding over her naked breasts. He caressed her, finding the point of her nipple and taking it gently between his forefinger and thumb. Cassandra drew in her breath sharply at the sudden, intense pleasure as he manipulated the little bud of flesh. Heat flooded her abdomen, and there was suddenly moisture between her legs. A groan escaped her, and the soft noise almost catapulted his own desire past control.

“Cassandra…” He moved closer, swinging one leg behind her, the knee up so that his leg formed a support for her back, and moving the other across her lap, its weight pinning down her legs.

He pushed down the front of her chemise, exposing her pale breasts. He stared at her in the pale starlight, his eyes avidly taking in the smooth, plump orbs and the large dark circles of her nipples, the hardening buttons of flesh thrusting out from the centers. He swallowed, unable to speak, aware of little except the desire raging in him.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, delicately tracing each nipple with a finger. Cassandra closed her eyes and leaned back against his leg as though drained of energy, the very picture of a woman surrendering to passion. Desire slammed through him like a giant fist, making him tremble.

Philip knew that despite all his good intentions, he was going to make love to her now. He was going to lay her back on the ground and feast on her lush breasts. He was going to kiss her until her lips were dark and swollen. And he was going to move her legs apart and thrust himself deep inside her, claiming her, ravishing her, making her his.

His arms went around her, and he pulled her up tightly against him, pressing the side of her hip into his pulsing desire, and he bent to sink his lips into hers.

“Who’s there!” a man’s voice bellowed, slicing through their passion like an icy knife. “Stand up, I say, and identify yourself before I let loose with this.”

Philip froze, letting out a groan of frustration.

“Chumley!” Cassandra whispered in accents of horror.

“What?”

“You hear me?” the voice rang out again. “Stand up, I say!”

“It’s Chumley!” Cassandra repeated. “The man who was here this afternoon—yesterday, I mean.”

Philip began to curse in a low voice as he pulled away from her, raising his arms in the air and unfolding into a standing position. “Don’t shoot. I assure you, we are quite peaceable.”

“Chumley, it is I, Cassandra Verrere.” Cassandra called, struggling to rise and at the same time pull her bodice together. Sir Philip reached down a helpful hand to pull her up.

“Miss Cassandra!” the groundskeeper repeated in shocked tones and hurried toward them. “Whatever are you doing out here? I nearly shot you, I did!”

Philip, seeing Cassandra’s dilemma, quickly shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around Cassandra’s shoulders to cover her. She pulled it closed gratefully and summoned up a smile to greet her former employee.

“I am sorry to have alarmed you, Chumley. I never dreamed that you might be out here.”

“Why, of course. Somebody had to protect the house, now, didn’t they?”

“Apparently the same thought occurred to all of us,” Philip interjected dryly.

Chumley eyed him with suspicion. “You again! What are you doing here?”

“Sir Philip and I were here on the same errand as you,” Cassandra explained quickly. “We all hoped to catch the intruder. It is unfortunate that none of us communicated that intent with the others.” She turned and gave Neville a dark look. “I am afraid our culprit was here and got away—unless that was you I saw with the lantern a few minutes ago.”

“No, miss, weren’t me. I wouldn’t come here hunting a thief with a light announcing me, now would I?”

“No.” Cassandra sighed. “Well, there’s no harm now in lighting one, I suppose.” She turned back to where she had set down her own lantern, taking the opportunity to shrug her arms into Philip’s coat and button it tightly up the front so that her ruined bodice did not show beneath. As for the heavy heat in her loins and the sizzling sensations still running along her nerves—hopefully no one would be able to detect those things, even in the light of the lanterns. She smoothed her hair down and tied it in a self knot behind her neck, hoping that at least she would not look quite so wild. Then, relighting her lantern, she rejoined the two men.

They had gotten their own lanterns lit and were standing eyeing each other disapprovingly.

“I am sure your father would not approve of your being out here at this time of night, Miss Cassandra-and with a strange man.”

“Sir Philip is not a stranger, Chumley. He is a dear friend of the family. And, besides, I was not with him. I came alone. I happened to, ah, run into him after I arrived here. He thought I was the burglar, you see.”

Chumley released a snort that clearly indicated his opinion of a man who could think that Miss Verrere was a thief. “Not much better, your running about in the middle of the night alone.”