Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) by Elizabeth Keysian (best romantic novels in english txt) 📕

had the same idea, for she felt movement against her breastbone and realized he had undone the knot that secured the lacing of her kirtle.

This was dangerous. This was playing with fire. But her body refused to respond to her will—it became an instrument in the hands of an expert musician, and every part of her that his fingers touched thronged with excitement.

Their lips joined again, and he pushed forward, his hips pressing against hers in poignant invitation, and the breath left her body in a great sigh.

“I want to feel you,” she gasped. “I want to feel all of you.”

She was drunk on his kisses, doing bold, sinful things she could never have imagined. Her fingers tore at his points, and as the kiss deepened, she pushed the thick wool of his doublet down over his shoulders, running her hands over the warm, crumpled linen of his shirt.

Then his tongue invaded her mouth and, for a while, she was lost, all direction, all intention gone.

Cool air brushed her shoulders as he eased the sleeves of her kirtle downward, then tugged at the lower part of her laces to release her completely. Her nipples sprang to full, urgent life as the chill touched them and remained thus when his palms cupped her breasts, eliciting another deep sigh from her.

He released her lips for a moment. “It is too cold for undressing. What say you we seek your bed?”

Nay—that would ruin the moment. She’d have to think of practical things like covering the fire, lighting a candle, and then climbing the ladder into the unwelcoming darkness of her bedchamber above. What if she awoke from his drugging touch? What if she lost courage?

“There is a heap of fleeces by the fire,” she purred.

“I’d forgotten. But you’ll be shy of me if you can see me. And you’ll want to cover yourself, too, I fear.”

“Nay. I’ve already seen a large part of you, when you labored shirtless in the moat.”

“That’s not the large part of me I was thinking of.” His voice was thick as velvet, promising pleasure.

“I’ll close my eyes if I don’t like what I see,” she replied stoutly and gave him a gentle shove back toward the fire.

He didn’t give her the opportunity to become shy. He claimed her lips again, clasped his hands behind her bottom, and lifted her against him, her erect nipples rasping against his chest. After another assault of passionate kisses, he let her slide slowly down his body, and she felt the pressure of his manhood against her belly, filling her with a heady mixture of triumph and excitement.

She had done this to him! It was her kiss, her body, that had brought about this remarkable transformation. Eagerly, she reached down to explore him further.

“Stay, Wench. So eager!”

Did it matter if she was eager? They were to be wed, were they not? Unless their different faiths made it impossible.

“Don’t look like that, my love. Pray, continue exploring, if you wish. Only—the more you incite me, the harder it will be for me to maintain my self-control. And I don’t want to rush this.”

She pressed a hand against his chest. “Must we be wed in a Protestant church?”

“We don’t need to be wed in any church if you don’t wish it—I can just claim you as my wife, and it will serve, so long as you accept me. Taking you to bed is as good as asserting such a claim—who would gainsay us?”

“My uncles. They might.”

“Hush now. They have lived long enough in the world to know the way of it. But if you would prefer to wait until all interested parties have been consulted, I will honor your wishes.”

Wait? Could she bear it? Waiting would allow time for uncertainty to creep in. She didn’t want that. She was certain of now, of this moment, this man. She was certain of how much she wanted him.

The men would understand, would they not? If they loved her, they’d want her to stay where she felt she belonged. And they all liked Allan. But did he love her? Could he be true to her?

As if reading her mind, he cupped her face and held her gaze. “I love you, Mistress Cecily Neville. Be in no doubt of that. I will do whatever I can to please you, to make you at the very least content with me. Even happy, if I am able.”

He loved her! What a heady feeling it was to know that. Should she say she loved him back? Nay—it was too soon. She was putting her body into his hands—she might make him wait a little longer before admitting he had her heart as well. She didn’t want him to start strutting about like a prideful peacock.

“Thank you. I’m glad.” She gave him what she thought was a mysterious, provocative smile.

It seemed to work. He bent his head and plundered her lips again, then thrust his tongue once more into her mouth, in greedy possession.

She clung to him, alight with the thrill of his touch, and pushed her hands up under his shirt, curling them around his waist, into the small of his back, and up over the rippling muscles as far as she could reach.

He released her mouth. “Shall I take this off?” he offered.

She nodded, watching unashamedly as his bared torso was revealed, chuckling softly at the disarray of his hair after he pulled the shirt over his head. As he flung the garment to one side, she reached for his hair and enjoyed untidying it some more before her hands dropped to his shoulders.

Such powerful shoulders! His muscles were as hard as iron, yet the skin felt so soft. What a wonder a man could be, especially a physically fit one in the prime of his age. She ran her eyes over the smattering of dark hair on his chest and the narrow column below his navel that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the waistband of his hose.

“Tell me you are mine,” he