Page 77 of Enticing Odds
She did not know.
She must have drifted off into a light sleep, for the next thing she knew was the sound of the doors to the adjoining drawing room echoing across the cavernous ceiling, then of purposeful footsteps crossing the conservatory’s floor.
Thankfully it was only one set of footsteps. Wardle was circumspect, as always. Perhaps her butler was the only man Cressida had ever trusted.
She had wanted to trust Dr. Collier. But how could she now?
Cressida sat up, her heartbeat accelerating. Would she send him away for good? Or would she go against good sense and forgo all the protections she’d put in place for herself?
Everything felt slow and dreamlike. In truth, she wasn’t quite sure if she was awake. Cressida blinked and moved her hand against the white silk of her tea-gown. It felt cool and smooth. She must be awake.
“My lady,” a familiar voice breathed.
He stood before her, dimly lit, emerging from the palm fronds and monstera leaves that cast strange and ominous shadows upon the decorative terra-cotta tiles.
Cressida shifted from her recline, assuming a more polite and restrained pose even as heat pooled within her, warming her chest, her legs, low in her stomach.
The doctor approached slowly, as if fighting through a crashing surf, his eyes intense behind his spectacles. He appeared half starved, half drunk; desperate for a kind word to fall from her lips, as if he’d perform any task to gain it, no matter how dubious.
“You sent for me,” he said quietly, halting his approach one pace before her.
It struck her, this distance left between them. A shock of hurt spread through her, but she remained calm. It was a distance well deserved, for she had reason to believe she’d been deceived.
“I didn’t send for you on Tuesday, if you’ll recall.”
“I do,” he agreed, his voice thick with a hint of apology, a lock of wavy hair falling into his face.
She supposed this would be easier, had she already made a decision. But she still hadn’t.
He stepped closer, his movements tentative, his eyes searching her face, waiting for a reproach.
When he saw none was forthcoming, he fell to his knees before her, took her hands in his, and buried his face in her upturned palms.
“I thought you might never send word again,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the heels of her hands, sending sparks of pleasure up her arms and throughout her body.
Cressida pressed her thighs together. Ought she not question him now? Probe for answers to just what sort of trouble they were in, and how this Charles Sharples knew him? How he knewher, of all things? Yes, that was the correct course of action. Notto break free from all caution and good sense, and wantonly give in to primal lust.
Heart in her throat, she gently pulled one hand from his face and stroked his hair. He sighed into her lap.
And Cressida knew she could not bear to cast him aside. Not now. Not in this moment. Soon, perhaps, but not yet. Not until…
Her hands slid to his firm shoulders, urging his head up from her lap. Without a sane, logical thought in her head, she bent forward and took his face in her hands.
She kissed him.
Every lonely hour, every cross word, every problem in Matthew’s life melted away as the heat of desire took hold. He met her lips with a languor to match hers, tasting, slowly building in fervor. His body was taut, and tightening more by the moment, his cock thick and rigid, bulging against the fall of his trousers.
And then a fierceness broke through; he pulled her down from her perch on the lounge and into his arms. The light wicker furniture rocked in the wake of her departure.
She was so soft, so perfect.
Matthew pulled back slightly, his breath shaking.
He wordlessly removed his jacket, balled it up, and placed it on the floor behind her as a makeshift pillow, onto which he lowered her gently down. She looked up at him, her lovely dark lashes lowered, her toffee eyes made even more beautiful by the soft lamplight.
“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed, then released a shaking sigh. “I don’t want to remove my spectacles, I wish to—”
“Then don’t,” she murmured, her voice so low, so smooth.
