pretending and made no attempt to hide her impatience. She had no truck with pride or prudence. All she wanted was Rory.
“Please?” she whispered with every ounce of longing in her heart. “Please don’t stop.”
For one fraught moment, desire’s clinging web held them captive. Breathlessly she waited for him to proceed, to initiate her into this ultimate mystery. His hands were hard on her hips. His body was big and powerful above hers. His face reflected her unbearable hunger.
Then in the space of a heartbeat, his expression closed and he turned into a stranger. Behind his eyes, shutters slammed down upon all that heat and desire and need.
“Rory?” she asked shakily, cupping his jaw with an unsteady hand. Briefly, he remained motionless under her touch, and she wondered if she’d mistaken his withdrawal. Then he angled his head away and shifted until his body no longer touched hers.
Ice encased her soul as he reached across and tugged her shift over her breast. “Bess, this can’t be. I’m sorry.”
As the beautiful unrestrained ardor in Bess’s face faded to hurt bewilderment, Rory’s heart cramped into a hard nut of regret. Regret was a sour taste in his mouth, too, when only seconds ago, all he could taste was Bess Farrar.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her face pale where before she’d been flushed with pleasure.
Knowing he couldn’t trust himself so close to temptation, he rolled off the bed and stood up. “I had to.”
She pushed into a sitting position. Temper replaced the devastation in her eyes. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” He backed away until his legs hit a chair. He collapsed onto it. Frankly, he wasn’t feeling too steady. “I shouldn’t have let everything get so far.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she bit out.
Shaking fingers making a mull of the mundane action, she buttoned her bodice. But it was too late. The memory of her breast under his hand would haunt him until he died. He sucked in a jagged breath and battled for composure. And wished this damned hut was the size of Blenheim Palace. Bess remained dangerously within reach, and his honor barely clung by its fingertips.
Rory bowed his head and stared unseeingly at the rough timber floor. Looking at her hurt him.
How he cursed his inconvenient conscience, but he couldn’t argue with its conclusions. Every principle he had recoiled at giving Bess Farrar her first sexual experience in a shabby hut with no promises exchanged.
He’d sinned before. Of course he had. But ruining this shining girl was a sin far beyond any he’d committed in his turbulent, swashbuckling life.
When he’d looked down into her lovely face, he’d read unconditional surrender. Once, he’d thought that was what he wanted from her. But it turned out he wasn’t nearly as selfish as he’d believed. Caught up in her first taste of passion, she lost all sight of her welfare.
If he took her now, he’d show her pleasure. He’d treat her with respect and care.
It would still be a grievous wrong.
“I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t behave like a gentleman.”
Her lips tightened. “In my opinion, you’re behaving too much like a gentleman, my lord.”
No sweet whispers of Rory now, he noticed, hiding a wince. His refusal of her breathtaking generosity clearly stung. He could endure her anger. Her pain left him feeling like she eviscerated him with a blunt butter knife. Every word he spoke only seemed to widen the gulf between them.
He longed to take her in his arms, but he was grimly aware how precariously he maintained control. If he touched her, Miss Farrar would face tomorrow as a fallen woman. This wondrous, bright, new feeling that grew between them would become a thing of shame and secrets.
He couldn’t bear that.
He repeated what he’d recognized when, eager and reckless, she’d begged him not to stop.
Bess Farrar deserved better.
“Bess…”
She sighed, a sound of such misery it made him want to howl like a
“Please?” she whispered with every ounce of longing in her heart. “Please don’t stop.”
For one fraught moment, desire’s clinging web held them captive. Breathlessly she waited for him to proceed, to initiate her into this ultimate mystery. His hands were hard on her hips. His body was big and powerful above hers. His face reflected her unbearable hunger.
Then in the space of a heartbeat, his expression closed and he turned into a stranger. Behind his eyes, shutters slammed down upon all that heat and desire and need.
“Rory?” she asked shakily, cupping his jaw with an unsteady hand. Briefly, he remained motionless under her touch, and she wondered if she’d mistaken his withdrawal. Then he angled his head away and shifted until his body no longer touched hers.
Ice encased her soul as he reached across and tugged her shift over her breast. “Bess, this can’t be. I’m sorry.”
As the beautiful unrestrained ardor in Bess’s face faded to hurt bewilderment, Rory’s heart cramped into a hard nut of regret. Regret was a sour taste in his mouth, too, when only seconds ago, all he could taste was Bess Farrar.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her face pale where before she’d been flushed with pleasure.
Knowing he couldn’t trust himself so close to temptation, he rolled off the bed and stood up. “I had to.”
She pushed into a sitting position. Temper replaced the devastation in her eyes. “Is that so?”
“Aye.” He backed away until his legs hit a chair. He collapsed onto it. Frankly, he wasn’t feeling too steady. “I shouldn’t have let everything get so far.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she bit out.
Shaking fingers making a mull of the mundane action, she buttoned her bodice. But it was too late. The memory of her breast under his hand would haunt him until he died. He sucked in a jagged breath and battled for composure. And wished this damned hut was the size of Blenheim Palace. Bess remained dangerously within reach, and his honor barely clung by its fingertips.
Rory bowed his head and stared unseeingly at the rough timber floor. Looking at her hurt him.
How he cursed his inconvenient conscience, but he couldn’t argue with its conclusions. Every principle he had recoiled at giving Bess Farrar her first sexual experience in a shabby hut with no promises exchanged.
He’d sinned before. Of course he had. But ruining this shining girl was a sin far beyond any he’d committed in his turbulent, swashbuckling life.
When he’d looked down into her lovely face, he’d read unconditional surrender. Once, he’d thought that was what he wanted from her. But it turned out he wasn’t nearly as selfish as he’d believed. Caught up in her first taste of passion, she lost all sight of her welfare.
If he took her now, he’d show her pleasure. He’d treat her with respect and care.
It would still be a grievous wrong.
“I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t behave like a gentleman.”
Her lips tightened. “In my opinion, you’re behaving too much like a gentleman, my lord.”
No sweet whispers of Rory now, he noticed, hiding a wince. His refusal of her breathtaking generosity clearly stung. He could endure her anger. Her pain left him feeling like she eviscerated him with a blunt butter knife. Every word he spoke only seemed to widen the gulf between them.
He longed to take her in his arms, but he was grimly aware how precariously he maintained control. If he touched her, Miss Farrar would face tomorrow as a fallen woman. This wondrous, bright, new feeling that grew between them would become a thing of shame and secrets.
He couldn’t bear that.
He repeated what he’d recognized when, eager and reckless, she’d begged him not to stop.
Bess Farrar deserved better.
“Bess…”
She sighed, a sound of such misery it made him want to howl like a
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