Free Sail Away by Lee Rowan Page B

once again with the sense that this was his wedding night. Absurd, of course—she had not even hinted, she said quite plainly that she wanted only this experience, and God only knew the uproar that would ensue if he were to wed her. Still, she was so sweet, so innocent—
    "Do you go to bed in a night-shirt, Christophe?"
    And she had such a startling streak of frankness. “As a matter of fact, I do. But I usually sleep alone.” He reminded himself that he didn't have any heroically-endowed rivals to be compared with, and tugged the shirt self-consciously over his head.
    Zoe's eyes grew large, and she took a breath.
    "Please don't ask if it's always so small,” he implored, looking down at his less than impressive display. “It's the cold, you see. It grows longer when it's warm and happy."
    She clapped a hand over her mouth, and dissolved in giggles. “How did you know?"
    He shook his head in mock exasperation and drained his own wineglass. “What an impertinent wench! Here I stand, stripped of my dignity—"
    "And your night-shirt."
    " And my nightshirt! You give me no respect!” He pulled back the quilt. “Come here, you French temptress. Let's have you out of that sack."
    Wordlessly, she stood, raising her arms, and he slipped the thin garment from her body as though unveiling a sculpture. She was perfect. Cleopatra must have looked like this, hair a midnight mantle, two perfect breasts with nipples like rosebuds, gently flared hips, her whole body smooth and pale as ivory. “Oh, my dear girl—are you quite sure?"
    "Yes. And I am cold!” She clung to him once more, and the velvet softness of her skin against his own nakedness was enough to put an end to his reluctance. He kissed her again, coaxing her mouth open this time, and she responded eagerly.
    The room was cold and plain, the bed had no elegance at all. But they were warm beneath the covers, and before long Kit forgot about the surroundings, and Zoe seemed to notice that he had told the truth about the effect of warmth and desire on a man's wedding tackle. All the questions he had meant to ask her went by the wayside, replaced by simpler ones that could be answered without words.
    And before too much time had passed, Kit was silently blessing both Philip and the kindly Lady Campion, who had provided for his education in these matters. But it was one thing to put his lessons into practice; it was another to disregard the one thing that he had been trained in all his life: responsibility.
    Zoe really was a virgin. Beautiful she might be, desirable beyond his dreams, and as she responded to his kisses and caresses her body created a perfume all its own that drove him wild. He ran his fingers through her lower curls, teasing the bud of her sex until he felt her quiver and clutch at him in the throes of pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to roll atop, slip inside her and complete their union.
    But a small voice inside his head kept insisting that a man who would bed an innocent young girl and walk away the next day, leaving her in a dangerous city in the midst of revolution, should be horsewhipped. He could not do such a thing, he must not, he had to find some way to take her away with him...
    Zoe shivered uncontrollably, gasping, "Christophe!"
    She pulled him close with astonishing strength and he let his cock slide between her legs, but not into her body. Yes, oh yes, this would do—"Squeeze your legs tight, Zoe, yes, oh, damn! "
    They rocked together, and when she relaxed he rolled to one side and pulled her against him. It took awhile to get his breath back.
    "Mon Dieu!” she said.
    "Not God, only a man,” he replied. “Thank you, my dear."
    She snuggled into the curve of his shoulder. “Christophe—that was—Angelique said you would lie upon me, and it would hurt for a moment. That did not hurt, it was beautiful!"
    "Angelique,” he said, “does not know everything about Englishmen.” He was terribly drowsy, and pulled the quilt up around