Lady Griffith's Second Chance

Chapter Twelve

It would amaze her later how time seemed to suddenly move in fits and starts. First, she stood with him in the conservatory, the rain cascading in sheets down the panels of glass all around them. In what felt as brief as a blink, an intake of breath, there was the solidity of a bench beneath her, a flash of lightning illuminating the figure of Mr. Cranmer - Thomas... she would have to take care to call him Thomas now, at least in all her thoughts - before her.

A dozen reasons for why she should stop what was about to occur sparked to life in her mind. What if they were discovered? Was it proper for her to be with a man she'd only known for a short while? What if...? What if...? What if...?

She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut for a brief moment.

"Regan."

His voice cut through the cacophony inside her head. A rumble of thunder rolled out beyond the walls of the conservatory, shaking her to her core. She shivered then, but not from any change in the temperature of the room.

He dropped down to his haunches in front of her, his elbows balanced on his thighs before he reached out and took her hands, drawing them off her lap. "Are you frightened?" His tone made the question sound incredulous. How could she, wife, widow, mother of three, be frightened of what was about to happen between them? She was not an innocent bride, but Edmund had been her only lover. And for the last seven years, there had not been even him.

She shook her head at him, even before she could give his query its due. Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the room, lighting up Thomas's face, the brilliant color of his tempestuous eyes. "No," she said, in case he did not see the shake of her head. "I am not afraid." Not with you.

The realization startled her. But she could not find any reason to deny it. She did not fear that he would hurt her. And she knew that if she had denied him, if she had asked to return to the parlour with the other guests, she did not doubt he would oblige her, and without hesitation.

He raised her hands to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. That alone was nearly enough to undo her all over again, but she held her breath as he turned her palms over to kiss the inside of her wrists, the tip of his tongue skimming the most sensitive skin there before she inhaled sharply.

"Oh." A gentle pull and he shifted forward onto his knees. "Thomas."

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the room, enough that she could see his lips were parted even without the aid of another flash of lightning. She bent forward and caught his mouth before he could say anything, before another bout of hesitation could put an end to what had already started.

Her hands slipped free from his grasp to slide over his shoulders, one pushing over his collar, up into the thick waves of his hair. She was at an advantage, she realized, being slightly above him on the bench. His head tipped back, allowing her to kiss his jaw, to graze her lips across the faint growth of stubble already making its appearance.

"Regan," he said again, and she smiled to herself, at the sound of her name whispered from his mouth, his breath gentle and warm across her cheek.

And while she kissed him, his hands slipped downward, grabbing the hem of her gown and pulling it upwards again; over her ankles, her calves, the light touch of his fingers marking his progress along her stockings. Above her knee she drew in another breath, holding it as his touch crossed the barrier to the bare skin of her upper thighs, and then-

"Oh, heavens."

She was still so wet, still so ready for him. He slipped his finger inside of her once, just once, and she gripped his shoulders as her back arched and her hips jerked forward to the very edge of the seat.