One Night of Surrender: The Brothers Mortmain, Book 1 Read Free

that stretched between them, Katherine began to feel less apprehensive. Of course she knew that tonight Gervais Hawley would have her in any way he wished, and she had agreed to it. Of course she knew that. But as yet he had barely touched her, and he had been kind. Perhaps he would leave her be until the morning, and she would escape at cock crow without having to fulfil her promise.
    Slyly, she glanced up at him through her pale lashes, trying in vain to read his expression, to understand how this man felt and thought. With Edward it had been important to learn his every twitch or smirk and what it might mean for her, but this man…he was an unread book.
    Now he caught her look and chuckled.
    “Feeling better?”
    “Much, thank you.”
    “Then perhaps it is time to begin.”
    “Begin?” she whispered, blue eyes wide. He could not mean what she thought he meant. Could he?
    As if to divert her fretful thoughts, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers against her long hair. “Your hair is curling now that it is dry,” he said. He drew forth a lock, stretched it to its fullest extent, and then let it tumble softly against her breast.
    Katherine didn’t move, could hardly breathe, as he played with her hair. He smoothed it into a bunch at her nape and then let it fall free again. He lifted it to his face and nuzzled into it, his eyes closed. “Like finest silk,” he murmured, and smiled. “Do you know every woman has her own scent? One that is hers alone?”
    Katherine shook her head uncertainly. “And what is mine, sir?” she asked, then wondered if she should have stayed silent. What if it was something nasty?
    He thought a moment, idly running his fingers through the threads of her hair. “You have an exotic scent, Katherine. You may look like a cool English rose but I think you have the fire of exotic lands in your blood.”
    “I am the daughter of a teacher and a scholar,” Katherine retorted. “The only thing exotic about me is the stories I read.”
    Gervais raised his brows. “What stories are they? Surely nothing that isn’t perfectly respectable?”
    Katherine knew he was laughing at her. As if he knew. But how could he? “Of course,” she said, and forced herself to meet his gaze directly, daring him to call her a liar.
    Instead he reached out to trace the flesh above the neckline of her gown with a long forefinger. “Of course,” he echoed. He caressed her skin as if it were a delicate wonder to him, and the more he touched the warmer she became. A tremble began in her lips and then her throat, and then spread down to her breasts. She felt them tighten, a little ache of sensation, before the tremble went lower still, to the place between her legs where Edward had forced himself inside her. Always in the darkness, as if he were ashamed of his own needs. Wrenching up her nightdress so that he could fumble his way to snorting, gasping ecstasy.
    But this was different, very different. Gervais was moulding the shape of her breasts with his hands, feeling the weight of her, his thumbs finding the hard nubs her nipples had become through the worn cloth. Her breath was ragged. She could hear it in the silent room and tried to calm herself, but the more she tried the more ragged it became.
    “Sir,” she tried, “I…”
    “Hush.” There it was again, that gentle word. And yet he turned it into a command. Or a promise.
    He leaned toward her and his mouth was so close to hers that she felt the warmth of his breath upon her lips, and then his lips touched hers, gently, but with practised expertise. His tongue tasted her bottom lip, darted inside her mouth, and she felt herself opening before him. Helpless and yet eager, too, to experience what he had to give.
    “Exotic indeed,” he murmured. “You taste of the sun, Katherine. Kissing you is like escaping to fantastic places.”
    His words were soft and mesmerising, and Katherine made a soft sound, more of a moan than a whimper. The heat