If Love Were Enough by Suzanne Quill

short work of him. He could not remember a time when he had been at such a loss for words.
    And still he had not touched her.
    When his eyes opened and refocused, he was surprised to see his lady sitting next to the hearth, her robe cinched around her once again and an unfathomable look of innocence and confusion displayed upon her face. Her hand returned, once again, to the pendant at her throat, gliding it back and forth along the chain.
    “It’s time for you to go, my lord,” she said simply, in a steady, quiet voice.
    He thought of the possible actions he could take. He could pull her into his arms. He could sit where he was and thank her and see if she would share with him why she was taking this unusual approach to their relationship. Or he could just sit there with his mouth drooping open in stunned shock.
    But none of that would do if he wanted to keep her trust. His true option was to do what she requested and wait until they were together again, maybe tomorrow, when he could discuss her reservations, her fears, with her.
    With unsteady fingers, Brandon did up his shirt. When he rose to button his britches, his knees were so weak he almost fell back into the chair. But he buttoned up his trousers, gathered his other garments then bowed at the waist to his new mistress.
    “Until morning, my lady.”
    Priscilla looked to the fire. “My lord,” she sighed.
    Brandon unlocked the door to the hall. Before stepping out, he had the presence of mind to look in both directions. He had no wish to have someone see him leaving Priscilla’s room. Finding the passage empty, he exited and made for his room, ignoring the questions that plundered his brain. His body still reeled from their tryst.

Chapter 9
    Priscilla heard the door latch but her focus remained on the fire before her and the ruby pendant at her neck.
    She was appalled by her actions.
    Lord Brookfield, an acquaintance of not much more than a day, was as near to a complete stranger as he could be. And yet, she seduced him wantonly, sharing intimacies that hitherto she only shared with Robert. Robert had gently and patiently taught her these notions. As her husband he was the one who had the right to expect them.
    But she shared them with Lord Brookfield.
    Brandon.
    And learned there was such a difference.
    Now she understood what Robert had hoped for and desired through the many nights of their marriage. Now she understood the true level of his frustration, wanting his body to respond, wanting his arousal so that he could consummate their marriage.
    But it was not to be, no matter what he taught her, no matter what they tried.
    Priscilla replayed Brandon’s every response in her mind. He watched her self-gratification and refrained from touching her. He encouraged her while his breathing roughened and his own desire built yet stayed in his seat immobile.
    He let her touch him all over. And her curiosity had gotten the best of her. The thought of his hard muscles under her fingertips aroused her again. She could feel again the crisp, springy fur on his chest, hear the rapid intake of his breath when she fondled his nipples.
    And when she unbuttoned his trousers . . . she had never seen a man fully aroused before. It was the tragedy of her marriage that Robert could not respond.
    But Brandon.
    He was so large. So hard. So very magnificent. The skin over his sex was like silk and similar to the rose color of her robe in the fire light.
    She had been frightened to take him into her mouth. Was he appalled at her forwardness? But that is what Robert taught her to do. What the book instructed.
    The pendant slid back along the chain.
    And his body responded to her touch. He lost total control. All those years she waited to see what response Robert desired.
    Tonight she discovered the answer.
    Brandon had released into her mouth. He had become so excited with her ministrations he had lost his control and released. The taste of him, the scent of him still filled her