“It looks dangerous,” he said. “Can you get the damned thing off without me?”
She unfastened the shakefold and stepped from it, kicked it over to the stool, where her other garments were piled. Then she added her flannel petticoats.
“Sit on the edge of the bed, and I will remove your stocking for you,” he said.
Rosamund sat, watching him as he first removed each of her square-toed leather shoes and then set about unrolling her wool stockings. When her feet were finally free, she wiggled her toes in an attempt to get some warmth back into them.
“Get beneath the coverlet,” he said, and then he turned away to undress himself.
She watched him in the pale flickering light of the single candle. He had lived a half century, he had said, yet his body was hard and firm. He was obviously not a man who was idle or lazy. His buttocks were tight, and his hairy legs long. His back was broad, and he was very fair of skin. Entirely naked, he turned about to enter the bed, and she caught a glimpse of his manhood. At rest it was large, and she shivered with anticipation, then blushed with her own lustful thoughts. What was she doing here, in bed with a stranger? And yet it was right.
He drew her into his arms, his fingers undoing the ribbons that held her chemise closed. When the delicate fabric spread itself open, he looked upon Rosamund’s breasts, and then his dark head bent. He rubbed his face against the perfumed skin, gaining the most intense pleasure as he did so. She shivered and held his head against her bosom, enjoying the act every bit as much as he was.
“I have never…” she began.
“I know,” he said, understanding instinctively what she was trying to say. He raised his head to look into her face. “I have conceived little of what has happened between us tonight, Rosamund. All I know is that you and I are meant to be together like this. You are not one of the ladies of the court with their light morals. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you. There is yet time. If you wish to leave me now, you may go unimpeded.”