A Certain Latitude Read Online Free PDF

aloud at the thought—was so much more vital and immediate, absorbing and consuming her. He was there. Here. Inside her.
    “Oh.” You imbecile, Clarissa .
    “Oh.” Only this time he wasn’t laughing at her; it was a long, drawn-out exclamation, half-sigh, half-groan, his eyes half-closed, as though making a discovery in a dream.
    She moved her weight forward to brace her knee against the chicken coop, craving more of the wonderful slide and tug of his entry, as the ship rocked and swayed. He moved beneath her, thighs tense as he thrust, his hands at her breasts, then pulling her face to his as he groaned into her mouth.
    So unashamed, so generous, so—and then he pulled out of her, panting.
    “You’re not prepared.” His cock, wet and swollen, rubbed against her cunny, her thighs. He trembled.
    Not prepared? Well, he was there, wasn’t he? How more prepared could she be?
    “Clarissa!” He shook her arm. “I can’t come in you, can I?”
    “I—I don’t…”
    He swore, grasped her hand and wrapped it around his cock. His face had lost its innocent dreaminess; now he grimaced, fierce and frantic, cursing, arched his back and spilled warm over her hand and belly.
    He sagged back against the henhouse with such sudden abandon she wondered for one dreadful moment if he was dead, until he opened his eyes and laughed.
    She stared at him, confused.
    He patted her on the bottom, looking lazy and pleased with himself. “My apologies, Miss Onslowe.”
    “For what?”
    “My excessive haste and the, ah, mess.”
    She peered down at herself, at her sticky hand, his sticky hand, his cock slumped wet amidst a tangle of shirttail and petticoat. “No matter.”
    He reached into his coat pocket, and produced a handkerchief, wiping her fingers with an easy practicality, and then pushed her back—gently, but a push nonetheless—from his lap.
    She stood, straightened her skirts and petticoats, irritated with him, and with herself—well, what had she expected? A proposal or a passionate declaration of love?
    He stood, too, and regarded her in silence for a moment. “I should congratulate you, ma’am.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Miss Onslowe, you may choose to masquerade as—as some sort of virginal spinster. But you fuck like an emperor’s concubine. I don’t believe I’ve been so professionally seduced before in my life, and you certainly have the courtesan’s art of bringing a man off as fast as she can. Who the devil are you?”

 
     
     

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    The words tumbled, senseless and hurried, out of Clarissa’s mouth before she could stop herself. “You know who I am. I’m no one. I’m one of thousands of women whose one indiscretion has left them with no future. I’m ruined.”
    “Not by me,” he said, scowling.
    “I never said—” she stopped before she made a greater fool of herself, wondering why he was so angry. I never said I was a virgin, I didn’t say I was unwilling… She cleared her throat. “Obviously not by you. It happened five years ago, plenty of time in which to reflect on my fate and to regret that I have no place in society. So I was housekeeper to a distant relative and when he died I found myself penniless. I had no choice but to take this position as a governess on the island, or starve.”
    “He left you nothing in his will?” Pendale looked interested now, as a dog might prick its ears. “It’s customary to leave upper servants well provided for.”
    “No. I had hoped—”
    “Too bad you didn’t know me then, Miss Onslowe. A good lawyer could have squeezed something out of the estate.”
    She shrugged, and wound her chilly hands together beneath her cloak, staring out at the white crests of waves. “I must earn my living, sir.”
    “Ah.” He rested his hands on the rail, his shoulder bumping against hers as the ship dipped and swayed. “I regret I can’t offer to be your protector, Miss Onslowe.”
    “I notice you don’t make me an offer of marriage,