Read Online Alley Urchin by Josephine Cox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Josephine Cox
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in that way, but they meant nothing to him. Emma was special, and he would never rest until she came to his bed of her own accord. Oh, but in spite of her little games, she would! Yes indeed she would.
When, in a moment, he touched his fingertips to her temple, Emma made no movement at all. When he stroked the silkiness of her rich chestnut hair, she gently stirred. Afraid that she might cry out, he took away his hand from her forehead and, for a while, he stood very still, his arms loose by his sides and his blue eyes, made all the more murky by the drink he’d consumed, raked her face until they knew every finely chiselled line and curve. How greedily he devoured that creamy forehead with its heart-shaped hairline and high, perfectly shaped dark brows; even now, though they were tightly closed, Foster Thomas could imagine Emma’s startlingly beautiful steel-grey eyes at their most magnificent . . . this being, to his warped mind, when she looked on him with the utmost contempt. Oh, but he wasn’t disturbed by it for he had convinced himself that it was all a show, a ploy to drive him crazy with desire. And it had worked! By God, it had worked because, as he gazed on her now, savouring her beauty to the full, there came over him an insatiable and feverish desire to draw back the bedcovers and to gaze upon the sleeping Emma in all her naked loveliness. The more he thought of it, the more urgent became the yearning, until the breath quickened in his throat and his pulse raced with excitement. He had never seen Emma unclothed. Not once had he feasted his eyes on her nakedness. Now the urge was too strong to resist; he must see her, for nothing else would satisfy him this night. And, if he were to slide in beside her, who was there to stop him? Certainly not his father, who was sleeping the sleep of the dead, downstairs; nor Nelly, who was also deeply exhausted. As for Emma . . . even if she had a mind to, she was in no position to object.
By now, every sense and nerve-ending in Foster Thomas’s body was tingling at the prospect of taking Emma’s nakedness to himself. There was a torment within him which pulled him two ways: he had vowed never to take Emma without her full and eager cooperation, but, having her lying before him now, so warm and vulnerable, and with the raw passion racing through his body when the need in him was as proud and obvious as ever it could be in a man, his resolve not to invade Emma’s beauty without her wanting it as much as he himself did was weakening – already he had lost control.
As he reached out, with trepidation, to pluck the bedclothes from her, the palms of his hands were sweating and his every limb trembled uncontrollably. Gently now, and all the while holding his breath for fear of being discovered, he slid back the clothes which hid Emma from him. He had suspected that she might not be wearing a nightgown; not when the heat of the day was such that men were forced to cease their labours or fry in the merciless sun. In the dead of night that same heat was so oppressive and suffocating that even when lying still in bed, a body was bathed in sweat.
Emma was not wearing a nightgown, having come through a feverish crisis when it would have clung to her like a second skin. The doctor had given instructions that Emma be covered up to the chin by the bedclothes, and occasionally flannelled down with fresh water to reduce her soaring temperature. Nelly had allowed no one else close to Emma and not once had she failed in her duty to carry out the doctor’s instructions. So, when Foster Thomas drew back the bedclothes, the sight of Emma’s slender body caused him to gasp out loud. If he had thought her face the most beautiful he had ever seen, then how much more magnificent was her body!
Riveted to the spot and almost afraid of what his astonished eyes beheld, Foster Thomas scored every detail into his lecherous mind. His eyes narrowed and his desire for Emma was greatly intensified as
When, in a moment, he touched his fingertips to her temple, Emma made no movement at all. When he stroked the silkiness of her rich chestnut hair, she gently stirred. Afraid that she might cry out, he took away his hand from her forehead and, for a while, he stood very still, his arms loose by his sides and his blue eyes, made all the more murky by the drink he’d consumed, raked her face until they knew every finely chiselled line and curve. How greedily he devoured that creamy forehead with its heart-shaped hairline and high, perfectly shaped dark brows; even now, though they were tightly closed, Foster Thomas could imagine Emma’s startlingly beautiful steel-grey eyes at their most magnificent . . . this being, to his warped mind, when she looked on him with the utmost contempt. Oh, but he wasn’t disturbed by it for he had convinced himself that it was all a show, a ploy to drive him crazy with desire. And it had worked! By God, it had worked because, as he gazed on her now, savouring her beauty to the full, there came over him an insatiable and feverish desire to draw back the bedcovers and to gaze upon the sleeping Emma in all her naked loveliness. The more he thought of it, the more urgent became the yearning, until the breath quickened in his throat and his pulse raced with excitement. He had never seen Emma unclothed. Not once had he feasted his eyes on her nakedness. Now the urge was too strong to resist; he must see her, for nothing else would satisfy him this night. And, if he were to slide in beside her, who was there to stop him? Certainly not his father, who was sleeping the sleep of the dead, downstairs; nor Nelly, who was also deeply exhausted. As for Emma . . . even if she had a mind to, she was in no position to object.
By now, every sense and nerve-ending in Foster Thomas’s body was tingling at the prospect of taking Emma’s nakedness to himself. There was a torment within him which pulled him two ways: he had vowed never to take Emma without her full and eager cooperation, but, having her lying before him now, so warm and vulnerable, and with the raw passion racing through his body when the need in him was as proud and obvious as ever it could be in a man, his resolve not to invade Emma’s beauty without her wanting it as much as he himself did was weakening – already he had lost control.
As he reached out, with trepidation, to pluck the bedclothes from her, the palms of his hands were sweating and his every limb trembled uncontrollably. Gently now, and all the while holding his breath for fear of being discovered, he slid back the clothes which hid Emma from him. He had suspected that she might not be wearing a nightgown; not when the heat of the day was such that men were forced to cease their labours or fry in the merciless sun. In the dead of night that same heat was so oppressive and suffocating that even when lying still in bed, a body was bathed in sweat.
Emma was not wearing a nightgown, having come through a feverish crisis when it would have clung to her like a second skin. The doctor had given instructions that Emma be covered up to the chin by the bedclothes, and occasionally flannelled down with fresh water to reduce her soaring temperature. Nelly had allowed no one else close to Emma and not once had she failed in her duty to carry out the doctor’s instructions. So, when Foster Thomas drew back the bedclothes, the sight of Emma’s slender body caused him to gasp out loud. If he had thought her face the most beautiful he had ever seen, then how much more magnificent was her body!
Riveted to the spot and almost afraid of what his astonished eyes beheld, Foster Thomas scored every detail into his lecherous mind. His eyes narrowed and his desire for Emma was greatly intensified as
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