“Tighter? Why the devil—”
“The duke is concerned that I am too—” She swallowed. “Too—”
“Too what?”
“Round.”
“So I was right. He wants you on display.”
Clara winced, and Michael’s teeth ground, his cheeks darkening. “Turn around.”
Slowly she did, shivering as his fingers found the laces at the back of the gown. “My chemise and stays will show.”
“Your pelisse will cover them.”
He kept working, and Clara felt the dress give away. Then his hands moved up again and she realized he meant to unlace her stays. “Michael!” She twisted, but he placed both hands on her shoulders, keeping her faced away from him.
He took a deep breath and kissed her temple. “Listen to me,” he whispered, then he kissed the lobe of her ear, and a wash of desire flooded her.
“I should not—”
“The duke is a fool, and apparently your mother as well. Some men”—he kissed her temple again—“want more than a wraith in a silk dress. They want more.” His lips brushed her shoulder. “More here.” His hands slid down her sides. “And here.” They came to rest on her hips. “And especially here.”
Clara shuddered, his hands like fire, even through her clothes. “I do not believe—”
“I do not lie. Men discuss such things more than women would like to think. We like to take comfort in a woman’s body as well as pleasure. A woman should be more than a dowry and a legacy.” One hand caressed her stomach as the other cupped one of her breasts, and her breath caught.
“Michael—”
“And there is great comfort in a woman who comes to a man with more.”
“You make me sound like an overstuffed pillow.”
Michael snorted a laugh. “You are most definitely not an overstuffed pillow. Unfortunately, I am not a wordsmith. Not a poet. Even if I were, when I am with you, words become a complete jumble in my head. I become desperate to show you more than tell you.” The hand on her stomach slipped downward to caress her upper thigh, his fingertips pressing in on the fabric of her skirt.
Clara’s breath turned ragged, and she gasped, needing air she could not pull in.
“Another reason you need to be able to breathe freely,” he whispered. He returned to her stays. They loosened quickly and she sucked in a deep gasp. He pulled her against him again, and his strength and warmth filled her with the very solace she had longed for.
She stroked his forearm as she took several deep breaths. “Thank you.”
“Oh, I am far from finished, Lady Clara.”
She twisted to look up at him, her curiosity spiking again. “Whatever do you mean?”
His eyes gleamed as he turned her to face him. “May I take down your hair?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to seduce me, sir?”
He shrugged one shoulder, a sly smile twisting his mouth. “Perhaps. Is it working?”
She laughed. “Perhaps. Why my hair?”
“Because it looks uncomfortable.”
“It is.”
He sombered, shaking his head slowly. “Lady Clara, I have made no secret that I would like to court you.” He ran one finger along the edge of her neckline. “That I would like to be close to you. Bed you.” His finger trailed up her neck and touched her lips, a move Clara found mesmerizing. “But no one should ever make you this uncomfortable. There should be limits on what you bear for the sake of beauty.”
