She must stop the fantasy soon. It was fantasy. Teddy was dead. And mis was unfair to Teddy. Teddy would never have touched her with such wanton intimacy. But it was good.So very good.She must take landanum more often. But oh no, she must not. This was improper.Very improper.
Then he set his hand in the most intimate place of all, at the same moment as his lips found their way to hers again. She gasped against his mouth. He was touching her. His fingers were parting her and stroking her. And she began to ache and ache from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. She could hear herself moaning.
If it was feigned, she was a very good actress. She was hot and pliant in his arms, eager, and.very, very aroused.As was he.This was far more than sport.More than pleasure.
This was need.
This was beauty. She was beautiful. She was wet to his touch. He wanted to be inside her. He needed to be inside her.Now.
She wanted him. She had never wanted him before. She had never denied him, never shrunk from him even, but she had never wanted him.Never ached for him.Never throbbed with something that was almost but not quite pain for his presence in her.
She kept her eyes tightly closed and reached for him eagerly with arms and mouth when he moved over her and brought his weight down on her. She moved to accommodate him and gripped his slim hips and strongly muscled legs with her inner thighs. And she could feel him, hard and male, at the entry to her.
He paused there. His own need was pounding in his ears, but he paused there «a thebrink of her. He would thrust inward sharply, but not quite yet. He wanted to savor the moment He wanted to tease them both for a few moments longer, so that they would both gasp when he finally went in.
She spoke for the first time. "My love," she whispered softly."Oh, my love.So beautiful.Come to me. Come to me now."
He lifted his head from where it had been buried in the soft fragrance of her hair.
I'm a good girl.Oh no, never. Not all the passion in the world could so transform a voice.
"My love," she said, pressing her thighs to his hips, seeking his mouth with her own.
"Who the devil are you?" he asked, straining to see her face in the darkness.
It was not the voice of a dream lover. It was not Teddy's voice. And it was not Teddy's body bearing hers down into the mattress, large and strong and athletically muscled. Neither was it a fantasy body.
It was the voice of a real man.The body of a real man.A strange man.
There was a man in her bed!
Despite all his suddenly aroused curiosity, the Marquess of Kenwood could have bitten his tongue out the moment after he had spoken. The woman beneath him—whoever she was—became all twisting, clawing, desperate panic. Feet, hands, and head became flailing weapons. It was as much as he could do to roll off her uninjured.
"Who are you?" she demanded in a voice that shook almost out of control. "What are you doing here? Get out! Get away from me! I shall scream. I shall have you taken up and thrown into jail and hanged. Get out of here this instant, you treacherous, lecherous ..."
She leaped from the bed, realized the instant her body hit the cool night air that there was nothing covering that body, grabbed for the bedclothes to drag around herself, retreated to the window, and pulled back the heavy curtains in an effort to see her assailant.
She succeeded. Deprived of all coverings, he had risen up after her, and the dim light filtering through the window from outside showed her a magnificently formed, but very naked and very aroused man. She could not see his face.
"I shall scream," she said again.
Lord Kenwood felt at a distinct disadvantage. He bent to disentangle his breeches from his other garments on the floor and pulled them on, despite the fact that it was painful to do so.
"I might ask what you are doing in my room, madam," he said with admirable coolness. "I am more than delighted to entertain you here, of course, but I could have wished that your visit had not been cut so very abruptly short,"
She knew the voice. She had heard it recently.That afternoon.At her carriage door.He was the wet and muddy—and handsome—gentleman. His words registered on her brain.
"Yourroom?" she said incredulously."Yourroom?This ismyroom, sir. Mine, as I am quite sure you are aware. How did you get in here? And where is my maid?" She could hear her voice rising into hysteria.
The marquess buttoned his breeches with some difficulty and looked about him at the dim outlinesoftheroom and its furnishings. And yes, of course, his bed was against the other wall. This was not his bed or his room. He rubbed a hand hard along the bristles of his chin.
She was the lady of the lovely legs—and lovely everything else too.
He closed his eyes briefly and went to retrieve the untidy heap of his clothing at his feet.
"My apologies, madam," he said with a formality that struck an odd note against his own ears. "It seems I mistook the room. And if my guess is right, your maid did likewise. I will send her to you without delay."
But Diana, huddled and shaking inside the blankets, scarcely heard his words. Her teeth were beginning to chatter. Her knees were about to buckle.
