She set down the small statuette she’d been inspecting and made her way to the charcoal-gray settee placed before the wide bow window dark with deep night. She perched on the plush velvet surface and flicked one, then the other, of her satin slippers off her feet before resting them to the side of her half-reclined body.
Anticipation quickened the beat of Tristan’s heart. It couldn’t help itself. She looked like a woman poised to be ravished.
“It occurred to me tonight,” she said as if they were picking up in the middle of a conversation.
“What is that?”
“You and I never completed our bargain.”
That blasted bargain. It should’ve never been agreed to in the first place. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. In fact, he might make it again, given the chance. “You left Italy first, if you’ll recall.”
“Well, we’re both in London now.” Her mouth curved into the smile of a seductress. “We could finish what we started.”
He crossed one ankle over a thigh. His half-staff cockstand was threatening to put on quite a show. “I should think you received all the material you need.”
She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing the long, slender length of her legs up to her thighs. “Defineneed.”
Twin shots of alarm and lust arrowed through him. “What are you—”
“I think it’s only fair that I fulfill my side of the bargain.” She slid one, then the other, stocking off her legs, allowing both to drift to the floor.
“Do not strip,” he said with all the ducal authority he could muster, even as he understood this had nothing to do with anything as useless as a title. What lay between them had naught to do with their status as lord and lady, but as man and woman.
She swung her legs off the settee and came to her feet, now flicking open the mother-of-pearl buttons at the front of her dress, unhurried, one after the other, leaving him no choice but to watch, his mouth gone dry, a thin sheen of sweat pinpricking his skin.
“What will happen if I do?” she asked, disingenuous. One shoulder, then the other, shrugged and her dress fell to the floor, leaving her clad in naught but stays and chemise, its hem only just hiding hermons pubisfrom view.
Not so easily hidden? The cockstand demanding to be freed from his trousers.
He only just realized she’d asked a question, and he hadn’t yet answered. Of course, there was but one answer. The truth. “I shall ravish you.”
She took a few more steps as she reached behind her. The stays fell to the floor. “And what if I want to be ravished?”
He didn’t have an answer. Not a proper one, anyway. Not one that held a shred of regard for the rules of society.
She lifted her chemise over her head and flung it away. She now stood naked—gloriously, unabashedly naked—before him, golden curls tumbling about her shoulders, hiding her sex from view, utterly tantalizing.
He dare not move.
All the moves were hers, anyway.
She closed the distance between them, shoving away the ankle that rested on his thigh, and stepped between his legs. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. They had no choice. They were either there or upon her.
She placed her hands upon his shoulders and leaned over him, her naked body only inches from his fully-clothed one. Yet he felt he was the exposed one. Her blonde curls tumbled about them. He breathed in her crisp lavender scent and another scent, too.Woman. He might burst from desire.
Soft lips feathered against the whorl of his ear. “What if I demand to be ravished?”
She brought her leg up so her shin stroked the length of his cock. As if to illustrate precisely with what she was demanding to be ravished.
How much more could a man take?
The answer was none.
On a low growl, he swept her into his arms and came to his feet. He caught her eye and held it. “Bloody hell, woman, if I’m to ravish you, then let’s do it properly in a bed for once.”
*
The sense ofaccomplishment she’d expected to feel at the Marchioness of Sutton’s ball soared through Amelia now. Having convinced Tristan to ravish her felt more satisfying than a thousand invitations to a thousand balls.
