He did not loom above her. He knelt.
The sight of a duke on his knees before her stole whatever breath remained in her lungs. It felt wrong and reverent and intimate in a way that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with the way his gaze rose to meet her own.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.
Her cheeks burned, but she nodded her head.
“We will discover what pleases Lady Gwendoline Reeves tonight,” he murmured.
Her heart did a wild, frightened leap.
He took her hand, his large fingers curling around her gloved ones. For a moment, he simply held it, his thumb tracing a slow line across the back, as if familiarizing himself with every bone and tendon. Then he began to ease the glove away, inch by inch.
The cool air kissed her bare wrist. The warmth of his mouth followed.
He pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, his lips soft and deliberate.
The sensation shot through her like lightning. Her fingers curled, trying to hold the feeling in place. She heard herself suck in a sharp breath.
He did it again.
This time, she was prepared, but that did not help either. Heat coiled low in her belly, shamefully sweet.
Victor turned her hand and traced the slender bones along the side with his lips, then the soft skin at her wrist. Each contact felt shockingly important.
No man had ever touched her there. She had not known such places could give her such pleasure.
“You are very responsive,” he purred.
She swallowed. “I am not certain whether that is a compliment.”
“It is an education,” he said.
His mouth drifted higher, to the soft inside of her forearm. Her breath hitched at the first brush of heat there, at the contrast between his lips and the faint rasp of stubble when he turned his head slightly. The combination made her shiver.
He smiled against her skin. “Breathe, Gwendoline.”
“I am,” she managed.
He gently set her hand on his shoulder, as if urging her to steady herself, then let his hands travel with infuriating patience. They slid up her arms, over the rounded tops of her shoulders, then down to her stays, tracing the space between bone and tender flesh.
The layers of fabric should have dulled everything. But they did not. Gwen felt each new path like a secret marked directly on her skin. When his fingers curled around her waist, just above her hips, the sensation was so intense she almost flinched.
He paused at once. “Too much?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Only… new.”
He resumed, gentling his touch, mapping her gradually. Along the narrow span of her ribs, the small of her back, the outer curve of her thighs above the knees.
His palms were broad and warm. She could feel the strength there, held carefully in check for her sake. That knowledge sent another thrill through her.
Something in her unraveled.
She had been braced for cruelty for so long that this deliberate gentleness felt almost unbearable. Her body seemed torn between the urge to shrink away and the equally powerful urge to lean into every stroke of his hands.
Without realizing it, she tipped forward. The moment her weight shifted toward him, he deepened his caresses, as if answering a question she had not yet dared to voice.
“Oh,” he said fiendishly. “Your body tells me what you enjoy, even when your lips do not.”
