“You may enter,” he called out, and it wasn’t solely with resignation. No indeed, there was also a most unwanted note of anticipation underlying his words.
The door opened, and she swept inside, a vision in a pink-and-red-striped frock with lace underskirts peeking through. Her hair was styled differently today, worn in a loose twist atop her head with curls framing her face. She looked like a goddess he’d seen in a picture at the Grosvenor Gallery once: luscious, romantic, purely feminine.
The air fled from his lungs as he stood in deference and bowed. How was it possible that she was even more beautiful, more vibrant and magnetic, than she’d ever been? How was it possible that he wanted her more than ever?
She offered him a formal curtsy as well, but her full lips quirked into a confident smile. “Sebastian.”
“One thirty-second,” he answered, skirting his desk and going to her. Suddenly, he couldn’t be in the same chamber as she without having her in his arms.
He tried to remind himself that he was a spy with a duty to the Crown, but that argument had grown increasingly muffled as he’d gotten to know Daisy better. She made him recall what he’d forgotten over the last dozen years: that beneath the façade he was forced to present to the world, he was also just a man. His training had prepared him for torture and death, had taught him how to defend himself with or without weapons, to kill with his bare hands, to read a man’s face, to anticipate his enemy’s every action. But none of his training had prepared him for the onslaught of one small, daring woman.
The warm tones of her gown enhanced the moss of her eyes as he approached her, and he won a laugh from her that settled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. “Good heavens, that is quite a small fraction. Would one even pronounce the ‘Y’?”
“I can’t be certain.” He caught her waist and pulled her against him, savoring the already familiar crush of her breasts into his chest. “But one could rectify the matter by referring to one’s husband by his given name.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow in feigned innocence and batted her long lashes. “And what is that? My memory is appalling, I’m afraid, and I’ve forgotten.”
“Perhaps I can stir it for you, buttercup.” He gave in to temptation and lowered his mouth to hers. How naturally they fit together. How easy it was to slide his hand into the soft confines of her neat coiffure, cup her perfectly shaped head, and angle her just as he wanted her. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, and she opened for him without hesitation, her tongue tangling with his.
She tasted of chocolate and decadence, and he wanted more. Always wanted more. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? His hands tightened on her waist, and he led her backward until they reached his desk. He could never have his fill of her.
He dragged his mouth from hers and trailed a fervent line of kisses to her ear, tonguing the silky patch of skin behind it. She tasted of vanilla and the light salt of her skin. She moaned and clutched at his shoulders. So responsive, his Daisy.
“You’ve bewitched me,” he accused softly into her ear. “I’m meant to be attending estate matters and all I want is to lift your skirts and feel if you’re as wet for me already as I suspect you are.”
She would be drenched when he touched her, and this he knew by the way she strained against him, as if she desired all points of her body to be in simultaneous contact with his. He felt the same. He wanted every inch of her flawless skin naked and pressed against his, from her hard, pink nipples to her pale, curved legs.
“Shall I leave you to estate matters?” she asked, breathless.
He tore his lips from her neck to survey the contents of his desk. Correspondence. A stack of news. Some pens and sheaves of paper. His ledger. To hell with all of it. With one swipe of his arm, he sent it raining to the carpet. Papers flew, somersaulting over themselves, pens clanging together, the news crumpling into a heap.
“I do believe I’ve had enough of estate matters for the nonce,” he decided, grinning down at her like a lovesick fool.
No, surely not lovesick. Nor a fool, he corrected himself hastily. It had only been a week, after all. Love didn’t come upon a man so precipitously, and especially not when the lady in question was suspected of treason. He was sure of it.
In an effort to ward off further maudlin sentiment, he took her mouth with his once more, and this kiss was unapologetically demanding. He sucked on her lower lip, then caught it between his teeth and tugged. Frantic, fierce need speared him. The need to have her, to consume her. His cock twitched against his trousers, his balls already drawn tight in anticipation of flooding release.
Her palms, which had dropped to his chest and had been conducting a slow, torturous exploration over his waistcoat and shirt, gently pushed, putting enough distance between them to break the kiss. Her gaze sparkled into his, the green of early spring rebirth after the barren death of winter.
“You’ve a duty, Sebastian,” she said then.
For a heartbeat, he stilled, the blood pumping through his veins turning to ice. Was it possible that she somehow knew after all? Jesus, why would she repeat the words his own conscience riddled him with every day?
And then she tilted her head in that way he’d come to know meant she was being earnest, cupping his jaw in her hand. “I don’t wish to distract you from your work. I missed you, but I don’t wish to be unfairly demanding of your time. I’ll leave you to it, then. I need to go over the menu with Mrs. Robbins, and I’ve yet to make myself at home in your library. Father thought reading invited sloth, so I haven’t read as much as I would have preferred.”
He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She was babbling, and she was adorable, and he was going to come out of his skin if he wasn’t buried deep inside her in the next five minutes.
“Daisy.” He pressed a kiss to her open palm, and held her to him when she would have attempted to make her retreat. “You may distract me any time you wish, buttercup. My time will always be yours, and if you want to buy an entire new library’s worth of books that are to your liking, I won’t blink a bloody eye. Read until you need spectacles. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve made you spend.”
Her eyes widened, cheeks going rosy. Lovemaking remained new to her, though she’d proven an apt and willing pupil. She was still very much an innocent, however, and he would enjoy debauching her for the rest of their lives.
The rest of their lives.
The unbidden thought sent something profound streaking through him. And it wasn’t dread or a sense of futility. It wasn’t guilt or duty. It was… Christ, he didn’t know what it was.
Rather than further complicate matters, he lifted her onto the desk. His hands fisted in her billowing skirts, crushing the fine silk, but he didn’t give a damn. Slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, he drew them to her waist, petticoats, chemise, and all, and lifted them so that they lay atop his desk.
As he surveyed his handiwork, his mouth went dry. She was perfectly coiffed and demure from the waist up, her bodice in place, hair as elegant as when she’d entered the chamber. But from the waist down, she was pure, unadulterated siren. Lacy drawers hugged her hips. Narrow ankles clad in silk stockings peeped from beneath, and her heeled black leather shoes dangling over the floor somehow rendered it all incredibly erotic.
