He kissed her slowly, deeply, taking his time. There was nothing hurried about this meeting of the mouths. When he withdrew, his thumbs gently tracing her cheekbones, he blessed her with one of his rare, beautiful smiles. “There are not enough false mustaches, ill-fitting coats, or hideous spectacles in Christendom to hide your beauty, Frederica.”
Oh.He hurt her heart. She had never thought herself particularly beautiful, but she believed the vehemence in his voice, the frank appreciation in his gaze. Why had he not been born Lord Willingham? If only she could have been promised to Duncan instead. She would have married him gladly, if only because it meant she could kiss his beautiful mouth whenever she wished.
“You flatter me,” she said, breathless.
He shook his head slowly, his smile fading. “I told you before. I do not flatter. I speak truth.”
She stared at him, absorbing the haunting beauty of his features, committing them to memory. For as long as she lived, she would never forget the handful of wicked nights she had spent with Duncan Kirkwood. He had changed her forever.
She caressed his cheek tentatively, for she had never before touched a man thus. “Thank you, Duncan.”
“For ruining you?” A self-deprecating smile quirked his lips. “Do not thank me for that, Frederica, for I am doing you no favors. Indeed, I am not a gentleman. I am a man who seizes what he wants, when he wants it, regardless of how long it takes.”
There was something in his words, a harshness, a hardness, that had been previously absent. She could not be certain of the cause of it. “Not for ruining me, but for the time you have granted me. I will never forget you.”
“Nor I you.” His countenance, like his tone, was rigid and unyielding.
“What is this chamber?” she asked him then, for the question had been prodding at her. She could not help but wonder. It looked as if it was his, but she could not be certain. “Why did you not take me to one of your pleasure rooms?”
His gaze grew shuttered. “This chamber is mine. I use it occasionally, on evenings when I am too weary to return home at the conclusion of business.”
She thought of Tabitha and all the other beautiful ladies working at The Duke’s Bastard. Did he bring them here as well? Was this where he kept his women? Was she just another woman wooed by his charm and his handsome face, going to the same bed so many others had occupied before her?
Her feelings must have shown on her face, for his thumbs stilled on her skin, his expression changing, tightening. “I have never brought another woman to this chamber, Frederica. You are the first.”
The knot of trepidation inside her eased, and in its place was longing and warmth and a desperate need. Her instincts took over, and she rose on her toes to seal her mouth with his, kissing him. He kissed her back with a fiery fervor, open-mouthed and deep. There was promise in that kiss, mystery and heat and untold passion.
She wanted more.
The time for talking and worrying was over. Her body was singing with life and pleasure. Her tongue moved against his, sliding inside his mouth as he had done to her. She wanted more than she understood. She wanted everything. To make her mark upon him. To make him hers, in the same way she would become his.
Their kisses were a battle. A delicious, seductive battle.
But she was ready for the war, and so, it seemed, was he. Without removing his lips from hers, he swept her into his arms. She was weightless as he carried her across the chamber, and the sensation was at once decadent and intoxicating. Her arms went around his neck as an unladylike squeak emerged from her, straight into his mouth. He swallowed down the sound of her surprise. Strode across the chamber while kissing her with such slow care she could not squelch the embarrassing mewl of need that rose from her throat. He was so powerful, so strong. And yet capable of such sweet gentleness. An enigma. A conundrum she longed to unlock.
He was the only man she had ever wanted, and he was the one man she could not have. Not beyond tonight. The knowledge made her kiss him deeper, made her sink her fingers into his thick, soft hair. Made her inhale his scent and trap it in her lungs like her own private spoils. Made her lose her inhibitions when he set her on her feet by the bed.
He was dressed in his black evening finery, staring down at her as if she was a revelation. And she did the only thing she could think of. She spun around, giving him her back so he could open the fastening of her gown. He kissed her nape, his fingers working with ease. His mouth trailed to the side of her neck, opening, sucking. She gasped at the raw pleasure of it.
And then her gown was slipping from her body. Large hands found her waist, clamping down, spinning her back to face him. He was so beautiful, the lamp illuminating the stark lines, angles, and planes of his face, the hard musculature of his body.
“You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” His words were low, almost guttural. His gaze swept over her, as tangible as a touch. “Take your petticoats and chemise off for me.”
He wanted her to disrobe before him. To strip away every last scrap of fabric shielding her from him until nothing remained between them. She swallowed, hesitating, a sudden shyness hitting her. Thanks to the wicked tome she had read, she knew, at least in a broad sense, what her ruination would entail. Imagining it had been one thing, but finding the boldness to be completely nude before him was another matter.
“Now,” he prodded firmly, sensing her hesitation. “I want to see you, darling. All of you. Won’t you show me?”
He asked so nicely, with such sweet pleading. He made her feel powerful and desired. Brave and strong. A mortal becoming a goddess in her god’s eyes. She swallowed, finding her courage, and did as he asked, whisking away petticoats and chemise. She stood before him in nothing more than stockings and shoes, her body on display in the chill of the night air.
But she was not cold. His eyes devoured her. A flush stole over her skin, and she became aware of new sensations. Her nipples tightened. Her breasts ached. Between her thighs, the flesh he had pleasured before throbbed.
“Holy God,” he swore. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined, Frederica.”
She shivered. It was strange, how she did not feel embarrassed or ashamed. Instead, she stood proud. How natural it felt to reveal herself to him. How strange to feel as if he was a part of her now, as if she were his in truth and not just for the night.
“I am not beautiful,” she could not help but deny once more, though his appreciative gaze made her feel as if she was.
“Yes,” he said starkly, “you are.” His hands gripped her waist again, and this time it was skin on skin as he guided her backward until the edge of his bed prodded her thighs. “Sit, darling.”
