And what he liked was ferocity. Brazenness. Uninhibited want. The fantasy of a proper lady who liked to be stripped and fucked made him so hard he lost the capacity to think. He had done his best to quell his wicked longings, knowing they were wrong. But here in the charmed safety of the old north tower, snow blanketing the land, an enchanted season upon them, this eccentric, intriguing woman so soft and lush against him…
He could not do anything but kiss her.
By the grace of God, her arms twined about his neck, bringing him closer to her yet, and her fingers sank into his hair, the soft score of her nails on his scalp telling him she could be as brazen as her suggestion to “experiment” was. Lord Harry Marlow, treasured MP of the Liberal party with his sterling reputation as the faultless younger son of the Duke of Bainbridge, ought not to be dallying with the innocent sister of the Earl of Ravenscroft. Doing so was wrong, and it went against his every principle.
But in the battle of conscience versus lust, his raging desire and painfully hard cockstand were making it clear who the victor would be.
And it wasn’t his honor.
Besides, he reminded his protesting conscience, he had already acquired a marriage license. They could wed on the morrow or that very evening before dinner if they chose. To hell with it.
He kissed her harder, with an almost bruising intensity, part of him wondering if she would retreat and part of him needing to brand her in his own way. He kissed her with an abandon he had never experienced with anyone else. He had always viewed gentlewomen as untouchable. They were delicate, rare creatures who were to be treated with kid gloves.
His inner debauchery had longed for him to do more, but he had never allowed it to happen until his moment of weakness in the carriage with Alexandra. Kisses, caresses, tongues, fingers, pleasure, and mindless fucking were all relegated to the sphere of the mistress, as was proper. Lord knew his father the sainted duke had all but embossed that mantra upon his skull.
And yet now, as he breathed in the delicate scent of Lady Alexandra, as he ravaged her mouth with kisses and drank in the sweet, breathy sounds of her pleasure, he could not help but wonder if his father had been wrong. Ifhehad been wrong to live a life of duty and observance rather than pursuing what he truly wanted.
Why could he not pleasure the woman he intended to make his wife? If she desired it as much as he, where was the sin? He caught Alexandra’s full lower lip in his teeth and tugged, biting before he soothed the sting with a kiss and reared back, studying her.
Her lovely face was flushed, her mouth swollen and berry-red, her blue eyes brilliant. He captured her face in his hands, admiring her as he stroked her jaw with his thumbs. Her skin was soft as satin. He wanted to lick it, to discover what she tasted like everywhere. “You are so bloody beautiful it hurts, Lady Alexandra Danvers.”
She stared at him, searching his gaze, almost as if she expected to detect a lie, shaking her head slowly. “I am not beautiful.”
“You’re gorgeous,” he corrected, kissing her again before forcing himself to slow down and disengage once more. “Thisexperimentnotion of yours. Are you serious about it?”
She nodded without hesitation. “Observation and experiment are the hallmarks of science. One cannot reach an informed conclusion without them.”
Science.
He ground his jaw. “To hell with science. This is about you and me, about emotions and needs and wants. Do you want me?”
He needn’t ask. Harry recognized the signs, being neither blind nor innocent. But he wanted there to be no question. His honor demanded that if he staked his claim upon her this day, she alone made the decision.
Her gaze went wide. “I…yes. I would very much like to conduct this experiment with you, my lord, above all others.”
He wasn’t certain if he should be insulted or amused that she continued to refer to the prospect of him bedding her as an experiment. Being a liberal-minded man, he decided upon the former.
“Good.” He kissed her once, twice. Three times because he couldn’t help himself. She tasted so bloody good, and her lips were too sweet. “I want you too.”
Another kiss, then another. His mind spun, plotting the logistics of this sudden assignation. He was a planner by nature, organized and methodical. There wasn’t a bed in the north tower room, but there was an accommodating, soft fur rug. The thought of Alexandra laid bare upon it like a pagan sacrifice, her creamy curves, long legs, and pink nipples on display, made his ballocks tighten.
He broke the kisses before he embarrassed himself by spending in his trousers.
“You want me?” Her voice was tentative and adorably befuddled. She blinked at him, eyes wide, as though lost in a dream.
“Mmm.” He trailed his touch down her throat, seeking buttons in the pleats and lace adorning the front of her bodice and finding only fabric. “Where are the fastenings?”
Her copper brows rose, swollen lips parting. “On the back of the gown.”
“You should have worn the trousers,” he growled, losing no time at all in finding the hidden moorings running in an inconvenient line down her spine. “They would have been far simpler to remove.”
Another blink. In the circle of his embrace, she held herself as still as a doe in the wood that had just scented a hunter waiting for her to wander within the range of his arrow. “My brother reclaimed them.”
“The devil.” He frowned, concentrating on the pretty bow of her upper lip as he worked his way down, leaving gaping fabric in his wake. “When we are wed, I’m going to buy you at least a dozen pair.”
Her breath caught when he reached the final hook and her gown parted. She shivered.
His thoughts instantly went to her comfort. “Are you cold, sweet?”
