“I will not divulge the name of the friend to whom the book belongs,” Alexandra chided. “Do not ask it of me.”
She was embarrassed. But she need not be. He found the notion of her viewing the wicked images and reading the forbidden, erotic stories within the pages of that leather-bound volume more enticing than he could possibly express.
“Come,” was all he said once more, gently tugging her toward the fur. A fire crackled merrily in the grate. Snow fell once again outside, flurrying and settling upon the existing skiff from his inglorious arrival.
She followed him, her fingers tight over his, her dress half-removed, and she was so damn alluring that when he stopped on the cushion of the fur rug, he stilled and simply drank her in. He wanted to do everything to her. To own her. To fuck her. To make her come so hard she saw stars.
The ferocity of his feelings for her shook him to his core. He had never felt this way for another woman. Lady Alexandra Danvers and her fiery hair and unique ways, with her unabashed intelligence and curiosity, affected him as no one else had.
“Alexandra.” Her name was torn from him as he stared down at her. “Forget about science and experiments. Is this what you want? Truly what you want? Because after I fuck you, I am going to marry you, and after I marry you, I am going to spend the rest of my days making you want me the way I want you.”
Her hands crept to his face, tentatively cupping his jaw, as if she were afraid of his sudden defection. “You want me?”
Her gentle touch, warm and soft, undid did. He stared at her, knowing it was impossible to feel such a strong pull to her after a mere week of courting and yet also knowing that it was undeniably, irrevocably true.
And he needed more.
He needed Alexandra Danvers, naked and beneath him. But he would settle for her any way he could have her. However she wanted him. Whatever she wished.
“Shall our experiment continue?” he asked, need for her making his voice rough.
“Of course.” She removed her hands from his face and he would have protested the loss of her touch but for her next action.
She gripped the waist of her dress, pulling it down her full, delicious hips. The silk and lace fell in a soft sigh to pool around her feet in a luxurious heap. Or maybe it was him that sighed. All he knew was that she stood before him in nothing more than her undergarments and he had lost the ability to form a coherent sentence. Chemise, corset, drawers. Ivory eyelet, pink ribbon, feminine frills, and a body that any courtesan would sell her soul to own.
Good. Bloody. Hell.
Words could not dare to define the lush, potent lure of her. He wanted more. Wanted everything. His cock was hard. His mouth was dry. His heart was full. His hands trembled.
He touched her, palms finding the sweet curve of her waist as if it was where they belonged. Her heat swept through the layers keeping him from her skin. She was warm and supple. And he couldn’t resist tugging her into his chest and sealing his lips to hers yet again.
A sound of pleasure purred from her throat, and she opened for him at once, her tongue growing bold enough to slip inside his mouth first. In that moment, he forgot they were at a house party. Forgot that they had yet to wed. Forgot that he was about to go against every shred of honor he possessed.
Forgot everything but her and the roaring, raging need to make her his. He deepened the kiss, groaning with his own pent-up lust, and swept a caress from her waist to the neat knot of corset laces at her lower back. His mistresses had always kept their knots loose, ready to release with a simple tug. He realized now that they had dressed with great regard for their occupation.
Lady Alexandra’s knot did not release with such ease. Hers, tied by her lady’s maid, had been pulled taut with the intent to keep it in place until the evening necessitated the change to her dinner gown. A growl tore from his throat as his one-handed fumbling only seemed to make the dratted thing go tighter.
Alexandra tipped her head back, studying him from beneath the veil of her extravagant lashes, her red, lovely lips pursed. “What is wrong, my lord?”
“Harry,” he reminded her again. “No formality in the bedchamber.”
“This is not a bedchamber,” she pointed out, no doubt driven by her dedication to factual integrity.
Theirs would not be a boring marriage. Expectation sizzled in his gut, spreading through him with the slow, steady lick of a flame about to turn into a conflagration. “Please me, sweet. Say my name.”
Her gaze burned into his, and for a moment he thought she would resist just to bedevil him. But then she capitulated. “Harry.”
He kissed her, swift and deep, because he couldn’t resist. When he broke away, they were both breathless. “You’ve made an excellent pupil thus far. Now turn about so that I can get this infernal contraption off you.”
Trousers and shirts for her in private, he decided. Nothing but. Suddenly, the urge to see her in one of his shirts struck him.Oh yes.Alexandra with her hair unbound, skin rosy from a thorough fucking, wearing nothing but one of the crisp, white shirts that he wore beneath his robes for parliamentary debates. How sinfully divine.
But now was not the time for frenzied imaginings when his fantasy had come to life before him.
She did as he asked, presenting him with her back. He took a moment to admire the sleek curve of her neck, the soft hollow between her shoulder blades, the nip of her waist, and the fullness of her rounded bottom. He tugged the knot. It came undone, and he plucked the laces with his index finger, loosening them all the way to the top.
He stepped nearer to her, settling his rigid cock into the welcoming cleft of her backside, and wrapping his arms around her so that he could undo each hook-and-eye fastening on the front of her corset. A row of twelve of the little devils. Finally, the last one opened and he cast the stiffly boned undergarment to the floor.
His hands began a decadent examination. He cupped her breasts, pressed his mouth to the side of her throat. He found her nipples, rolling over the pebbled little nubs with his thumbs. “Your nipples are hard, sweet.”
