He cupped her cheek in a touch that was surprisingly gentle. Without speaking a word, he lowered his lips back down to hers. Her mouth clung to his. This time, she kept her eyes open. He rolled his hips, sending his length over her. She scooted nearer, thrusting against him without thought.
Later, she could writhe in agony when she thought of how she had behaved. Later, she could worry about the effect their actions would have upon their fledgling partnership. It had been years since a man had kissed her, years since she had been caressed, since she had been wanted.
And she did not want to stop.
His mouth left hers to trail kisses down her throat. He dragged her chemise down her shoulders, baring her breasts. Kissing behind her ear, he filled his hands with her, and she allowed it. Longed for it. She looked down at the erotic sight of his large hands upon her and watched as he kissed his way down the curve of one of her breasts. When his mouth closed over her nipple, she cried out.
He sucked, then flicked his tongue over the tight bud, sending a flood of sensation to her center. And still, she did not stop him. Instead, she sank her fingers into his hair, holding him there as he laved and suckled, torturing her flesh.
He angled his rigid manhood against her, pumping into her aching center, then sucked her other nipple into his mouth. It was too much. Years spent tamping down and ruthlessly ignoring her body’s needs rendered her helpless beneath Arden’s sensual onslaught.
She rocked against him, the friction making her lose control. She shattered as an intense burst of pleasure roared through her. Her inner muscles clenched and convulsed, and she spent, then and there, seated on Arden’s study desk, grinding her body into his like an alley cat longing for her mate.
He made a low sound of need, his tongue flicking over her nipple, and still she felt no shame. Only a boneless, liquid sense of gratification. Until he released the turgid peak and straightened.
And she began to fall from her cloud. Ramifications returned like the ground rising up to meet her. What had she done? Not only had she trespassed over an all-important boundary between herself and her new partner, she had also allowed another man to touch her for the first time since Adam. Worse, she had enjoyed it. She had writhed against Arden without regard for what would happen afterward.
Her hands went to his chest, pushing him from her. She grasped her chemise and hauled it upward, covering herself. Hazel hopped down from his desk, searching blindly for her discarded bodice, for she could not walk the halls of Lark House in her underclothes. Any domestic who passed her would have no doubt as to what had just occurred.
The need to escape was every bit as strong and sudden as the fires of desire he had lit within her. She required as much distance as possible between herself and Arden. Not to mention those hands and the tempting protrusion of his manhood.
Her cheeks burned as she thought about how he had felt against her and how she had wanted more. About how desperately she had longed for what she had never even experienced with Adam. And how close she had come to almost allowing a man who she had only known for a short time make love to her. She found her bodice crumpled beneath his desk and sank to her knees, snatching it up.
“Miss Montgomery,” Arden rasped, an undeniable note of apology edging his voice. “Hazel, I… Forgive me. I overstepped my bounds. I should never have touched you.”
Somehow, the sound of her name in his clipped accent seemed just as intimate as the torrid embrace they had just shared. She needed to go. To run. Flee. Gather up the tattered remnants of her pride and leave him to his crumpled map, cavernous study, and intricately carved desk. There was precious little solace in the belated realization that, like every other one of his possessions, the Duke of Arden’s desk was also intolerably fancy.
She stood and thrust her arms into the sleeves. “I must beg your forgiveness as well. I do not know what came over me.” Her hands shook as she attempted to fasten the buttons running down the front of her bodice.
“Allow me,” he said, moving forward.
“No,” she denied, still unable to look at him as she took a quick step in retreat.
Unfortunately for her, Arden’s desk proved as unforgiving as it was immobile, and her rump slammed right into one of its sharp corners. Pain tore through her, but she bit her lip, refusing to allow herself to make a sound. Her pride was forcing her to smile and bear it. Her mind was counting down the seconds until she was alone.
“That seemed as if it would smart,” he observed.
She scowled down at her bodice as she settled the last button into place only to realize she still had one more buttonhole to fill. Her entire bodice was off by one button, but she refused to unbutton herself all over again to repair it. Her ignominy was complete enough.
“I am perfectly well, Arden,” she lied, hating the sound of her voice, breathless and husky. “If you will excuse me, I must retire.”
Offering him something between a curtsy and a bow, she still avoided meeting his gaze. Swallowing down a great lump of shame, she turned on her heel and fled, ignoring the sound of his voice calling after her.
Chapter Eight
Three days afterThe Second Incident, Lucien arrived at the Duke of Winchelsea’s residence for dinner, just as he preferred to be, punctual and alone. But when Winchelsea’s butler announced him, and Lucien crossed the threshold of his superior’s study, he discovered there was another guest who would be joining them for dinner.
A pair of wide blue eyes watched his entrance. To be precise, it was the same wide blue eyes to which he had been in close enough proximity to note the striations of deeper colors hidden within their depths: gray, violet, and cerulean. To be even more precise, it was the same pair of eyes he had stared into whilst she had rubbed her cunny all over his thigh until she spent.
Christ.
He had not expected her here, and his cock twitched at the sight of her, a testament to just how wrong he had been in telling himself what had happened three days ago in the late hours of the evening had been an aberration. That it had been nothing more than a rare lapse in judgment produced by the unfortunate combination of her nearness and the sight of her long legs in those infernal trousers.
He had spent the days since his folly avoiding Miss Montgomery. She was a creature of habit, which rendered the task easy. He rose before dawn and breakfasted before her. On the first day of his self-imposed isolation, he had spent hours in his study, poring over her notes. He began on page one, rather than on page twenty-three as she had previously advised, and what he learned as he worked his way through them, was the woman was even more intelligent than he had supposed, and impossibly brave as well. His admiration had grown.
So too his attraction.
Which meant maintaining his distance from her was all-important. Because, even though he was gradually beginning to see having Miss Montgomery’s New York-gleaned information and enterprising mind aboard the Special League could be an asset, rather than a hindrance, he also knew his shockingly lewd behavior must never again be repeated.
