They were suspended together, by the crackling fire, far away from the many other guests and all the impediments which sought to keep them apart. The rhythmic tinkling against the paned windows suggested the gray skies of earlier had opened up to release tiny shards of ice. But by the fire, in each other’s arms, they were warm.
And if it was sleeting, that greatly increased the chance that the servant may be delayed in his return to stoke the fires. It seemed utterly providential.
But Pru had stiffened, and a frown marred her brow. “Reformed rakes do not exist.”
“You do not believe a man capable of change?” he asked.
Her tongue ran over her lower lip. He wanted to chase it. To kiss her again. But he knew he could not press her. He had to wait. Feign patience.
“Yes,” she allowed.
“Then it stands to reason that rakes can reform themselves.” He could not resist caressing her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the proud architecture of her delicate bones. “That you have reformed me.”
“What of your brother?” she asked.
Gill.
Fuck.
Not thinking about his brother was easiest. Guilt was ever the killer of ardor, and he still had some, it was true.
But he would not allow her to shake him. “He cannot have you,” he growled.
“And neither can you,” she said. “You are confusing me with kisses, wooing me into wickedness. This is what every rake does.”
“How many rakes do you know?” he demanded, his tone sharper than he had intended.
A possessive flare surged inside him.
“Only you,” she admitted. “And Viscount Aylesford, of course, but he is my sister’s betrothed, so he does not count.”
“I am not going to ruin you,” he vowed. “I promise, Pru. All I want is to give you pleasure.”
The dark pupils of her eyes grew larger. “You only want to give me pleasure,” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said, and then he kissed her again.
Because sometimes actions spoke far more eloquently than words could. He could coax her thus, he was certain of it. And he knew there was nothing complicated about the way she responded to him.
He was rewarded by her melting against him, her lips opening. She was kissing him back. Sucking on his tongue. He nipped her lip. Kissed her harder. Deeper. But he knew he could not seduce her using action alone.
With great reluctance, he tore his mouth from hers once more.
Breathing harshly, he gazed down at her. “I dare you to tell me you do not want me every bit as much as I want you.”
“Of course I want you,” she admitted, her voice thick. “But that does not mean I will give in to temptation. There is far too much at stake.”
That was utter truth.
For there was everything at stake.
But he would prove to her that taking a chance upon him would be worth it.
“Risk it,” he dared her.
And then, before she could say another word, he kissed her again. This time, he deftly loosened her stays. One swift tug, and her breasts sprang free, full and high, trapped beneath the thin barrier of her chemise. He kissed her ear again as he tugged the chemise down.
Another soft moan tore from her lips at the same moment her chemise lowered enough to reveal her breasts. He tongued the hollow beneath her ear before examining his handiwork. Her breasts were on display, pushed up in an erotic offering by the constriction of her lowered undergarments. Creamy and round, tipped with berry-pink nipples that matched her gorgeous mouth, the sight of them sent a throbbing bolt of lust straight to his cock.
