My God.What a travesty she had bound herself to a vile bastard like the Duke of Longleigh. But he would not say that, nor would he think of it. Not now.
Tonight, these next few weeks, she was his.
“I am hardly deserving of your praise.” The smile she gave him was sweetly shy. “My hair is a wild tangle. Dreadfully terrible to manage.”
“It is perfect.” To his dismay, his hand trembled as he reached out to touch a silken curl. He wanted to wrap his fist in it. Wanted to see it cascading on his pillow. Wanted to bury his face in it and inhale her fragrance.
Even the chamber smelled of her.
“Thank you.”
Kissing her in the boat beneath the munificence of the early summer’s sun earlier had been one of the best moments he had ever known. He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. She tilted her head, providing him better access to the velvety seduction of her bare skin. Here, her scent was even more potent. Roses. Passion.Tilly.
He found his way to her ear, kissing the hollow behind it before flicking his tongue over it as he had done earlier. His reward was a breathy moan and her clutching at his lapels. He had made his way to her private apartments whilst fully dressed from their earlier dinner. He did not possess a dressing gown, and he had spent his meager earnings on the limited wardrobe he had brought with him to Coddington Hall.
He felt desperately overdressed for the occasion.
“I have thought of nothing but this since we were in the boat earlier,” he told her, finding the place where her pulse was pounding and kissing her there.
The hours since that sun-drenched interlude in the lake had seemed to drag and take forever. The minutes had stitched together into an eternity.
“Nor have I,” she admitted, her voice husky.
Her fingers were making short work of the buttons of his coat, and it occurred to him that no woman had ever disrobed him before. He found the action incredibly erotic. The manner in which she was taking control, seizing what she wanted, made his cock stand to rigid attention. He was desperate for her touch.
He raised his head, staring down at her.
Christ, she was beautiful.
The more time he spent in her presence, the more he wanted her. Not just because of her beauty, but because she made him smile. She made him laugh.
She made him feel what he had not felt in a long time.
He shrugged out of his coat, and it fell to the floor. She pulled the buttons on his waistcoat from their moorings. It fell away in a whisper of sound, and he became impatient. Her dressing gown was far too modest. He wanted more than ankles and toes. The entire affair was done up with a row of tiny shell buttons.
Once more, his hands were shaking as he made to undo them.
What an effect she had upon him.
“Five thousand buttons in this bloody dressing gown,” he muttered.
“Five thousand and two, actually,” she quipped lightly, stealing his attention.
He flicked a glance back to her. She was smiling that radiant, beautiful smile she possessed. The one that could make any man fall to his knees before her and vow eternal fealty. He loved that she liked to laugh. One more facet of her he had not anticipated. Nothing was unfolding as he had intended.
“My brutish fingers are too bloody big for the buttons,” he said, feeling the oaf in that moment.
He was acutely aware that he was a man who had earned his living with his hands. He bore calluses. He was no smooth-palmed lord even if he did have noble blood running through his veins. Never had the disparity in station been more apparent than now. He was accustomed to serviceable and plain. To function. Necessity.
Not silks, jewels, and gold-framed windows, paintings on the ceiling of every room, and houses the size of bloody London.
“I adore your fingers,” she said softly, taking his hands in hers and raising them to her lips for kisses that gave credence to her words.
So tenderly, almost with a reverence, she pressed her mouth to each digit before releasing them. He had no words, so instead, he cupped the nape of her neck and kissed the corners of her lips, savoring her. Savoring the night. His other hand found her waist, anchoring her to him, pulling her nearer so their bodies brushed, his hard cock burrowing into her softness. Her gasp gave him the opportunity to lick into her mouth, to taste her once more.
Tonight, she tasted every bit as sweet and forbidden as she had earlier in the lake, only laced with the elixir of the red wine they had consumed with the dessert course. He became lost in a haze of desire, his senses overwhelmed. As they continued kissing, her dressing gown was gone, his shirt, trousers, and smalls shed.
He picked her up again, this time depositing her on the center of her bed, taking a moment to allow his gaze to travel over her feminine form. Her hair was a golden halo about her head, her lips dark and full, her eyes the deepest shade of green he had seen them yet. So much creamy skin, delicate curves. Her breasts were full and perfectly rounded, her nipples pink and pointing upward, calling to him to suckle. Her waist nipped in, proving what her naturally flowing dresses did little to conceal: she did not require a corset to enrich her curves. Her hips were round and full, and her legs…
