And then he caught her earlobe in his teeth, nipping her, before swirling his tongue against the soft, sleek patch of skin directly below until she made a breathy little gasp, and then a sigh.
“Yes.”
That word on her lips. Damnation, it was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known. Because he knew how much it cost, how much she must want him, for this icy, prim widow to agree to get naked for him on the chaise longue. Just because he had demanded it.
“Good,” he said, and then he rolled back to his heels, catching a handful of the hem at her ankles and pulling it up.
No stockings. Bare feet. Delicate ankles. So much creamy skin exposed. For him, all for him. Theo stopped to caress her calves and knees, kissing every part of her he had revealed, like the greatest gift he’d ever been presented with. And in his former life, he had been given jewels and gold, priceless treasures. He’d had his choice of all the women in court to bed if he had wished. But none of that compared to the Marchioness of Deering lowering her guard and giving herself to him.
She grasped handfuls of the cloud-white linen in her hands, hesitating as the hem rose to her well-curved hips.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, showing her with his lips. Worshipping her with his hands and mouth and tongue. Even his teeth, which he used to nip at the delicate hollow behind her knee, her inner thigh. “Like a goddess.”
And he knew which of the old Boritanian gods he would compare her to. Elyrianna, the goddess of earth and abundance. Like Lady Deering, she had been golden-haired and beautiful, all lush, womanly curves. But his marchioness was more desirable, far lovelier than any cool marble statue or centuries-old oil painting could ever be. And she was warm and smoother than the finest silk. She was his, for these few, stolen hours only.
Perhaps it was his words, perhaps his caresses. Whatever the cause of her reassurance, the marchioness’s hesitance faded. She shifted, pulling her night rail from under her bottom, and then up, up, over her head. It sailed through the night and landed somewhere on the Axminster.
He swallowed hard as he drank in the sight of her fully unclothed. The icy widow who lashed him with her tongue so easily. The cold, prim marchioness. With the candlelight playing lovingly over her every curve, she was a study in cream and pink. More than his wholly inadequate imagination could have ever conjured. He didn’t know where to touch her, kiss her, taste her, first. She was like a feast laid before him, and he was ravenous.
“Sweet Deus,” was all that emerged from him, part prayer, part plea, for he had never wanted a woman the way he wanted this one.
It was like the windswept waves crashing on the beach in a violent storm. Sudden and elemental and furious. Capable of anything, destruction or renewal, or whatever lay in between.
But just as swiftly as the thundering roar of desire hit him, the marchioness appeared to have second thoughts about her boldness. She pressed her legs together, looking suddenly young and uncertain, so different from her customary icy hauteur. More like an innocent newly making her debut than the experienced widow of the tart tongue who had delivered such withering set-downs. He couldn’t shake the impression that he was seeing her as she truly was, bereft of all pretense and artifice. The woman beneath the mask she wore for the world.
“It has been some time,” she said, her voice husky but hesitant. “If you do not find me pleasing, I shan’t be—”
“No,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear another word, because it was the opposite of what he found her. Deus,pleasingwas a pale, unworthy attempt at describing the woman before him. “I find you so pleasing it hurts, Marchioness. Beyond pleasing. Now hush and let me enjoy the bounty you present to this most unworthy sinner.”
It occurred to Theo that she had mistaken his awe for a lack of interest. When he had hesitated, her confidence had wilted, and that had not been his intention. Not for a single damned second. She had shown him the vulnerability hiding beneath her cool façade when she had shared with him that it had been four long, cold years since she had known a lover’s touch. He was not going to take her for granted.
“You needn’t charm me, sir,” she said, some of the coolness returning to her voice. “I have already stripped myself bare before you. I am yours for tonight only, to take what you wish.”
“Oh, but I do not charm,” he reassured her. “I’m not, you’ll find, a charming man.”
He had been, once. But the prince was dead, and the scarred beast in his place had no use for pretty words or prettier women. At least, he hadn’t reckoned so. Until he had spied Lady Deering sketching with the sun shining around her. Until he had known her lips beneath his. Now, he didn’t know who the hell he was, other than a man who wanted this woman desperately.
He would show her how much. The time for talking was done.
Theo guided his hands back down her thighs, stopping at her knees, which he gently guided apart. When her legs opened, he moved between them, still kneeling before her. Golden curls covered her mound, the pink pouting lips of her cunny on display. He slid his hands higher, still marveling at the way she felt, her skin smooth and supple beneath his touch, and then he stopped at her hips, pulling her forward. When her bottom rested on the edge of the chaise longue, he tilted back his head and caught one of her nipples between his lips, sucking.
Yes, this was how they could communicate. Sensation, desire, mutual passion. He hadn’t any words to say, and the ones that were crowding his mind now were love words from his mother tongue. Words he wouldn’t dare say aloud, for fear of what he would reveal.
Lady Deering moaned, her hands fluttering to his hair, fingers sifting through the strands, back arching. The sensual abandon he had felt in her before had returned, and he intended to make the best of it. He flicked his tongue over the pert bud of her nipple, taking his time, caressing her thighs as he lavished attention upon her gorgeous breasts. First one, then the other.
They had hours yet until he needed to replace one of his men on duty. Hours until the sun rose and dawn chased his sensual goddess back into her stays and forbidding frown. He was going to put those hours to good use.
To that end, he buried his face in the hollow between her breasts, pressing his mouth to the soft skin there. He kissed her tenderly, slowly, making love to every part of her body. Because he felt to his marrow that he understood the Marchioness of Deering. She didn’t have outward scars on her perfect, creamy skin. Hers resided on the inside, impossible to see and yet every bit as devastating. Oh, yes. He understood scars. He well knew the chains of the past, the pain memories continually inflicted, subtle as a knife’s blade gradually cutting more and more flesh away until nothing was left but impenetrable bone. And even after, the bones still ached. They were capable of being broken.
Living in the past was slow torture.
To hell with that. All he wanted tonight was this moment. All he needed was now. For himself, selfishly, yes. But for her, too. For this beautiful, passionate woman who was clinging to what had come before as if it would save her instead of sending her beneath the flood to drown.
Theo’s lips moved with a will of their own, down her stomach to her navel. Lower, to her hip bone. He kissed the gentle protrusion, thinking she had been made to worship, that each new place on her body that he explored was lovelier than the last. He kissed along her outer thigh first, all the way to her knee, his hands never leaving her, the connection unbroken. His every sense was heightened, like a berry almost bursting with ripeness. There was her jasmine and hyacinth scent, but as he parted her legs even farther, there was also the sweet perfume of her sex, musky and tempting.
Theo kissed the ridge of her knee, then moved to the softness of her inner thigh, dragging his lips over her. Higher, higher, higher. His hands moved, pushing her slowly wider, and she was like a summer bud unfurling into a decadent blossom. All pink, welcoming femininity, her skin sleek and glistening, ready for him.
“What are you…”
