“If you stay here, I cannot promise to behave honorably,” he said.
She slid her hands from his shoulders to his chest, his warmth searing her through the silk of his dressing gown. “I don’t care.”
“You should care. And I shouldn’t be?—”
She interrupted his attempts at swaying her from her course by pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush.”
And then, holding his gaze, she took a step back, her hands going to the fastening of her dressing gown. He released her, his eyes darkening.
“Addy.”
He said her name like a plea. She ignored him, intent upon her task. Despite Mama’s firm determination to keep her woefully ignorant of what passed between a woman and a man, Addy had sought the answers. She knew what she was doing. Knew what she wanted and what she had to do.
Her fingers moved over buttons, the dressing gown opening to reveal her nightgown beneath. Lion watched, his expression turning ravenous, offering no further protestations. The air felt as if it were charged with a hidden electrical current. Addy reached the final mooring and then shrugged the garment from her shoulders. It fell softly to the carpet at her feet.
They stared at each other, not speaking a word, the silence saying more than either of them could. There was no sound, save the crackling of the fire in the grate and their ragged breathing.
Her mind was firmly made up in that moment. She was going to give herself to this man.
Addy caught the filmy fabric of her nightgown in both hands, and before her bravery could falter, she tugged it over her head, tossing it behind her. She stood there, completely bare in the chill night air, her body his to examine, his to touch, his to take.
For a long, heavy pause, he didn’t move. His countenance may as well have been hewn in granite. His icy-blue stare traveled over her as she fought the urge to cover her breasts or shield her sex or—heaven forbid—race to pick up her discarded nightgown from the floor and pull it back over her head.
But then he moved with such sudden haste that she nearly jumped. Before she could even blink, Lion bent and scooped her into his arms with seemingly effortless ease. She clung to his neck as he carried her to his bed and tenderly placed her in the center of it, joining her there. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply.
Here was the answer she had been seeking.
Lion wasn’t going to reject her.
His big body angled over hers, still clad in his dressing gown, their bare calves and ankles tangling as their lips moved as one. He kissed her slowly, sensuously, and then his touch moved lightly over her body, caressing her with increasing purpose as he grazed the edge of one bare breast. When he palmed it, the sensation struck her like lightning, starting where their bare skin connected and shooting through every part of her, all the way to her toes.
His thumb traced over her nipple, and she gasped into his kiss, her back arching. Lion groaned and plucked at the pebbledpeak. His thigh pressed between her legs. Sensation blossomed, pleasure radiating outward from every place they touched.
Belatedly, it occurred to her how unfair it was for him to be fully clothed while she was naked. He was yet wearing his dressing gown, and her fingers itched to touch him. To feel the strength of his chest and the muscles of his back. To absorb his warmth and vitality. To stroke and caress him everywhere and learn each inch of his body, just as he was exploring hers.
She found the buttons on his dressing gown and somehow managed to slide a few free without breaking his kiss. But when her eager fingers found bare chest beneath, he lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, a question lingering there.
Addy understood what he was asking without words.
“I want to,” she reassured him softly.
He shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake himself from a stupor. “You don’t understand.”
She kissed his chin and continued pulling buttons free. “I do.”
She wasn’t as experienced as he likely believed her to be, given her reputation and the scandals she’d caused on both sides of the Atlantic. But she knew enough to understand what it would mean to lie with him. To understand that she wanted it, despite the risks and consequences. After tonight, she would never have this chance again.
His dressing gown parted farther, and she found the sash at his waist, easily untangling the knot. She took advantage of the skin she had revealed, reveling in the play of the lamplight on his chest and upper arms, enjoying the smattering of gold hair that glinted on his chest, the way it teased her eager fingertips. How handsome and masculine and strong he was.
And how delightful she found the differences in their bodies, his broad chest and shoulders, his lean waist with its trail of hair leading down from his navel. He swallowed as she explored,leveraging himself on his forearms above her, his body rigid and tense. When she tried to reach lower, however, he kissed her again, temporarily staying her discovery.
His mouth was hot and firm, his tongue seeking entry. She opened for him, her hands slipping beneath the twain ends of his dressing gown so that she could glory in his bare chest. His heart thumped fast and hard against her palm. Almost impossible to believe she was naked in Marchingham’s bed. Touching his bare skin. Helping him to disrobe.
The forbidden nature of their tryst only served to heighten her desire. Lying with him was wicked and wrong. They weren’t married or engaged. Heavens, half the time, he disapproved of her so mightily that she thought she could drown in his disdain. But when he kissed her the way he was now, as if he could never have enough of her lips on his, nothing else mattered.
He caressed her breast again, the lightest of touches, and her sex clenched, the ache there deepening. She writhed against him, needing friction, needing him. He groaned into her mouth and then lifted his head to stare down at her as he played with her greedy nipple, and pangs of pure, sweet pleasure shot straight to her core.
“You’re sure?”
