His mouth sought hers again. “I promise.”
The air felt cool in the room as she stood in just her shift and her stockings, cool except for where his hands touched her. Plans, lessons—nothing but Tristan and how he made her feel mattered, as burning memory and sensation filled her.
He shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it on the floor beside the puddle of her dress. His mouth still on hers, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled it off, as well. “I missed you,” he murmured.
The deep sound resonated inside her. She had his cravat unknotted in only a moment. “You see me all the time,” she said breathlessly, as his hands swept up her waist, tugging her against him for another kiss.
“Not like this.”
His mouth trailed along the neckline of her shift, his warm, skillful lips and tongue making her tremble. His passion frightened her a little; until tonight she’d been dictating how close they became, how far they went. Tonight he felt like a summer storm, wild and powerful and ready to break over her in a torrent she couldn’t resist.
She pulled his shirt free from his trousers and ran her hands up the warm skin of his stomach. His hard muscles jumped beneath her touch. “Do I feel the same?” he murmured.
“Yes, and no. I know you, this time.”
He raised his arms and she lifted the shirt over his head, dropping it with the rest of their clothes. Tristan kissed her again, pressing her back against the tall bedpost. “Georgiana,” he murmured, nudging her chin up and running his mouth along her throat.
A moan broke from her, and she closed her eyes, drinking in the sensation of his mouth and his hands caressing her. His head dipped, and his mouth touched her breast through the thin fabric of her shift. Her nipples grew taut, pushing at the fine silk. Unable to help herself, she groaned again, tangling her fingers through his coal black hair and pulling him to her.
Tristan sank to his knees before her. Long fingers slid with slow purpose up her legs, drawing her shift up with them. For a moment, she panicked. Not again. She wasn’t going to let herself be hurt like that again.
“Tristan.”
He looked up at her. “I promised no promises, Georgiana,” he said in a low voice, “but—”
“No. It’s all right.” She didn’t want to hear him say he cared for her, or that he would be there when she awoke in the morning, or that she wouldn’t regret what she was doing. She wanted him tonight. She would worry about what came next when tonight was over.
“Are you certain?”
His words resonated into her, and she trembled. “Yes.”
His hands resumed their trail up her right leg, caressing and kneading. High up on her thigh he slipped his fingers beneath the top edge of her stocking, rolling it slowly down her leg, then lifted her foot and pulled it from her toes. He offered it to her wordlessly. With a shaking breath she took it from his fingers, clenching it in her fist until he offered her the second one in the same way.
He wanted the gesture to mean something, but she refused to let it. Tonight was tonight. Neither yesterday nor tomorrow mattered. Holding his gaze, she dropped both stockings into the pile their clothes were making. “Now it’s your turn,” she said unsteadily. “Off with your boots.”
Rising, he leaned against the footboard and yanked one gleaming black Hessian and then the other off his feet, and flung them into a dark corner. “Anything else you wish me to remove?”
He was letting her take the lead again, which steadied her a little. At the same time, it would be more difficult later, when she tried to justify her actions to herself. That, though, was later. She stepped forward and unfastened the top button of his breeches. “Oh, yes.”
With that small motion, the storm broke over her. Tristan took her face in his hands, kissing her again, deep and rough, his tongue plundering her mouth and leaving her panting and breathless. She undid the remaining two buttons and shoved his trousers down.
She felt him come free. Unable to resist, she broke the kiss and looked down. A light dusting of dark, curling hair across his chest narrowed in a line down his flat, muscled stomach, drawing her eyes lower. “This, I remember.”
At twenty-four he had been handsome. At thirty, he was breathtaking—more muscular, all man in the angular planes of his face and the knowing expression in his eyes.
Georgiana touched the warm smoothness of his manhood, and his muscles jumped. Emboldened by the fact that he was completely naked and she still wore her silk shift, she curled her fingers around him. Slowly she stroked the length of his shaft while he stood absolutely motionless before her, beautiful as a marble scuplture, but warm and alive and strong.
“Tristan,” she whispered, looking up to meet the glittering blue of his gaze, “I still seem to be partially dressed.”
“Not for long.” He slipped the straps of her shift off her shoulders and gently tugged the garment down. She had to release him as the material flowed down past her arms and her waist, pooling at her feet.
His hands traced her collarbones, then teased downward to circle her breasts, then her nipples, before cupping and releasing them. “I remember you, too,” he murmured, bending down to take her left breast in his mouth.
She gasped, grateful for the support of bedpost behind her, the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor. He suckled, biting down gently on her nipple, and with another gasp her legs did give way.
Tristan caught her up in his arms, kissing her hard and openmouthed as he lifted her and brought her over to the middle of the bed. She couldn’t seem to let go of him and kept her arms around his neck, kissing him as he had kissed her. He yanked the sheets down one-handed, and laid her in the middle of the soft dishevelment.
Slipping onto the bed beside her, he captured her breast again. Her body hummed with excited tension; she knew what was to come. He continued laving her nipple, sliding his hands in languorous circles down her stomach, then lower. His finger dipped inside her, and she bucked.
