“Kit…”
“Good choice, I especially like that one.”
I swallowed the lust he’d managed to create. “I thought you wouldn’t—not until I agreed to marry you.”
“I won’t risk getting you with child. Any other concerns? We would be good together, so good.”
The hand that wasn’t inching up to the edge of my stockings was occupied with the buttons lining my back. He caught my lips again, distracting me as he worked on the row of buttons.
“Whoareyou?”
“’M Kit. You know the word—didn’t seem to know any others a few moments ago.” His lips traced the bodice of my gown, loosening with every freed button.
He tugged it down with a finger. The molten chocolate of his gaze sought my eyes. “Yes,” I agreed, too eagerly.
And then he set about stripping me of not only my gown but every last thought in my head.
Twenty-Eight
NORTH ROAD—APRIL 13, 1817
KIT
I was beginningto suspect it was possible to die from lust.
Lust and love.
That’s what it was, the feeling I’d been hesitant to name before now. Before the moment she hinted thatIdidn’t underestimate her. That acknowledgment filled me with a heady confidence that astonished both of us. The realization that followed also left me petrified.
It would destroy me if I couldn’t convince her to say yes. My chest would crack into a thousand tiny pieces if I had to leave her behind in Scotland.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her. I just needed to prove to her that it would be worth it—I would be worth it.
Another “yes” broke from Davina’s lips when I managed to free one of her breathtaking breasts.
I worshiped the silken globe with my tongue, feeling her nipple pebble between my lips. “Do you like this?” I asked, fairly confident in her response. The physical evidence of her arousal was helpful.
Her breathy grunt and fingers clutching my head tighter seemed to be an affirmative.
Much as I wanted to strip Davina bare and leave her a boneless, desperate mess, I had nothing in the way of practical experience. I’d kissed a girl once or twice, but nothing more. What I did have was a single, drunken conversation with Celine while Will worked late one night and we worked on a bottle of scotch.
My hand under Davina’s skirts inched ever closer to that secret space I’d only dreamed about. “Davina?”
“Wha?”
Her deft fingers made quick work of my waistcoat, moving to shove it off my shoulders. The problem came when that effort required me to remove my hands from their home on any patch of her skin I could find.
She seemed to realize the issue and abandoned the waistcoat in favor of the cravat.
“Davina,” I tried again, dragging my hand ever closer to the junction of her thighs. Heat radiated off her. I knew when I finally closed the distance it would be a burn, a brand of her that I would never be able to see, and never be able to forget—not that I could envision a world in which I would want to forget. “May I touch you?”
“You are touching me,” she replied, distracted before she released a pleased little cry when she unwrapped the fabric from my neck.
I palmed the enticing flesh of her thighs pointedly. “I want to give you pleasure.” I wanted to do more than give her pleasure. I wanted to extract every last drop of indulgent, sensual bliss her body was capable of giving her. I wanted to leave her a wrung-out husk whose only thoughts wereyesandmore. I wanted her to be as obsessed with me as I was her, until the mere thoughtof denying me, of refusing to wed me, hurt her as much as it did me. I more than wanted it, I needed it.
I wasn’t entirely certain what I would do if she said no in this moment. Stop, of course, but possibly die as well. Fortunately, I didn’t have to find out because she nodded, a becoming flush spreading across her cheeks and chest.
“Yes? You want me to spread these soft, velvety thighs and slip my fingers inside you? It would be easy, I can feel your sweetness running down as we speak.”
