His gaze never faltered. “I have no intention of giving you any.”
He was telling the truth. She couldn’t have said how she knew, but he was, and that was all that mattered.
This time, when Stephen leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, she kissed him back. Her hands fisted in his lapels almost of their own accord, one palm sliding up his chest to grip hisshoulder. There was something so firm about him, sosolidthat it thrilled her all the way down to her core.
His hand on her waist crept up her ribcage, fingers probing, and the pad of his thumb brushed the side of her breast. The touch sent a wave of sensation through her, so intense it made her gasp. He chuckled against her lips, and she felt him smile.
Then the laces at the back of her dress loosened, and she gasped.
“Fear not,” Stephen whispered, tilting his head to kiss underneath her jaw.Thatfelt wonderful, and Amelia swallowed again, her eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll help you lace up.”
The knots were deftly loosened, and her bodice drooped enough to expose the swell of her breasts, barely covered by the chemise underneath.
Fair is fair,Amelia thought dazedly, and tugged pointedly at his jacket.
She made no headway in actually getting the thing off, but Stephen chuckled again, sounding even more amused. He pulled back, neatly shucking off the garment. The motion loosened his cravat, and he impatiently pulled that off, too.
That left him in a linen shirt, undone almost to the halfway point down his chest. Seizing her again, he pulled her against him. Heat flared between them, almost unbearably so.
What would it feel like to put her skin on his? To have them pressed together without their clothes in the way?
Wrapping his arms around her, Stephen slid his palms down the newly exposed skin of her back. His fingertips tickled her spine, and she shivered, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his waist.
The linen of his shirt was thin, and through it she could feel the warmth of his skin. There were long, thin, rough marks, and it took her a moment to understand that they were scars.
That jolted her out of her daze. Frowning, she traced one particularly long line, trying to work out what it was.
A lash mark?
There was another scar, a small and circular one, hard like a nub. When she touched it, Stephen flinched, immediately grabbing her elbows and pushing her away from him. He eyed her uncertainly, his eyes unreadable.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
“Hurt me? No, that scar is long healed.”
“Forgive me, I… I only wanted to know what it was,” she stammered. “The scar, I mean.”
He stared at her. “Which scar?”
“All of them.”
His jaw tightened. “Lash marks and bullet wounds. All healed.”
Bullet wounds?
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a finger, pressing it against her lips.
“No,” he said firmly, before she had the chance to say a thing. “No, Amelia.”
She bit her lip, nodding tightly. “I won’t ask.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Clever girl.”
Without warning, he seized her shoulders, spinning her around. His touch was firm but not rough, and one arm banded around her waist, pulling her against him. She could feel him against her, warm and almost overwhelming.
The window was in front of them, the garden below mercifully unoccupied. She could see a faint, ghostlike reflection of the two of them in the glass, herself most of all. The cushion of the window seat was right in front of her knees.
Stephen’s hand slid down her ribcage to her knee, lifting her left leg and positioning her so she knelt on the seat. Then his hand came up to rest across her ribcage once more, holding her still. With his right hand, he tugged unceremoniously at her skirt. Amelia caught a brief glimpse of her white thighs. His hand disappeared, but she could still trace his movements on her skin.
