He blinked, realizing he’d been standing mute for almost thirty seconds. “Of course, please.”
He stepped aside and she entered the house. Once again, she only gave it a cursory look over and then she turned toward him, her hands folded in front of herself.
“Don’t most men of your stature have servants, Your Grace?” she asked, a lilt of teasing to her tone.
He shut the door and leaned back against it, staring at her. Great Christ, but she was magnificent. Her hair was still down in wild waves around her shoulders and her small but perfectly formed breasts. He wanted to see her with only that hair covering her.
“I sent them to bed,” he said. “I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
She smiled slightly. “A good idea,” she whispered.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a low groan, he moved to her and cupped the back of her head, dropping his mouth against hers with what he knew was out of control animal heat. She didn’t resist him, but reached up to clutch his lapels, arching against him with none of the innocence he’d sensed in her on the drive.
He tasted her, like honey and sherry and something that was just her, just perfect. And he wanted that scent and that taste to be dumped over him, he wanted to bathe in it. Be burned with it. Something to make it never go away.
He pulled back, panting, and motioned to the stairway. “Shall we?”
She nodded and reached out a hand. He stared at her slender fingers, ungloved as they touched his. She folded her hand around his, and for a moment he was flooded with a sense of incredible peace. He forgot everything that normally haunted him and took a deep breath.
But need was still need, drive was still drive, and he moved up the stairs at last, drawing her up to his room and shaking with the power of everything he wanted to do to her. Now he could, and he wasn’t about to waste a moment she had granted him.
Chapter Eight
Adelaide could hardly breathe as Graham drew her into a chamber at the end of the long hallway. She hadn’t given a damn about the rest of his house—she’d been in many a fine manor in her life—but in this room she took in every detail.
It was a large bedroom, with a roaring fire along one wall and large, four-poster bed opposite. The colors were masculine blues and steely grays, and they fit the man who now stood behind her, watching her as she looked over the room they would share for what she hoped would be a few hours.
There was danger in that, of course, but she’d manage it. She always did.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
His tone was so rough, so low and pulsing with desire that she couldn’t deny him. She slowly pivoted and faced him, sucking in a breath as she did. He was still perfectly done up, not a hair out of place or a piece of clothing wrinkled. And yet he looked undone, wicked, fallen. And she wanted to strip him down and give herself over in every wanton way she’d ever let herself imagine.
“You’ve done this before, I assume,” he said softly.
She tilted her head at the question, even as it struck terror in her heart. Why would he ask after her innocence? If she were Adelaide standing here, she could understand it. There was an act she performed in her daily life that would lead him to believe she hadn’t made love before. But as Lydia, he should have assumed she was not untouched.
“I have,” she said, keeping her tone cool and light. “I assumeyouhave.”
His mouth quirked up in one of those rare and spectacular grins. “Oh yes,” he said, reaching out to catch the sash on her simple gown and draw her close. “Though I do admit it’s been a while.”
She shivered as he drew her up against him, her curves molding easily against his hardness and her body reacted accordingly. She was melting, burning, being assimilated by his desire. She might not survive it. And she didn’t care.
“I hope…” she whispered as she reached a hand up to touch his chest. He hissed in a breath as she did so, and that gave her confidence. “That this will be worth the wait.”
He growled rather than answer and spun her around so their positions were reversed. The door now pressed to her back and he loomed up over her, caging her in with strong, powerful arms as he stared down into her face.
They were too close, and she tensed again, terrified he would recognize something of Adelaide in her Lydia façade. But he didn’t. He merely leaned in and began to kiss the column of her neck. Of course he wouldn’t see Adelaide. He didn’t think of her. Not like this.
She pushed aside her disappointment at that stark fact and focused on the way his mouth moved against her. He was firm, sucking her flesh, but gentle enough that it didn’t hurt. She clenched her fists against his chest, shifting as pure desire flowed through her already ultra-sensitive body.
She loosened the button on his jacket and slid her hands beneath, and he hissed out a sound of pleasure that was all but lost against her skin. The wavering control of it spurred her on, though, and she pushed the coat to the floor. His waistcoat came next and she wrestled it open and tossed it aside just as easily.
She stopped then. She had to. He pulled away so she couldn’t do more. But he didn’t do it to stop her. He did it so that he could turn her, pressing her hands to the smooth, cool surface of the door with one hand and unbuttoning her dress with the other. She arched as the fabric parted, sending cooler air against her skin. She wore nothing beneath, after all, for her costume at the theatre didn’t allow for undergarments.
When he pushed the dress lower and discovered that for himself, he let out a low groan and then his lips were on her skin. He pushed her hair aside and dragged his mouth along the back of her neck, lower to trace her spine until her gown got in the way again.
Only then did he tug it down and let it pool at her feet, leaving her only in her plain slippers and equally plain stockings.
