She swallowed. “I was up in the middle of the night and I decided to find a book in my uncle’s library. When I opened the door, I-I saw them.”
His eyes widened as her meaning became clear. “Who?”
“A maid and a footman. They were…they were doing all the things that people do at the Donville Masquerade. It was animal and powerful and passionate.” She shook her head. “I had never thought it could be like that. But I couldn’t stop thinking of it. Fantasizing about it in the dark of my room. I crept down every night, looking for them. Watching them if I caught them. I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn’t stop.”
His pupils dilated. She knew that look. What she told him made him want her. And that gave her a little bravery in this sea of inappropriate confession.
“The last night I saw them together, he said something about the Donville Masquerade. And then my uncle fired the maid and I never saw them together again. I asked around and ultimately found out exactly what the masquerade was. Intrigued, I snuck out and went. It was shocking to me, of course. But it fueled even more drive to go, to see, to explore that passion that I’d never felt and believed I never would feel. Until…until you.”
He lifted a hand to touch her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. It was electric pleasure. It was anticipation of oh, so much more to come. And she was ready. Ready for this, even if it was all they would ever share. It was better than nothing. Wasn’t it?
It had to be.
“You deserved that pleasure you sought,” he murmured. “And I’m glad I was there to give it to you.”
She shook her head. “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? That of all the hundreds of people who flow through that place, you and I found each other?”
Chapter Seventeen
Matthew’s jaw tightened, and for a moment Isabel thought she’d said something wrong. His reaction was so physical and so strong. She opened her mouth to ask him about it, to apologize for going too far.
But before she could, he dropped his lips to hers and her thoughts and fears faded away. At least for now, she could surrender, give herself completely and know that this man—this marvelous, giving man—would tend to her every need. And she to his.
He glided his hands across her cheeks as he tilted her head for better access. His fingers slid through her locks, bringing pins raining down on the floor around them. Her hair fell around her shoulders and his hands, and he drew back to stare at her.
“You’ve never had your hair down with me,” he said, touching the locks like they were something magical.
She laughed. “I suppose not. It’s just hair.”
“No, it’s silk and satin,” he said, lifting a piece to his nose and inhaling deeply. “It’s midnight and magic. It’s vanilla heaven.”
She blinked at those words, passionate and sweet. Her dark hair had always seemed too plain to her. But he spoke of it like it was something incredible, so it suddenly felt that way.
She lifted her hands and tugged at his jacket, and he smiled. “Is waxing poetic about your hair is the path to your surrender, Your Grace?” he asked with a grin. “I’ll file that piece of information away.”
“Silly man,” she whispered as she fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Touching me, saying my name, even looking at me the right way is the path to my surrender. It seems I’m always on the edge of it when I’m with you.”
“Good,” he growled, suddenly possessive and dark in tone. She liked that. Liked hearing him find his way to animal desire, away from the sweet goodness that normally made itself known.
He suddenly turned her and yanked her back against him. His mouth came down to her neck, and he sucked there as his hand glided to her stomach, holding her flush to him as he ground his hard cock against her backside. She let out a moan at the aggressive touch and pushed back, meeting him eagerly.
“I have been waiting for this,” he whispered against her skin, the words sinking into her flesh and working their way through her bloodstream.
She nodded, wordless and breathless, and gasped when he pulled at the gown, popping the buttons free and scattering a few to join her hairpins on the floor.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promised as he parted the gown. “You’re wearing a chemise?”
She laughed at the deep disappointment in his tone. “Today I’m Isabel, remember?” she said. “Only the swan goes bare beneath her gowns.”
“Perhaps Isabel could take a page from the swan’s book from time to time,” he said, pushing the dress forward to droop around her waist. He slipped a finger beneath her chemise strap and inched it down her arm. “For me.”
“For you?” She gasped as his mouth followed the trail of the strap. “Yes, Your Grace.”
He murmured a moan against her skin and then turned her to face him. He locked his gaze with hers and dragged her chemise away. She was bare from the waist up, and heat flooded her cheeks. It was a funny thing, for he was right that he’d seen her like this before. He’d been far more intimate with her body.
But the mask had offered protection. Anonymity. A barrier. Tonight there were none, and as he stared she turned her eyes away.
He tucked a finger beneath her chin and turned her face back. “Don’t. Don’t hide from me.”
