Yet here she stood, in his bedchambers.
She wore the same day dress that had fitted her beautifully in the afternoon hours, but her hair tumbled in cascading waves around her shoulders.
“I have come to… to speak with you,” she whispered as she closed the door behind her and strode across the room.
“Indeed?” Peter rolled out of bed, allowing his bare feet to touch the plush carpet.
Tonight, he wore only a long shirt, one that fell almost to his knees. He briefly considered slipping into a pair of breeches to make Miss Fitzroy more comfortable, but then dismissed the thought.
This is my room. She has slipped in here uninvited. Let her feel what comes naturally.
Lavinia clutched a candleholder in one hand. Because of the way the light illuminated her face, he could see that she was astonished by his near-nakedness.
“I just wanted to say…” She breathed deeply. “I wanted to ask…”
Her supple, full lips only excited him. He wanted to own her, to ravish her. He wanted to feel her so badly, and her deep breaths did not help him.
In three quick strides, Peter crossed the room. He snatched the candleholder from her hand and placed it on the table. Then, his arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him.
Just as he had anticipated, she gasped loudly.
“Ask me anything,” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “Whatever you want to know, whatever you wish to feel, I will oblige you.”
He felt her large breasts heave up and down with every breath. He could not wait to see what was hidden beneath the silk fabric that hinted at her curves. He wanted to think that she wanted it too, but he knew she couldn’t have known what ran through his head.
“I want… I need…” she whispered, her warm breath brushing his face, and it almost melted him.
Peter closed his eyes as he heard her pant the words. She sounded so sensual yet so innocent. And that was his cue; he knew he couldn’t hold still any longer.
He inhaled her scent, the same scent that lingered after any time he spent in her presence. She smelled like flowers with a hint of vanilla—so sweet and so feminine.
“What do you want me to do, Miss Fitzroy?” he almost growled.
He wanted to hear her beg, but he also wanted to grant her requests. He wanted to tease her, yet he wanted to pleasure her.
Miss Fitzroy did not speak for a moment.
“I…” she moaned.
Peter almost lost it. Her voice felt heavenly in his ears. He could not wait to hear more, to hear her moan his name.
He felt the longing in every part of his body, and he wanted her to know that. He looked into her eyes as he ground his hips against hers, letting her know how much he wanted her. He felt glorious as she gasped upon feeling his hard member press against her.
“Speak, Lavinia. Tell me what to do next,” he whispered in her ear. He felt her shiver as he gently nibbled on her earlobe.
“Kiss me,” she mumbled, as if she had lost her other words.
“Is that a proper way to ask a duke for a favor?” he teased.
He saw her jaw tick as she gritted her teeth. He smirked.
Miss Fitzroy took a deep breath. “Please, kiss me, Your Grace.”
At that, Peter obliged.
Lavinia stared into his eyes, full of longing, but before she could make out their color, his full lips crashed onto hers. She felt his hands wander.
She could not name the sensations he was making her feel. She never knew her body could feel such wonder. His fingers traced along the swell of her hips, moving upwards and then stopping before he could reach her breasts.
