He deepened the kiss, and she no longer thought about being proper. Besides, compliancy was the mark of a good wife. Until, of course, he started unbuttoning her bodice. She slapped his hand away, but it returned. The second time he did it, she broke off their kiss and glared at him. The third time she slapped his hand away, he shook his head.
“I have no intention of becoming naked in the parlor, Montgomery Fairfax.”
“Not naked, Veronica. Just a little, shall we say, loosened?”
“I’m loosened enough, thank you.”
“You’re a bride, remember?”
He was down to the fourth button, and she placed her hand against the skin he exposed. She suspected he would continue unbuttoning her, but she was already revealed nearly to her waist. She grabbed both sides of her bodice and held them together, a fact that didn’t disturb him one whit.
Instead, he reached past her hands and began to work on her corset laces.
That was too much.
“Stop it, Montgomery,” she said.
“Very well,” he said, and reached up to cup one of her breasts.
Oh dear.
Gently, almost tenderly, his thumb brushed across the tip, and a jolt traveled through her body. She shook her head, as if to negate the sensations, then gripped his wrist with both hands to stop him.
He kissed her again, and it didn’t matter.
Her shift was fastened at the front with a tiny silk bow. He pulled one end, slid his hand inside the garment, his fingers dancing across her skin to rest against the outer slope of a breast.
Exactly what part of the Empire was she supposed to think about at the moment? She would think of Scotland, deeply grateful she was returning home, despite the circumstances. She would think of her own little village, Lollybroch, and all the joy she’d felt while living there. She would not think about what he was doing with his fingers.
How could she think of anything when he was kissing her so deeply?
She moaned, reached up, and gripped his jacket with both hands, fisting the material to pull him closer.
His hand came up to touch her cheek, and before she knew what he was doing, his fingers were spreading through her hair, dislodging her careful bun.
Heat was pooling in her body, coming from everywhere at once. Her cheeks flamed; it was difficult to breathe, and any thoughts of Scotland flew right out of her head.
Montgomery should wear a placard, some type of warning stating he was dangerous. The tips of her fingers tingled, as if they sought to touch the planes of his face and smooth over his jaw.
Was that permissible? Or was it considered wanton? And was wanton the same as common?
Montgomery’s hand lingered on her breast, his fingers trailing over her skin. He kissed her until her face was hot, and her lips felt swollen. Her heart was beating fast, and other parts of her body were throbbing in time.
She had never been so thoroughly enchanted.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, and when he moved to kiss her throat, her head dropped back to allow him ... anything.
When he kissed the base of her throat, she held her bodice open for him. When she heard the fabric of her shift rip, she wished, in a fleeting and forbidden thought, that he’d managed to remove her corset as well. As it was, her breasts were plumped up in a manner that was most assuredly lascivious and thoroughly naughty.
She almost fainted when he kissed her there, and when Montgomery drew a nipple into his mouth, she felt it throughout her body. First one breast, then another, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on her. Her hands reached up to trail through the hair at his temples, measuring his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. When he would have pulled away, she kept him in place, pressing her palms against the back of his head.
Oh my.
His hand trailed beneath her skirt, and she shivered when she felt his palm against her thigh. His fingers pulled on the bow of her garter, shocking her further.
Did he think to undress her here?
“Montgomery,” she whispered frantically.
