Were they going to have relations with the curtains open?
Her eyes widened at the touch of his fingers on the drawstring of her pantaloons. He was standing in front of her, gently pushing them off her hips. Not simply content to allow them to fall, he was following the garment with his palms, feeling every inch of her.
Her heart was beating so furiously she was breathless, incapable of speech. Incapable, too, of telling Montgomery he really should not look at her in quite that way.
The same way the mastiff had when the bitch glanced over her shoulder at him, slowed, and braced herself in the dirt.
Oh my.
A lock of hair had tumbled onto his forehead. He wore the strangest smile, an expression that was definitely not amused. Intent, perhaps, as if this task took all his focus.
His fingers hooked in the scoop neckline of her shift and began to pull. She slapped a hand over his.
“Please don’t rip it. It’s my only shift.”
“Only?”
She nodded.
He frowned. “The Earl of Conley is a wealthy man.”
She bent her head, concentrating on the floor, his shoes, and his trousers. Her gaze crept up his legs, hesitated. If she placed her hand there again, would she feel the same hardness? Or was it possible that he’d gotten even larger?
“Veronica.”
Her face warmed as her gaze flew to meet his.
“Why don’t you have more than one shift?” he asked gently.
“Uncle Bertrand had not expected to bear the expense of clothing and housing me,” she said.
His face changed a little, but the emotions she suddenly felt from him were like tinder exploding in a fireplace.
“Just how many times did he utter that little comment to you?”
She placed her hand against his chest.
“You cannot blame him, Montgomery. I was his sister’s daughter, not his own child.”
“You’re family.”
“Should we be discussing Uncle Bertrand now?” she asked. “I’d just as soon we didn’t.”
He nodded, bent, and grabbed the hem of her shift before pulling it over her head.
She was naked again.
His large hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing against the nipples. His attention was not on the action of his hands, however, but on her face.
Veronica could feel heat rush through her body, pool in the core of her.
What did he want?
Her hands reached up to grip his wrists. Instead of pulling his hands away, she merely kept her fingers there, feeling the beat of his heart at his wrists. A beat as rapid as her own.
Her legs trembled; her entire body shivered, not from the cold or even anticipation. What she felt was something different, something that hollowed out her insides, pushed aside all reticence and shyness.
Anything he wanted, she’d do.
