His hands threaded her hair, pulling it loose until it fell about her shoulders. Eamon broke the kiss to bury his face in a fistful of it.
Unlike their tryst in Portman Square, Caro didn’t dread someone coming in to discover them. The dowager had fallen asleep in her large bedchamber downstairs, and Leo, despite his excitement at Eamon’s visit, had quickly dropped off in his nursery. Singleton would never dream of disturbing Caro in the night short of the direst of emergencies.
They were gloriously alone, no ballroom of disparaging guests to face at the end of whatever happened here.
Eamon unwound the fichu Caro had already loosened, letting it fall in a waft of pale fabric. He tilted her head back and pressed warm kisses along her throat before moving to her breasts as they rose above her décolletage.
His scalding breath brushed her skin, and Caro began to shake.
“No, my love.” Eamon lifted his head, his blue eyes dark in the candlelight. He cupped her face, caressing her cheekbones as her hair slid over his fingers. “Never be afraid of me.”
“I am not. I am—” Caro broke off, unable to explain. So much excitement coursed through her, she might fall to pieces. The sensation was unfamiliar, raw.
Eamon silenced her with his mouth then pressed kisses along her throat once more. Unhurried fingers loosened the catches of her bodice and untied the chemise that was her only layer under that.
Caro’s body hummed as Eamon lowered the gold satin gown Louise had insisted on lending her. Her modiste had created this gown for the Season, but Louise had never worn it. Caro might as well, she’d said.
Caro realized that Louise might have chosen this dress because it was easy to take off. It fell to her waist in a crush of warm satin, baring her to Eamon’s gaze.
He observed her in admiration, his attention as palpable as his touch. Then he skimmed his fingers under her breasts to gently lift them.
Caro had never had a man’s hands there—well, anyone’s hands, except her own, and that only in the bath. She let out a breath, trying to relax, but her inner fires shot even higher at his touch.
“You are beautiful,” he said softly. “I’ve never seen such beauty.”
“You must have done,” was all Caro could think of to say.
Eamon’s smile flashed. “Not until this night.” He leaned closer. “Caro, my dearest angel, why did you bring me here?”
To touch you. To have you touch me.
Caro had no idea how to say such things out loud. She put her fingers to his lips. “We should not talk.”
Eamon’s smile beneath her fingertips turned sultry. “I agree.”
He gently moved her hand aside and kissed her mouth.
His previous kisses had been fervent, but this one contained an intensity he’d been holding back. He cupped her breasts, her nipples growing tight as they pressed his palms. The fire of that ignited Caro’s excitement to desperation.
Caro grappled with the buttons of his waistcoat, so many buttons. Why were women’s garments so thin and flimsy while men stuffed themselves into layer upon layer of clothing?
Eamon laughed softly as she struggled. He released her—though she had a moment of anguish when he ceased kissing her—and helped her unbutton and slide his coat and waistcoat from him. Both fell to the carpet, and his cravat soon followed.
Caro untied the tapes that held his shirt closed, letting out a sigh of satisfaction when his hard torso at last was bare for her.
Caro ran her hands over his chest, fascinated by the planes of it, the dark hair that curled over her fingers, the flat nipples waiting for her touch. Eamon sucked in a breath as she squeezed one between her fingers. It pearled, like her own, and she repeated the action, intrigued. She’d had no idea men responded to such a thing.
Eamon let her play as he loosened the final hooks of her gown, sending it, chemise, and her one modest underskirt to the carpet with his clothes.
Now they were skin to skin, and any lingering coolness fled. Caro had been unclothed with a man before—she’d borne a child after all—but not like this. Not standing in the middle of her chamber, in the flickering candlelight, passion running through her like rivers of flame.
Eamon slid warm hands down her back and over her now-bare hips, drawing her closer into the next kiss. They swayed together, mouths seeking, no more words.
Eamon hooked his arm under her thigh, pulling her leg up to twine his. He still wore skin-tight pantaloons, fashionable for a gentleman’s evening suit, but the position opened Caro more than she’d thought possible, letting her feel every inch of the hard ridge behind cashmere.
Just when she thought incandescence would overtake her, Eamon untangled them and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. He deposited her on top of it, not bothering to draw back the covers.
Eamon gazed down at her, his hair a mess from her fingers. “I’d love to sketch you as you are now. I would treasure such a picture forever.”
