Chapter Thirty
Nicholas closed his fingers around hers as if she were something precious and pulled her gently to her feet.
The walk up the stairs felt not like walking into battle, but toward surrender.The hallway was empty, the house muffled around them.A maid passed at the far end of the corridor, eyes downcast, veering away.Bea’s cheeks burned.Nicholas’s grip on her hand tightened, reassuring.
At the top of the second flight, he led her to a door at the end of the corridor.He opened it and stepped back, letting her enter first.
His bedchamber was large and masculine, all deep blues and rich woods.The bed dominated the space—wide, high, curtained in dark fabric drawn back to show linen sheets.A fire burned low in the grate, filling the room with a soft glow.
Bea hovered just past the threshold, heart pounding.
Nicholas closed the door behind them and locked it with a quiet click.
“No one will disturb us,” he said.
“How comforting,” she murmured faintly.
He came around to face her.
“I know what this looks like,” he said.“I know what it is.I will not pretend this is honorable.But I also know that nothing in my life has ever felt as right as you walking into this room.”
Her throat worked.“I chose to come up here.”
“Yes,” he said.“And I’m infinitely glad you did.Come here.”
She did.
The moment she was within reach, his arms went around her, drawing her against his body with a hunger that stole her breath.His mouth found hers again, and she stopped thinking.
The kiss turned fierce, almost frantic, as if some shared instinct told them this was the last moment they might pause, question, retreat.His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her hips, to the small of her spine.He pressed her closer, and she recognized the hard, unambiguous evidence of his desire against her belly.
She gasped.His mouth swallowed the sound.
Her fingers fumbled at his waistcoat, pushing it back off his shoulders.It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud.His shirt was next.She slid her hands beneath the fine linen, palms skimming over hot skin, muscles jumping under her touch.
He groaned into her mouth, a low, rough sound that made her toes curl.
Her hands found his muscled abdomen, and she pressed her palms flat against him.
“Bea,” he said against her lips, “if you keep doing that, I’m going to forget my own name.”
She smiled shakily.“Then I shall call you Nicholas, and you won’t need to remember.”
His answering laugh broke on a breath as she traced the line of his spine, feeling every inch of him.He pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing hard.
“You are going to be the end of me,” he said.
She thought wildly that she wouldn’t mind being the end of him if it meant she could also be everything in between.
Instead of saying any of that, she reached for the fastenings of her gown.
His hand caught hers.
“Let me,” he said.
The words sent a shiver through her.
She nodded, suddenly shy in a way she hadn’t anticipated.He turned her gently, so her back faced him, and his fingers went to the row of small buttons that marched down her spine.
