“Dash it.”
“I’ll get it.” Benedict crossed to the fireplace and began to empty the ash into a bucket.
Exhausted, Amelia sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her boots, tugging them off and arranging them at the end of the mattress.
Her husband was a very useful man. She couldn’t imagine any of her London beaus knowing how to light a fire.
He was a very nice man too. And handsome. With broad shoulders and muscular arms that felt lovely to hold.
“Pardon?” he asked. Still kneeling before the fireplace, he twisted to face her.
“Excuse me?”
“You said something.”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t thinking—saying—anything.” Heat crept up her neck. The late hour and her woolgathering were going to get her into trouble.
The flames held, and he stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess that’s good night then.” He made no move to leave though. And she didn’t want him to. They’d been dancing around it for days, this attraction.
But he was her husband.
There was no one around.
And really, there was no reason not to kiss him again. And whatever came next.
“I can’t get out of my dress.” She stood and took two steps toward him, her pulse thrumming through her veins.
“You can’t get out of your dress?” She couldn’t tell if the flames from the fireplace were dancing in his eyes or if he was as scorching as she was.
“My lady’s maid is out.”
He crossed the space between them in three quick strides, coming to stop just inches from her. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. He rested a hand on her waist. His fingers flexed and pressed into her, but he left those few darned inches between them.
“Then can I be of assistance?” he asked.
She inhaled. This was her chance to change her mind. But that breath was potent. The smell of him made the room tilt. It swirled through her, turning her blood hot.
She leaned forward, turning those few inches into just a finger-width.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Thank God.” He pulled her tight against his body, the long hard breadth of him setting fire to the deepest parts of her.
He sank his hand into the back of her chignon, sending pins flying. Tipping her face toward his, he touched his lips to hers.
This kiss. It was a new silk dress, a perfectly chalked ballroom, and meeting the queen all in one.
It was both familiar and an epiphany.
It was heaven.
“Amelia,” he murmured. “My God, Amelia.”
The strength of his sex pulsated against her, igniting the same primal throb in her.
His lips moved to her earlobe, the sound and heat of his breath making her shiver. He trailed a line of soft kisses to the edge of her dress.
“Oh.” Her knees buckled, and only his arm around her stopped her from falling to the ground.
