A ruthless scoundrel to most. Hers alone in the dark.
He looked peaceful as he slept, nothing like the dangerous owner of a house that catered to sin. The man was a walking contradiction. While his hand rested gently on her hip, the scar on the arm braced above his head told its own story.
She watched him, wondering how they might manage when she could not live at Shadowmere and he would never relinquish the empire he’d built.
Perhaps they could find common ground.
Some arrangement to suit them both.
One of them would have to yield, and she knew who it would be.
But there was little point worrying now. Finding the clerk was Dominic’s priority. She would prod her aunt’sconscience. If Lord Templeton was a lying toad, surely she would know.
Dominic shifted, his leg brushing hers beneath the coverlet, his fingers firming on her hip. The memory of him inside her had heat pooling between her thighs.
She raised the sheet a fraction and lingered, her gaze moving slowly over him, the dark stubble along his jaw, the hollow at his throat, the broad expanse of his chest, lower still to the lean line of his hips and?—
Sweet Mary.
He was already aroused.
“Lost something, angel?”
She dropped the bedsheet. “Yes, my inhibitions.”
He pulled her closer. “You won’t find them down there.”
“No. I lost them in a cottage at Shadowmere.”
His hand slid from her hip to the curve of her backside. “Or the garden. You weren’t so shy beneath the stars.”
“You’re entirely to blame, of course.”
The squeeze on her bottom stoked the fire in her belly.
“You sound surprised. I am a rotten scoundrel.” He rolled her on top of him with ease. “Perhaps I should remind you how wicked I am.”
The solid length of him pressed against her. His hands settled on her hips, guiding her over him in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“Shall we stop?”
“Certainly not.”
He kissed her, his tongue moving in long, languid strokes.
“Will you take the lead, or shall I?” The husky timbre of his voice sent a shiver through her. “Well?”
She answered by rising over him and guiding him into her, just as she had last night. They moved together, achinglyslow at first, then so fast and urgent her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
They fell back onto the bed, breathless, his arms closing around her. Below, doors opened and closed, voices drifted up, the clatter of the house going about its business, while he murmured something about doing it again.
“Now I know why you insisted I replace the trundle bed.” She touched his chest but it only fed her growing need for him.
The sudden chime of the church bells striking noon had them both sitting upright.
“Bloody hell.” He groaned, reaching for his trousers, nearly knocking his grandmother’s teacup off the nightstand. “I heard the milkmaid and must have fallen back to sleep.”
“Charlotte’s thick curtains earn their keep.” She felt his gaze linger on her bare skin as she crossed to the armoire in search of a clean chemise. “I thought she’d have sent the maid to wake us. We need water for the washbowl and I must write a note to my aunt.”
