His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly at her waist, suddenly came alive. They roamed freely over her body, no longer constrained by the fear of being rebuffed or the demands of decorum. One palm slid up her spine, fingers splaying wide as if to feel as much of her as possible, while the other curved around her hip, gripping her through the thin silk of Margaret’s borrowed negligee.
Barbara gasped into his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb finding her nipple through the sheer fabric and circling it slowly with maddening precision. The silk was so thin she could feel the heat of his palm, the slight roughness of his skin, and the sensation made her knees weak. Her nipple hardened into a tight peak beneath his touch and pleasure sparked from that point straight down to her core.
His other hand moved lower, over the curve of her arse, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against her belly through his breeches, and the knowledge she had aroused him this much made her feel powerful and desirable in a way she’d never experienced before.
“I want to touch you too,” she whispered hoarsely against his mouth, her voice thick with need.
Kenneth pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire, his eyes almost black in the candlelight. “Aye?”
Rather than answer with words, Barbara reached for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He helped her, shrugging out of it and tossing it carelessly aside. Her fingers trembled with excitement as she reached for his cravat next, fumbling with the knot in her eagerness.
“Easy, love,” he murmured, his promise rolling over her like honey. “We’ve got all night.”
But Barbara didn’t want to go slow. She’d waited weeks for this, dreamed of it, imagined it in exquisite detail while lying alone in this very bed. Now the moment was here, she wanted everything. With her bedchamber and library set away from the rest of the family rooms, she wasn’t particularly worried about being overheard or interrupted, and planned to spend the entire night learningKenneth.
The cravat finally came free and she moved to his waistcoat, unfastening the buttons with increasing confidence. Kenneth helped her, working at the cufflinks of his shirt while she pushed the waistcoat down his arms.
Then came his shirt, and Barbara grabbed the hem eagerly, pulling it up and over his head, buttons be damned. Kenneth had to duck to help her, and when the fabric finally cleared his face, he was grinning—good heavens, but that dimple was tempting!
But Barbara’s attention had already moved to his now-bare chest, and her breath caught.
She’d imagined him without his shirt, of course. In her more wicked fantasies, she’d pictured touching him like this. Having access to him like this. Possessing him like this.
But the reality was so much better than her imagination.
He was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with the classical sculptures in Papa’s Greek collection, and everything to do with raw masculinity. His chest was broad and defined, with muscles that spoke of physical strength and well-practiced endurance. Dark hair dusted across his pectorals, narrowing toa line that disappeared into his breeches, and Barbara found herself wanting to trace that path with her fingers, her tongue.
But what caught her attention most were the scars.
There were several—a puckered mark on his left shoulder that looked like it might have been from a blade, a longer pale line across his ribs, smaller nicks and marks that spoke of a life lived dangerously. They reminded her that Kenneth wasn’t just a charming rake who climbed walls to seduce young women. He was a spy: someone who’d risked his life for his country, someone who knew violence and danger intimately.
It should have frightened her. It only made her want him more.
Barbara reached out, her fingers trembling as they made contact with his skin. He was warm, almost hot to the touch, and she felt him shudder beneath her exploring hands. She traced the scar on his shoulder, then smoothed her palms across his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her touch.
He wanted this…like she wanted this.
“Barbara,” he breathed, and she could hear the strain in his voice, the barely leashed control.
She was so aroused she could feel her wetness between her thighs, her core throbbing with an ache, demanding to be filled. Her nipples were so hard they almost hurt and she pressed herself against him, seeking relief from the building pressure.
“My turn, love,” Kenneth said, his voice rough and low.
His hands went to the straps of Margaret’s negligee, sliding them slowly over her shoulders. The silk whispered against her skin as it fell, pooling at her feet in a puddle of pink, leaving her completely bare before him.
Kenneth sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes roaming over her body with an intensity that made her feel like she was burning. “A fooking work of art,” he breathed reverently.
But despite the admiration clear in his gaze, despite the obvious desire evident in the bulge straining his breeches, Barbara felt a flash of self-consciousness to be seen without her special boot. Instinctively she shifted her weight, hiding her twisted left foot behind her right, trying to angle her body to minimize its visibility.
Kenneth saw the movement. His eyes tracked downward, taking in what she was trying to hide, and Barbara braced herself for disgust or pity, for that was surely all that limb could receive.
Instead, he smiled—soft and genuine and full of something that made her chest ache—and he scooped her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing.
Barbara let out a small squeak of surprise as he carried her to the bed and laid her down gently on the coverlet, following her down to brace himself above her on his forearms.
He kissed her quickly, thoroughly, then began to move down her body. His lips traced a path along her throat, pausing to suck gently at the hollow above her collarbone. Lower still, to her breasts, lavishing attention on first one, then the other, his tongue circling her nipples before sucking them into his mouth.
Barbara arched into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close to her. The sensation was exquisite, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. She was so wet she could feel it on her inner thighs and she squirmed beneath him, trying to press her legs together to ease the ache.
