“I think you must. That fellow on the stage coach was lucky to escape without a thrashing, wasn’t he?”
He wasn’t about to tell her he had wanted to break the man’s neck.
“Oh, one more thing.”
He nodded. At this moment, lying on his bed, talking with Franny, her so close, her hand on his chest, he felt no urgency. He knew the act with Franny was going to be revelatory and earth-shattering, but she had promised it would happen and he believed her. There was no hurry.
She smiled wistfully. “When we talked about kissing, I wanted you to pretend you were kissing a belle of theton.”
No one but Franny had been in his mind for the last three days. “Yes.”
“But I want you to make love tome. To Franny.”
That’s exactly what he wanted to do. He got up on his elbow and traced the pattern of the counterpane with his finger. “Why?”
“Oh, maybe I’m a little jealous of that virtuous, legitimate girl who’s going to nab your heart.”
He looked up to see if she was grinning. She wasn’t.
“Besides I really don’t want to imagine what other women want in bed from you. I know what I want.”
“Which is?”
“I want everything.” She opened her arms wide. “I want softness and tenderness to start. I want touch, I want skin. I want to see you. I want you to see me. And then a growing need and pressure, roughness, heat. I want the beast you just showed me. I want you to want me. I want to want you.”
“There’s no dearth of want on my end, Franny. Believe me.”
Again the laugh. And she bent over and kissed him lightly on the lips. Suddenly his heart was as full as his cock had been just minutes ago.
You’re beautiful, I cherish you, I adore you.
No.
I love you, you impossible woman.
Fourteen
She was dying to see him, touch him. She untied his cravat as he lay on the bed. He reached for her dress.
“If it’s all right, Kit, I’ll undress you first. Then you can do me.”
“Oh.”
“You might get too distracted by my beauty and forget to shed your trousers.” She laughed, thinking of her unfashionable plumpness below the waist, but he nodded gravely.
“Very wise.”
His cravat was off and she brushed her fingertips over his neck. Even with no valet in the house, his skin was shaved smooth. She leaned over, and he quivered a little as she covered his throat with kisses. But he did not grab at her.
“You’re being so good, Kit,” she cooed against the pulse under his jaw. “This is the first bit, the soft part. It’s pleasurable, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer, but she felt his pulse quicken under her lips.
“Will you get off the bed for me?”
He stood and she tried to ignore the sagging fall of his trousers, the recrudescence of his tumescence. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it. She slid his braces down his arms. All the while, he watched her with his hungry eyes.
Now the shirt. She reached and undid the top buttons and pushed the linen up, running her hands over his abdomen, the planes of his chest.
