She frowned. He was hesitant? Again? “We’ve already discussed this, Llewellyn.”
“I know.” With a troubled brow, he stared at the floor. “My Christian name is Rupert.”
Rupert. She rolled his name around in her mind. It suited him. Stepping between his spread legs, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Still he would not look at her. “Are you truly sure?”
Tracing the solidness of his shoulder, she paused. She couldn’t continue, not if he was unsure. “Are you?”
Reaching up, he cupped her cheek with his hand. With a moan, she turned into his touch, loving the feel of his hand against her.
His eyes followed the path of his thumb as it traced her bottom lip. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers. “Yes.”
She kissed his thumb. “Good.” Straightening, she held out her wrist. “Would you unbutton me?”
He said nothing as he complied, and it reminded her of the alley, where he removed her glove oh-so-slowly.
“Other wrist.” His voice was hoarse.
Silently, she did as he bid and endured the torture of him slowly undoing her.
Task completed, he sat back. Never taking her gaze from his, she raised her hands to the buttons at her throat, flicking each open. He swallowed. Parting the fabric of the fichu, she slid the lace from her shoulders. Now she stood in her corset and the thin straps of her chemise.
Carefully, she unhooked the first eye of her corset. Gaze dropping to her hands, he seemed absolutely unable to look away. Making sure the corset stayed closed as much as possible, she unhooked the second eye. The third. Finally, she reached the last, and when that was undone, she let the corset fall from her.
“Good God,” he choked.
Wicked delight filled her. Until now, only she knew of the racy undergarments she’d purchased, pouring over the catalogues when in Ironwood, and haunting the stores when in San Francisco. She thanked whatever providence saw her choose her favourite corset, her most revealing chemise.
Black lace barely covered her, her skin peeking through the delicate threads. The fabric scraped over her breasts, her nipples tightening even more as the fabric caught at her sensitive flesh. As best she could, she ignored the sensation. She wanted instead to concentrate on the way he looked at her.
Reaching behind herself, she undid her skirt, knowing the action would thrust her breasts forward. Hearing his muttered curse, she hid her smile as she removed the petticoats, so she stood before him in only her undergarments.
His speechlessness was all the reward she needed.
Her drawers were as black as her chemise, but made of a fine cotton, so fine her garters were clearly visible through the material. They were also shorter than most, ending just above mid-thigh and trimmed in lace.
Raising her arms to undo her hair, she drew in a breath as her pebbled nipples caught against the lace of her chemise, tormenting her with sensation. The way he devoured her with his gaze only made it worse. She wanted to seduce him, to make that look on his face permanent, to know he would always look at her so.
Pulling the pins, she let her hair fall where it may, one lock resting on the slope of her breast. Raising the curl, she twined it about her finger and smiled as he cursed again, his hands biting into the arms of the chair. Feeling strong, powerful, she stood before him and counted her success in the way his gaze consumed her, in his absorption and his obvious reaction.
Beneath his trousers, he was hard.
Bending, she draped an arm over his shoulder, and he swallowed as he raised his gaze to hers. With her free hand, she traced his cheek. The light stubble coating his cheek prickled her, and she dragged her fingers down his throat, over his chest. He lifted his hands to touch her but she slapped them back onto the arms. No. In this moment, she wanted control.
Moving between his legs, she tugged at his cravat, unwinding the material from his neck and dropping it on the floor. Wetting her lips, she stared at the pale skin revealed at his throat. That flesh was begging for a licking. Controlling herself, she stripped him of his jacket and his waistcoat, hanging them on the back of the chair.
Placing her hands over his, she leant in. He smelled so good. She had no notion what was in his aftershave, but it made her want to bite him.
His lips brushed against her ear. “Alice.”
“Hmm?” Lowering herself to his lap, she twined her arms around his neck. Her fingers found his hair, disrupting the ruthlessly tamed curls.
“Nothing. I just like saying your name.”
Warmth filled her, an odd companion to the lust. Staring into his eyes, she trailed her fingers down his chest. Beneath the shirt, his flesh was warm and resilient, and as she drifted farther, she tugged the garment from his trousers. Sliding under, she stroked the skin of his belly.
Abruptly, he gathered her in his arms and stood. She shrieked, arms clinging to his neck as he strode to the bed and deposited her on it.
