He traced the delicate line of her neck with one reverent finger, closing his eyes at the sensation of her smooth skin sliding against his fingertips.
And dear God, he was greedy, because he wanted more of her.
All of her.
But he paused when he reached the edge of her bodice, his gaze meeting hers. She was an innocent young lady, and he wouldn’t frighten her for the world. “May I touch you here?”
Her eyes darkened to two twin pools of deep sapphire. She didn’t answer with words, but took his hand and, holding his gaze, brought it to the edge of her bodice. Her skin was flushed, and underneath the filmy, pale blue linen of her bodice her nipples had gone tight.
She was a vision with the flush blooming on her pale skin and those blue eyes, her full lower lip caught in her teeth, and he’d never been good at practicing restraint.
But he would. For her, he would. He’d do anything for her.
He let his fingers wander over the pretty band of darker blue ribbon around her neckline and down the impossibly soft skin of her throat, and then, slowly…slowly, he reached for her, cupping her breasts in his palms.
Perfect. The breathless sigh that fell from her lips when he touched her, the flood of pink across the pale skin of her chest, the soft roundness of her cradled in his hands…perfection. Her nipples were hard for him, the stiff peaks pressing into his palms, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
He’d never seen anything as lovely as her. She was a gift made for him alone.
But nothing had changed. She was everything that was good and true, and he…well, he was the Earl of Windham.
Arrogant, wicked, debauched. A villain, just as his father had been.
But like his father he was selfish, and he couldn’t let her go any more than he could make his lungs cease to draw breath or force his heart to stop beating.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, smothering a groan when she parted for him, and a hint of dampness lingered there.
If a man could die of desire, then Hattie Parrish was going to be the end of him.
But this was a garden party, and there were dozens of people wandering about just on the other side of the lilac tree, any one of whom might turn the corner at any moment and see?—
They were in Lady Farthingale’s garden.
Dear God, had he lost his mind? If anyone had seen them duck into this alcove, or had noticed their prolonged absence, Hattie’s reputation would be irreparably ruined.
And that…no. That couldn’t happen.
“Hattie. Look at me.” He caught her chin between his fingers and raised her face to his. “We shouldn’t…we’ll be missed soon. I need to take you back to Lady Fosberry.”
She gazed up at him, the haze of desire slowly fading from her eyes. “Yes, I…yes, of course we…we should return at once.”
But they didn’t return to Lady Fosberry. Not right away. They remained as they were, with his arms around her and her hands resting on his chest, alone in a lilac-scented cocoon, the birds fluttering their wings as they sipped nectar from the blossoms.
