Maddy frowned, fighting her body’s desire. Though his fingertips barely touched her, they brushed up against the light cotton fabric of her blouse, the sensation tethering her as surely as if he’d held her tightly. She shouldn’t let him touch her. Shouldn’t allow him to soften her like this.
“You were prepared to sell The Grove sight unseen,” she challenged, needing to recover.
“George’s College was offering a substantial amount of money for this land,” he said, then leaned in close, as if he was sharing a secret meant only for her ears. “I just said I was selfish. I want what I want, Madeline Murray.”
Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest she was certain he could hear it. Did he want her? It seemed impossible—just like this garden. Yet, he’d made his pleasure plain. He wanted her. And she wanted him.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to worship you, Madeline Murray,” he said, with such deliberation and confidence it shocked any protest she was about to voice. “Worship every inch of you.”
With slow, deliberate movements, he traced circles in the palm of her hand with his fingers, then brought her hand to his mouth and between breaths, kissed the tips of her fingers.
“I want to see that lush skin in the sun and kiss every freckle. I want to taste the skin behind your right knee, and where the curve of your hip meets your legs. I want to run my tongue along your belly. I want to lose myself between what I have imagined to be the most perfect set of breasts to ever exist.”
“When have you been imagining my breasts?” she whispered, in a vain attempt to keep her breath steady. This man was disarming her with every word out of his beautiful mouth.
“Since the day in the bookstore,” he said, running his lips over the back of her knuckles, the warmth of his breath rushing over her skin. “Since the first moment I saw you, standing in that store, like Tatiana. I have never wanted anything more, Madeline Murray, than to make love to you.”
He lowered her hand, and her entire body shuddered from the deprivation of his tender kisses. Until today, she’d never been kissed. Until today, she’d never known what it was to be really and truly wanted by a man in such a pure, carnal way.
Maddy had read countless books—some tragic, some serious and meditative. But her favourites—the ones she read over and over, in the quiet moments when she was alone, were her romantic stories. Gallant knights who pledged their love and their bodies to beautiful women of the court. She’d wished a thousand times for someone to look at her like she was worthy of such devotion. Such attention.
It was possible he was lying. But he had nothing to gain. The dowry was gone. Madeline Murray had nothing but herself to offer.
I want what I want.
“I have no idea how a person is worshipped,” she said in little more than a whisper.
“I have had weeks to consider it,” he said, with a conviction she found difficult to comprehend. But before she could think it more deeply, he claimed her mouth, and she was lost to a world of sensation.
Even though he’d seen her nearly naked by the river, this was different in every possible way. Any lingering modesty was gone. He trailed soft kisses along her neck as he unfastened the buttons on her blouse and pulled it from her shoulders, unwrapping her with all the care of an elaborate Christmas package. The hooks on her skirts were no match for his nimble fingers, and soon they were in a puddle under her feet, leaving her in nothing but her drawers and corset. When he pulled the delicate ribbon on her corset cover, he kissed the top of her breasts, sending an aching need through them. In response she’d wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him against her, savouring the hardness of him.
When he’d unhooked the last of her corset fastenings, exposing her breasts to the sun, he’d stepped back. Panic edged through the haze of pleasure that had enveloped her, and she found herself fighting the urge to put her arms over herself.
“Is there something wrong?”
* * *
Beau saw the hesitation in her eyes—that flicker of self-doubt that he was determined to dispel. His mouth went dry as she stood before him like Venus in her garden. She only had her drawers on, and he’d rid her of those soon enough.
“Only with my imagination,” he said, his voice a low growl, pulling off his shirt. “I wanted to give my eyes something to feast on before my hands and my mouth take over.”
He pressed gently up against her, so she would not be mistaken about how his body wanted hers.
“Do you feel that, Madeline?” He’d been stiff as a board since they’d been on the shore, but he wanted her to know how much he desired her. “You are a feast for a man’s eyes.”
His ran his hands over her body, cupping her breasts, lifting them to his mouth, teasing her nipples which were already at a delicious, tender point. Every inch of her was so sensitive to his touch. He realized, with both a tinge of sadness and excitement, that he was the first to grab her hips, cup the generous cheeks of her bottom, and revel in the fullness of her breasts. Every moan, every breath urged him on, and it was difficult to keep his own lust in check. But he promised he would worship her, and he would take his time.
With more strength than he thought possible, he broke his kiss. He took her skirt and spread it on a soft piece of ground, then undid the lace of her drawers. Biting back a moan, his hands itched to graze the strawberry blond mound that stood as a crown at the top of her legs. But that would wait.
Carefully he helped her to lie down, then, kneeling in front of her, pulled off her boots, the hilt of a small throwing knife flashing in the sun as it peeked out of a specially made pocket. Facing her once more, he ran his hands long the length of her calves, and, brushing his fingers up along the softness of her thighs, he slowly removed her stockings. It occurred to him them that he would buy her some silk ones, embroidered with her favourite flowers. Her gaze was soft and heavily lidded, signalling to him that she was lost to a world of her own sensation.
He lazily stroked tiny circles behind her knee, first with his fingers, then his mouth. She tasted like sunshine and waterfalls and—to his utter delight—roses. The fact she’d anointed herself with rose perfume brought a smile to his face. This private little part of herself was just another treasure he’d discovered. Naturally, and for comparison, he had to kiss her behind her left knee, just to be sure. She let out the smallest of giggles, and there was a shyness in it he found endearing. It was at odds with her fulsome beauty, on display for him alone.
“Are you ticklish, Madeline Murray?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, genuine curiosity in her voice. “I suppose I am.”
