Page 36 of The Countess Caper

They stared at each other a little more, listening to the rain.

“Well, this is all very awkward,” she blurted out.

Some of the tension left his shoulders, and he scrubbed a hand over his beard. “I suppose it is.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You’re the only one of us who’s had a wedding night before,” she pointed out.

He winced. It was barely perceptible, but she noticed. She filed it away for later. She doubted he would answer her questions about it tonight. Proving her right, he said, “I know this might not the be most romantic arrangement, but perhaps we could not talk about my previous marriage tonight?”

Right. Talk of dead wives was not exactly going to help the awkwardness. She would have bitten her tongue right off if she thought it would help. “I don’t need romantic,” she finally said, and realized she meant it. “Just honesty.”

He smiled then, his rare, bright smile. She wanted to hoard it like gold. “I like that,” he said.

She was only going to tie herself in knots if they dragged this out any longer. Marriage equaled wedding night. Without it, the whole thing could be annulled. She’d be just Tessa again.

And she found that her body did not want to wait.

Not one moment more.

She would have liked to say that she approached him slowly, with a sultry come-hither smile. She imagined her hair falling from its pins, a sway to her hips.

Instead, she was fairly certain she launched herself at him.

Chapter Eleven

A less sturdy man might have stumbled. Might have staggered and felled them both. Roarke only caught her as if he’d been doing so every day of his life. His arms closed around her, and her toes left the ground. Warmth tingled through her, sparking anticipation.

And then she lost her nerve.

It was a good thing highwaywomen did not have a secret society, or they would kick her out.

Why was crime so much easier than this? Than meeting his moss-green eyes, than knowing he saw her breath catch, saw her lick her lower lip, saw her gaze drop to his mouth? This was an entirely different kind of courage.

She was adept at hiding her own needs. But Roarke wasn’t fooled for one second. She knew it on a primal level, in her blood and bones. He saw her. He noticed.

And he kissed like the devil himself.

How did such a quiet, steady man, who was known to face down wild horses and shouting politicians with equal and dismissive composure, who did not dance or flirt or even smile overmuch, kiss like that? His mouth moved over hers in long, drugging pulls, short nips, a lick of his tongue. His hand was in her hair, pinning her in place. She should have hated it, but she only thought of struggling to see if he would keep her closer. If he would press her more firmly against the wall of his chest. If he wanted her enough to act.

He turned and pinned her to the door, his hand still in her hair. “You’ll tell me if you want to stop, and I’ll stop.”

She nodded mutely. How was she supposed to form words when liquid need coursed through her veins instead of blood? She felt the rasp of his beard at her cheek, the harsh exhales by her ear. Her pulse narrowing to the spot between the legs.

“Say it.”

A gentleman’s request that made every part of her go hot with need. An order. His forbidding tone was already somehow stroking against her bare skin, and she had yet to divest herself of a single article of clothing.

“If I say stop, you’ll stop.”

His breath was hot and wild in her ear. “Good girl.”

Another kiss, deep and hard, more than enough to steal her breath.

And her pelisse.

He’d unbuttoned it without her even noticing. He pushed the sleeves down, and they tangled at her wrists, keeping her arms back, her breasts forward, pushing against the neckline of her gown. He bent his head to dip his tongue under the edge of the fabric. Shivers followed every bit of skin he touched. His breath was hot and ragged.

His exquisite control wavered for a moment, and he jerked her pelisse free, turning her to face the door. The painted wood was cool on her cheek. He unlaced her dress and pushed it slowly, as if unwrapping a gift. Her short stays followed, and then her chemise. Her breath caught as she felt him at her back, still fully clothed while she wore only her silk stockings and the heat gathering between her thighs.