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Finally, the edge slid out from his waistband. She lifted the linen above his head, then released it. “I’m tired.” She left the shirt hanging off his left arm. “You do the rest.” She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows.
He made no move to shake off the shirt, so she simply admired. Up close, he was every bit as stunning as he had been from afar.
“You’re magnificent, you know.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Haven’t you disarmed me enough? I cannot think straight at all.”
“Perhaps you cannot think straight,” she grinned. “But you are behaving brilliantly.” She sat back up again. “Resume the ravishment, please.”
He chuckled again. “So polite.”
“Aren’t I always?” she asked.
“Always.” His eyes sparkled as he closed the distance.
A wave of happiness followed the thrill of anticipation, and she smiled against his lips.
She would never regret this. She would never regret him.
***
A heady, swimming sensation—part joy, part madness, all desire—had taken over Asquith’s limbs as wild and risqué provocations spilled from his mouth.
An edifying angle. Briefly, he closed his eyes.
He savored her closeness as cold air whispered over his flesh. The horses served as the primary furnace in the stables, and they’d shut out their rising heat. He was rarely shirtless, and never in anyone’s presence but his valet.
Never since—no.
He chose not to let past bitterness taint this moment. Willard had taken enough from him already. He refused to let the man’s shadow fall in this tiny, perfect little room beyond Society’s rules.
He caressed her face as she smiled again against his lips. Her smiles were inexplicably satisfying. And he desperately wanted to give her the same satisfaction.
He was up to the task. He was far from a rake, but he had adequate carnal experience.
Adequate, he hoped, to earn her approval.
His handful of past lovers had been country women curious about the manor’s son. Curious enough to bombard him with flirtations. But since none of them could have brought him back to their homes, nor he to his, tumbles happened in odd places, and often fully clothed.
Without a map to help him find the way, Lenora became his guide.
In a short time, she’d removed his cravat, coat, waistcoat, braces, and shirt, although the latter hung against his left arm, covering his injured hand, a circumstance he felt no need to correct. His injured hand he used to brace her, or himself, while his free hand, his whole hand, learned her curves. He didn’t need to contemplate his scars or rouse further questions from Lenora.
“Simon?”
He hesitated. “Yes?”
“What did you mean, specifically, when you said I was playing with fire? How is staring at your falls dangerous?”
God in heaven. At least she had not asked about his hand.
His lingering kisses on her neck were designed to confuse her, leaving no room for thought.
“Are you going to answer any of my questions?”
No such luck.
If anything, the edge in her voice was a gentle, but pointed reminder of everything else he’d left unanswered, everything he had no intention of answering.
