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Without thinking she yanked on his jacket. “Don’t say that! Never say that!” He flinched, and she bit her lip. “You are wonderful,” she said wistfully. “I’m sorry I mistook that for—for⁠—”

“For desire?” His hand tightened around her nape. He pulled her to him, his arms going around her. “God above, it is,” he whispered. She could feel the tremor in his body. “I think of you all the time. I invited you to stay at Penford because I can’t bear the thought of you leaving. I want you so desperately, Cressida, but I’m trying not to be a selfish scoundrel. . . ”

Her lips parted in amazement. Then she raised her head to look him in the eyes as she said, more confidently than she felt, “It’s not selfish if I want it, too.”

His eyes were almost black. His throat worked.

“I want this,” she said again. “If you want me⁠—”

He hauled her against him, and Cressida shuddered as their bodies fit together like two halves of a whole. Up her back went his hands, a firm, sweeping stroke drawing her even closer. He caught the end of her braid and tugged. Cressida gasped, lifting her chin, and he put his lips against her neck, right at the base of her throat where her pulse beat wildly against her skin. Her head swam. This was intoxicating—and he was only kissing her neck and playing with her hair. His fingers were combing out her braid, and in a few moments her hair was a wild mess down her back, growing wilder by the second as he plunged his hands into it, cradling her head and holding her face up to his.

Abruptly he scooped her up, boosting her to sit on the desk behind her. Her fingers tangled with his as they both pulled at the fastenings of her dressing gown, and then he stripped it from her arms. He kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder, sucking at her skin until she shivered. He popped loose the buttons that held her nightdress closed, undoing them until he could push the worn fabric over her shoulders to her elbows. Then Alec pulled back until she opened her eyes and blinked at him, disheveled and aroused.

He was just looking at her, his gaze open and almost dazed as it roved over her. Her skin pebbled into gooseflesh from the expression of pure wonder on his face. “So beautiful,” he murmured, skating the tips of his fingers over her collarbone.

Cressida blushed. She had never been called beautiful in her life. She was too tall, too plain, her hair neither blond nor brown, her eyes an odd shade of brown so light they sometimes looked almost yellow. Her figure was not curvaceous or willowy slim, and her feet were dreadfully large. But under his heated regard, she felt bold and brave and even beautiful.

And she loved it. That look on his face, taut and dark with desire for her, sent a tremendous rush of excitement through her. Granny had always told her and Callie never to trust any man when he was wild with lust, but this was not any man; this was Alec. With him she was safe. Respected. Treasured.

She yanked against the constraining fabric, trying to free her arms to reach for him. He put his hands over hers, holding her palms flat on the desk. “Wait,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the mouth. “Just wait. . . ”

She felt acutely exposed as she was, sitting on his desk naked from the waist up. Every breath seemed to draw her skin tighter and tighter until she thought she might snap and break unless he touched her. But his hands stayed on hers, trapping them in place while he lowered his head reverently to her breast and began to taste her skin.

Suddenly he pulled away. “Good God," he said in despair. "Not on a desk." He looked at her almost desperately. "Will you—Will you come upstairs with me?"

Cressida's heart was beating so hard her whole body shook, and she wasn't sure her legs would support her. Alec’s short hair stood up where she'd run her hands through it and his chest heaved with every breath as he waited for her answer. A heady mix of love and lust scalded her veins. “Yes,” she whispered, pulling her clothes around her shoulders. "I'd go with you anywhere.”

His eyes blazed. He seized her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist in a kiss so hot her eyes started to close. Then he pulled her off the desk and out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Later, Cressida would be very thankful it had been so late at night. They hurried through the house, hand in hand, clothing in disarray. Twice Alec stopped abruptly to pull her into his arms for another deep, hungry kiss. By the time he shoved open the door of his chamber and led her inside, both were out of breath.

He let go of her hand and closed the door. "Are you still certain?" His voice vibrated with tension.

Cressida was almost giddy with certainty. "Yes.”

With a soft click, he turned the key in the lock.

He touched her cheek. Cressida leaned into the caress; she loved the feel of his hands on her skin. She shrugged off her dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor. His breath hissed between his teeth. One sleeve of her nightdress slid down, baring her shoulder right below his hand. “I’ve never seduced a man before,” she said as his palm slid over her shoulder. “Have you any advice?”

“No, you’re doing perfectly,” he murmured. Cressida had just a moment to marvel at her own boldness before he hooked one finger in the neckline of her unbuttoned nightdress and tugged the whole thing down over her shoulders.

Her breasts seemed to tighten and swell as his eyes traveled over her. Alec stripped off his cravat and waistcoat, fumbling in his haste. Cressida devoured him with her eyes. When he reached for her again, she retreated a step, flashing him a small smile. She quite liked seducing him, actually. The nightdress slid down to her hips, but she caught fistfuls of the fabric to keep it from falling further. He took another step, and so did she. Then she bumped against the post of the bed, and he lunged.

Together they tumbled onto the bed. Cressida let go of her nightdress and began pulling at his shirt. He bent his head and kissed her right beneath her ear. The shirt came free of his trousers and she slid her hands underneath over his skin, smiling as his muscles flexed and quivered. Dimly she registered the ridges of the scars she had seen that day in the library, but she barely thought of them. This was Alec, and she loved him, scarred or not.

He stripped the nightgown from her and ran his hands up her legs, up her hips and waist, to her breasts, and then back down, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her. It made her feel absolutely incandescent. She pulled at his shirt until he finally ducked his head through the neck, and she flung it away. He was all firm, hot flesh against her and she couldn’t stop touching him.

When her roving hands drifted lower, stroking over the swell of his erection, he made a choking noise. His hand moved with sudden purpose between her legs and her whole body arched in response. The pleasure sparked by his touch was almost violent.

He gentled at once. “Forgive me,” he rasped, now stroking delicately through the curls between her thighs. “It’s been a long time since I. . . ”

She sat up, pushing him onto his back. “And for me,” she whispered, glad again there was only a single lamp burning. Her face must be scarlet. She barely even remembered her two experiences with Edward before he’d cast her aside, because it had been nothing like this. She reached for the buttons on Alec’s trousers, her fingers trembling—more from excitement than from nerves. “But I want to make love to you. I do, even if I don’t know how to do it best⁠—”

He gave a sharp, wild bark of laughter. “I’m about to spend in my trousers just from looking at you, Cressida. If you did anything better, I might have an apoplexy.” He put his hand over hers, stopping her attempts at his buttons. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he said more calmly. “Or hurt you.”

“I’m not frightened,” she said.