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“Exactly. Bessie reported via servant gossip that the poor man became hysterical when he couldn’t perform with his mistress, and I inquired after his health in such a way the following day that I possibly gave the impression I was responsible for his… delicate issue.”

“Good lord.” He gazed at her with wide-eyed admiration. “I knew you were clever, but that’s beyond devious. You truly didn’t want to marry him.”

“No.” She smiled softly, hoping the talk of her uncharitable deeds hadn’t changed his feelings about her. “But I wanted to marry you. Do you still want me, even knowing how terrible I can be?”

Trevor pushed himself upright and tugged her along with him. “With everything I have. Lie down with me?”

Relieved, she mounted the bed as gracefully as possible and rolled onto her side, facing him. He removed his boots and swung his legs up, then shuffled over until he lay alongside her, only a foot of air between their bodies.

Her chest overflowed with affection as she gazed at him. He was such a good man. So kind and protective. So very loyal. And in the dim light, she could make out that endearing sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. She brushed her thumb over one, and his eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing the brown.

He studied her right back, his quick, clever eyes cataloging her features, no doubt committing them to memory. He seemed in no rush, and she was curious about what came next, so she closed the gap between them and touched her lips to his.

Awareness sparked between them, and butterflies crowded her stomach, fluttering and dancing as she kissed him again, breathing in his clean grass-and-citrus scent and reveling in the intimacy she’d never shared with another living person.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing the arch of her cheekbone, and then he pressed their lips together more firmly, holding her there as their lips parted and their breath mingled. He must have taken off his gloves at some point because his hands were bare and exceedingly gentle.

Heat crept through her, pooling in the V at the top of her thighs. As they exchanged breath, she claimed another kiss, rocked to her soul by the intimacy of the moment.

But then his tongue darted out and pushed between her lips, delving inside her mouth to dance with her own.

Good lord.

She hadn’t realized people did that.

Closing her eyes, she followed his guidance, their kisses slow and drugging, her mind awash in the loveliest sensations as he rested his hand on her waist and brought her firmly against him.

It seemed to last forever, and she’d happily have floated along on a sea of bliss, but she gradually became aware of a hardness against her core. His erection, which was supposed to go inside her to consummate the marriage.

She wanted to see it, eager to learn how it compared to the illustrations in her book.

“Sera,” he breathed, and a shiver rippled down her spine. He should always call her that, and especially when he said it as if she were a treasure. “Can I undress you?”

She drew back enough to look at him, although it was difficult to concentrate when she was so delightfully distracted. “Only if we can take turns undressing each other.”

His lips twitched. “That sounds fair.”

He raised himself up onto his elbow and awkwardly shrugged off his tailcoat, then tossed it aside in a way that would have made his mother gasp. Seraphina just smiled. She liked that he wasn’t concerned about everything being perfectly proper.

Turning back to her, he reached for her arm and deftly undid the tiny row of buttons along one of her gloves. He peeled it off, and even though he’d surely seen her bare arms before, something about being exposed like this made her feel vulnerable. His lips followed the silk, kissing a line up the sensitive skin of her wrist to her elbow.

She shivered, loving the contrast between his dark hair and her pale skin. He removed the other glove and treated her to the same lovely row of kisses, lingering inside her elbow as if entranced by a tiny freckle there.

Knowing it was her turn, she fumbled with his cravat, wanting it off him but unaccustomed to divesting gentlemen of their clothes. Eventually, it came away, and she swiftly unbuttoned his waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders too.

“That was two things,” he observed.

“You removed two of my gloves,” she pointed out.

“Touché. Let me undo your gown.”

She tried to sit in such a way that he’d be able to undo the fastenings, but it felt awkward, so she got up and circled around to stand in front of him, presenting him with her back. He stood, his breath whispering over the nape of her neck as he loosened the ties and undid the hooks. His fingers brushed her skin, and as he neared the bottom, it was all she could do not to squirm.

When he finished, the dress fell away, leaving her in her underthings. She rested back against him, enjoying the strength of his chest, then turned in his arms, feeling warmth in her cheeks and knowing she must be blushing as she set to work on his shirt. With each button, she revealed another inch of his chest, and she found she couldn’t look away from his fair, untanned skin.

His chest was firm, and a faint groove dove from the bottom of his rib cage toward the waistband of his trousers. His abdomen was lean but strong, and she bit her lip, tempted to explore that groove in whatever way he’d allow.

Almost as soon as she’d draped his shirt over the ottoman, he dispensed with her petticoat, quickly followed by her corset and chemise. Before she could protest that he’d skipped ahead, he guided her hands to his trousers and urged her to pull them off. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of him in nothing but her stockings and garters, and he had kicked off his socks and was completely nude.