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“Yes,” she whispered, her cheeks blazing afresh.

“You might regret that impression." His thumb rubbed against her fluttering pulse point, and she leaned in ever so slightly, setting off all the worst of his instincts. "I suppose I should give us some semblance of propriety, hm?" He bent closer, watching her luminous brown eyes. "Will you be mine, Amelia Sunderland?" He was close enough to hear her faint gasp.

“Y—yes...”

“Say it,” Nicholas urged.

“I ... I’ll be yours, my lord.”

"Then I will be your husband. You will have my protection, position, houses, and regard..." He put his lips near her ear. "And my bed so long as you agree to be in it."

She swallowed hard, planting her hand against his shoulder, gripping his coat with the same, white-knuckled hold she’d had on her reticule. “I—I am to be your wife.” Her voice was airy and tremulous. “If your bed is where you wish me, that is where I shall be.”

His fingers tightened slightly at her throat before he claimed her lips. This was no kiss for a blushing bride. The girl had wandered into his house as brazen as any strumpet, so he didn’t withhold the force of his desire. She didn't pull away and showed no signs of distress beyond a slight, impossible-to-ignore whimper, which he took as a request for assistance. He caught her by the waist, dragging her close while he urged her lips apart. He took his time, teasing her mouth, and his hand slid along her back, reveling in her surprised shivers.

At last, he drew back to stare down at her. "You’ll want a chance to gather your things before we flee to Scotland."

Her hand fell to his chest. She looked at him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, her swollen lips quivering. The color in her rosy cheeks matched her bruising lips, and she blinked as if he’d struck her. “I’m sorry? W—what?”

Nicholas's hand wandered along her back, following the seam to her waist. "Your clothing, Miss Sunderland. Jewels? Hat? You might need a few items before I take you to Scotland. Since I assume you don't want me to broach the nuptials with your father."

“Oh, yes, of course.” But she didn’t move, didn’t step away.

"Or you could send your maid to fetch a bag. She can come with us. My sister has spoken at length regarding the horrors of hiring a new maid." Nicholas stroked her back just above her dress’s wonderfully low neckline, easily manipulating the lace tuck aside to find her bare skin. "But perhaps you should know what you've agreed to first?" He kissed the corner of her mouth as his fingers slipped below her bodice's U-shaped back. A temptation and a hint. "I recall you asked specifically what difficulty you'd have as Lady Clarendel...”

“I ... Yes?”

“I want physical obedience when we are alone in our chambers, as we are now." He tilted her head up to keep looking into her eyes. "If I asked you to remove your lace or to stand quiet and meek while I lift your pretty skirts, could you do what I say, Miss Sunderland? " He punctuated this question by reaching down and taking hold of the skirt.

She stood still a breath too long—enough that he stopped with her hem raised just above her boots. Then she reached for the lace and tugged it from her decolletage, though her face remained a terrified pink. The poor girl will be mistaken for a berry if she doesn’t faint first. Yet she stood ramrod straight, only the tremors in her limbs giving her away. “Yes, my lord.”

He rewarded her with an approving smile and a much softer kiss, though this time, his hands spread along her slender back, pulling her flush against his body. "Very brave, darling. Now, stand still." He urged her backward against the brocade wallpaper and resumed gathering her skirts. "I've been thinking of your lovely legs all week.”

“M—my legs?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t demur.

"Mmhm. You're going to be the most beautiful Viscountess in the empire." The dress crept higher until he could reach under the hem and stroke her pale, silken thigh. "And the most pleasured. Would you like me to show you exactly how much you'll like being mine?"

She lifted both hands to his shoulders, her head leaning back against the wall, her throat on exquisite display as she fumbled for a response. Nicholas waited.

“I ... am yours, Lord Clarendel,” she whispered finally.

He needed no further invitation.

“Good girl. Now stay very, very still.” Nicholas cupped her heat, bold and possessive, as he put his lips to her throat, tasting the flesh he'd been touching earlier while he teased the damp curls of her sex and slid his forefinger along her slit. For a virgin, she was doing well—only trembling. And very, very wet. " I'm afraid you'll be quite ruined before we reach Scotland if you’re not careful, darling.”

Amelia moaned. Poor girl. He parted her slick folds, making a slow exploration until her whole body jolted. Ah, there. He circled her clit, testing her responses, watching the blush creeping back up her chest. “M—my lord...” Her right hand grabbed his waistcoat while the other slammed against the wall. “I—I can’t...”

“Yes, you can. Knees locked, sweetheart,” he urged her in a near whisper. “That’s it. Stay still.” He moved his thumb faster, finding the rhythm to make her whimper. She threw her head back. Her skull thumped into the wall. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I cannot stand. Please.” She moaned again, reaching for his wrist as though that would give her some respite. “Please...”

"I've got you," he whispered, his free hand sliding into her hair at the nape of her neck. "Be a brave girl. That's it..." He kept his voice gentle, coaxing her to stay calm as his fingers moved against her clit, teasing her opening, manipulating her flesh to wring her pleasure from her. "Let go, angel." She stiffened, her lips parting just before her mouth found his shoulder, burying her cry in his wool jacket. She gripped his shirt hard as though it was all that held her up, and he felt her starting to sink as her knees buckled beneath her.

“M—my lord ... sir...!”

He let her skirt fall and caught her hips, pinning her between his body and the wall. "Shh, there's a good girl.”

“I ... I don’t—” Her limpid honey eyes stared up at him with hypnotic vulnerability.