A Rogues Proposal

Chapter 2O

Luckily, Albemarle Street wasn't far. She found the narrow house easily enough-Horatia had pointed it out when they'd driven past. Demon lived alone with only Gillies as his general factotum, for which Flick was duly grateful-at least she wouldn't have to cope with strangers.

Slipping through the shadows to the front steps, she noted a lone carriage a few doors down the street. The coachman was shuffling on the box, settling under a blanket; thankfully, his back was to her.

Flick crept up the steps. She reached for the brass knocker, steeling herself to tap gently, but the door gave, just an inch. Catching her breath, she stared at the gap. Splaying her fingers, she gently pushed-the door swung enough for her to slip through.

In the dimness beyond, she looked around, then eased the door closed. She was in a narrow hall, a flight of stairs directly before her. The wall to her right was shared with the next house; to her left lay a closed door, presumably to the parlor. A narrow corridor ran back beside the stairs.

Demon might not be home-there was no light showing beneath the parlor door. Looking up, Flick discerned a faint light low on the landing above. The room upstairs was probably his bedroom.

She bit her lip and considered the narrow stairs.

And heard a sudden scuffle, then the scrape of chair legs on polished boards.

Followed, quite distinctly, by a purring, feminine, highly accented voice: "Harrrrry, my demon…"

Flick's feet were on the stairs before she knew it.

From above came a vibrant oath. Then, "What the devil are you doing here, Celeste?"

"Why, I've come to keep you company, Harrrry-it's cold tonight. I've come to keep you-all of you-warrrrrrm."

Another oath, as heated as the last, answered that. Then came, "This is ridiculous. How did you get in here?"

"Never mind that-here I am. You should, at the very least, reward me for my enterprise."

In the shadows on the landing, hard by the door, Flick heard a deep, aggravated, very masculine sigh.

"Celeste, I know English isn't your first language, but no is no in most tongues. I told you at least four times! It's over. Finis!"

It sounded as if the words were forced through gritted teeth.

"You don't mean that-how can you?"

Celeste's tone conveyed a purring pout. The soft shushing of silk reached Flick's straining ears-she pressed close, one ear to the panel.

An explosive expletive nearly rocked her on her heels.

"Dammit! Don't do that!"

A brief scuffle ensued. A confused medley of muttered oaths mixed with Celeste's increasingly explicit cajoling had Flick frowning-

The door was hauled open.

"Gillies!"

Flick jumped-and stared, wide-eyed, into Demon's face, watched his snarling expression transform in a blink to utter blankness.

In utter, abject disbelief, Demon stood in his shirtsleeves on the threshold of his bedroom, fury still wreathing his faculties, one hand imprisoning the wrists of his importuning ex-mistress, his gaze locked with the wide blue eyes of his innocent wife-to-be.

For one definable instant, his brain literally reeled.

Flick, thank heaven, was as stunned as he-she stared up at him and uttered not one peep.

Then Gillies shuffled into the hall. "Yessir?"

Demon looked down the stairs. Behind him, Celeste hissed and clawed at his hands. He filled the doorway so she couldn't see Flick, now shrinking back into the corner of the tiny landing, tugging her cap low, pulling her muffler over her face.

Hauling in a breath, he stepped forward and turned, squashing Flick into the corner behind him. "The countess is leaving. Now." He yanked Celeste out of his room and released her; stony-faced, he gestured down the stairs.

Celeste paused for one instant, black eyes spitting fury, then she uttered three virulent words he was quite happy not to understand, stuck her nose in the air, hitched her cloak about her shoulders, and swept down the stairs.

Gillies opened the door. "Your coach awaits, madam."

Without a backward glance, Celeste swept out of the house. Gillies shut the door.

Behind Demon, Flick grinned, having watched the entire proceedings from under his arm.

Then she jumped, plastering herself against the wall as he swung on her and roared, "And what the damn hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Heh?" Stunned, Gillies looked up. "Good God."

Considering what she could see in Demon's eyes, Flick didn't think God would be much help to her. She could barely remember the answer to his question. "I saw Bletchley."

He blinked and drew marginally back. "Bletchley?"

She nodded. "On one of the corners we passed on the way home from the musicale."

"From Guilford Street?"

She nodded again. "There was a tavern on the corner-he was drinking and chatting to some grooms. And"-she paused dramatically-"he was in livery, too!"

Which, of course, explained why they hadn't found him, why he hadn't appeared at any of the usual places to meet with the gentlemen of the syndicate. He was, quite possibly, in the household of one of the syndicate.

Demon studied Flick's face while his mind raced. "Gillies?"

"Aye-I'll fetch a hackney." Pulling on his coat, he went out.

Straightening, Demon drew in a huge breath, his gaze steady on Flick's eyes. "Which corner was it?"

"I don't know-I don't know London streets very well." She tilted her chin and looked straight back at him. "I'd know it if I saw it again."

He narrowed his eyes at her; she widened hers and stared back.

Muttering an oath, he spun on his heel. "Wait there."

He fetched his coat, shrugged into it, then escorted her down the stairs and into the hackney. At his order, Gillies came too, scrambling up onto the seat beside the driver.

"Guilford Street. As fast as you can." Demon pulled the door shut and sat back.

The jarvey took him at his word; neither Demon nor Flick spoke as they rattled through the streets and swung around corners. On reaching Guilford Street, Demon told the jarvey to head for Berkeley Square, following the directions he relayed from Flick. Sitting forward, she scanned the streets, unerringly picking out their way.

"It was just a little farther-there!" She pointed to the little tavern on the corner. "He was there, standing by that barrel." Bletchley wasn't, unfortunately, there now.

"Sit back." Demon tugged her back from the window, then ordered the jarvey to draw up after the next corner. As the coach rocked to a halt, Gillies swung down and came to the door. With his head, Demon indicated the tavern. "See what you can learn."

Gillies nodded. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered off, whistling tunelessly.

Sinking back against the leather seat, Flick stared into the night. Then she looked down and played with her fingers. Two minutes later, she drew in a deep breath and lifted her head. "The countess is very beautiful, isn't she?"

"No."

Startled, she looked at Demon. "Don't be ridiculous! The woman's gorgeous."

Turning his head, he met her gaze. "Not to me."

Their eyes locked, silence stretched, then he looked down. Lifting one hand, he reached out, tugged one of hers from her lap, and wrapped his long fingers about it. "She-and all the others-they came before you. They no longer matter-they have no meaning." He slid his fingers between hers, then locked their palms together.

"My taste," he continued, his tone even and low as he rested their locked hands on his thigh, "has changed in recent times-since last I visited Newmarket, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?"

"Indeed." There was the ghost of a smile in his voice. "These days, I find gold curls much more attractive than dark locks." Again, he met her eyes, then his gaze drifted over her face. "And features that might have been drawn by Botticelli more beautiful than the merely classical."

Something powerful stirred in the dark between them-Flick felt it. Her heart hitched, then started to canter. Her lips, as his gaze settled on them, started to throb.

"I've discovered that I much prefer the taste of sweet innocence, rather than more exotic offerings."

His voice had deepened to a gravelly rumble that slid, subtly rough, over her flickering nerves.

His chest swelled as he drew breath. His gaze lowered. "And I now find slender limbs and firm, svelte curves much more fascinating-more arousing-than flagrantly abundant charms."

Flick felt his gaze, hot as the sun, sweep her, then it swung up again. He searched her eyes, then lifted his other hand, shoulders shifting as he reached for her face. Fingers closing about her chin, his gaze locked with hers, he held her steady, and slowly, very slowly, leaned closer.

"Unfortunately"-he breathed the word against her yearning lips-"there's only one woman who meets my exacting requirements."

She deserted the sight of his long, lean lips-lifting her lids, she looked into his eyes. "Only one?"

She could barely get the words out.

He held her gaze steadily. "One." His gaze dropped to her lips, then his lids fell as he leaned the last inch nearer. "Only one."

Their lips touched, brushed, molded-

Gillies's tuneless whistle rapidly neared.

Smothering a curse, Demon let her go and sat back.

Flick nearly cursed, too. Flushed, breathless-absolutely ravenous-she struggled to steady her breathing.

Gillies appeared at the door. "It was Bletchley, right enough. He's somebody's groom, but no one there knows who his master is. He's not a regular. The place is the local haunt for the coachmen waiting for their gentlemen to finish at the-" Gillies stopped; his features blanked.

Demon frowned. He leaned forward, looked out at the street, then sank back. "Houses?" he suggested.

Gillies nodded. "Aye-that's it."

Flick glanced along the row of well-tended terrace houses. "Maybe we could learn which houses had guests tonight, then ask who the guests were?"

"I don't think that's a viable option." Demon jerked his head; Gillies leapt at the chance to scramble up top. "On to Berkeley Square."

The carriage lurched forward. Demon sat back and pretended not to notice Flick's scowl.

"I can't see why we couldn't ask at the houses-what harm could there be?" She sat back, folding her arms. "They're perfectly ordinary residences-there must be some way we can inquire."

"I'll put some people onto it tomorrow," Demon lied.

Better a lie than have her decide to investigate herself. That particular row of ordinary residences hosted a number of high-class brothels, none of which would welcome inquiries as to the identity of their evening's guests. "I'll see Montague first thing tomorrow, and swing all our people into the fashionable areas." Inwardly, Demon nodded. Things were starting to make sense.

Flick merely humphed.

Demon had the hackney drop them off just around the corner from Berkeley Square, then take Gillies on to Albemarle Street. He checked the Square, but it was late-there was no one about to see him bring Flick the lad home. He only hoped he could sneak her past Highthorpe.

"Come on." He strolled along the pavement; Flick strolled beside him.

As they climbed the steps to his parents' door, he glanced down at her. "Go straight up the stairs as silently as you can-I'll distract Highthorpe." He gripped the doorknob and turned it-"Damn!" He turned the knob fully and pushed. Nothing happened. He swore. "My father must have come home early. The bolts are set."

Flick stared at the door. "How will I get in?"

Demon sighed. "Through the back parlor." He glanced around, then took her hand. "Come on-I'll show you."

Striding back down the steps, he led her down the narrow gap between his parents' house and the next, into a lane running along the backs of the mansions. A stone wall, more than seven feet tall, lined the lane.

He tried the gate in the wall; it, too, was locked.

Flick eyed the wall and groaned. "Not again."

" 'Fraid so. Here." Demon linked his hands. Grumbling, Flick placed her boot in them-he threw her up. As in Newmarket, he had to slap his hand under her bottom and heave her over-she grumbled even more.

Demon caught the top of the wall, hauled himself up, then dropped down to join Flick in the bushes below. Grabbing her hand, he led her through the rhododendrons, across the shadowed lawn, and onto the back terrace. He signalled her to silence, then, using a small knife, he set to work on the French doors of the back parlor. In less than a minute, the lock clicked and the doors swung open.

"There you are." Pocketing the knife, he gestured Flick in. Hesitantly, she crossed the threshold. He stepped in behind her to get off the open terrace-

She clutched his sleeve. "It all looks so different in the dark," she whispered. "I've never been in this room-your mother doesn't sit here." Her fingers tightened; she looked up at him. "How do I get to my room?"

Demon stared at her. He wanted to see her alone-to talk to her privately-but a more formal setting in daylight was imperative, or he'd never get out what he had to say. Not before he forgot himself and kissed her. Screened by the dark, he scowled. "Where's your room?"

"I turn left from the gallery-isn't that the other wing?"

"Yes." Stifling a curse, he locked the French doors, then found her hand. "Come on. I'll take you up."

The house was large, disorientating in the dark, but he'd slipped through its corridors on countless nights past. He'd grown up in this house-he knew his way without looking.

Flick bided her time, trailing him up the stairs and into the long gallery. The curtains at the long windows were open; moonlight streamed in, laying silver swaths across the dark carpet. She waited until they drew abreast of the last window, then she tripped, stumbled-

Demon bent and caught her-

Quick as a flash, she straightened, lifted her arms, framed his face and kissed him, wildly, wantonly-she wasn't going to wait to learn if he was planning to kiss her. What if he wasn't?

Her preemptive action rendered Demon's plans academic. Curses rang in his head-he didn't hear them. Couldn't hear them over the sudden pounding of his blood, the sudden roar of his needs. Her lips were open under his; before he'd even thought, he was deep inside, tasting her, exulting in the sweet mystery of her, drinking her deep.

And she met him-not tentatively or shyly, but with a demand so flagrant it left him giddy.

He pulled back from the kiss to draw in a huge breath, conscious to his toes of the firm swells of her breasts compressed against his expanding chest. He straightened; hands sliding to his nape, she held tight. Eyes glinting under heavy lids, she drew his lips back to hers.

He went readily, urgently hungry for more heady kisses, his pulse pounding in anticipation of the deeper satiation her body, pressed to his in sweet abandon, promised. His arms had locked about her, but it was she who sank against him, a simple surrender so evocative he shook.

Pulling back, he dragged in a breath; dazed, he looked into her face, subtly lit by the moonlight. From under heavy lids, she studied him, then with one finger, traced his lower lip.

"Lady Osbaldestone said you've been keeping your distance because that's what society demands." She arched one fine brow. "Is that right?"

"Yes." He went back for another taste of her, so sweetly intoxicating she was making him drunk. She gave her mouth freely, sliding her tongue around his, then drawing back.

"She said by driving me in the park you made a declaration." She whispered the words against his lips, then kissed him.

This time, it was he who gave, then drew back, rakish senses alert to some subtle shift in the scene. He blinked down at her. Inwardly swearing, he fought to realign his spinning wits. She was, as usual, setting the pace. And he was left scrambling in her wake.

Reaching up, she drew his lips down to hers for another slow, intimate kiss that left them both simmering.

"Did you intend the drive in the park as a declaration?"

"Yes."

His lips were back on hers. She pulled away. "Why?"

"Because I wanted you." Relentless, he drew her back.

For long moments, silence reigned; locked together, they heated, then burned. When next they broke for breath they were panting. Hearts racing, eyes dark and wild under heavy lids, they paused, lips not quite touching.

"Lady Osbaldestone said you would have wanted to pressure me-why didn't you?"

He shuddered; the supple strength of her, so much less than his, struck through to his bones and left him weak. Aching to have her. "God knows."

He went to kiss her, but she stopped him-by running one hand down one locked bicep, then up, across his shoulder and his chest. Stopping with her palm over his heart, she splayed her fingers and tried to press them in-they made no impression on the already tensed muscle.

"She said you were frustrated." She looked up into his eyes. "Is she right?"

He sucked in a breath and tensed even more. "Yes!"

"Is that why you won't let me close-near-even when we're together?"

He hesitated, looking deep into her eyes. "Put that down to the violence of my feelings. I was afraid they'd show." He was never, ever, going to tell her she glowed.

As if in vindication, she did. He swooped and took her mouth-she surrendered it eagerly, sinking deeper against him, openly, joyously, feeding his need. Her lips were soft under his, her tongue ready to tangle; he took what she freely gave and returned it full-fold.

"I couldn't bear to see you surrounded by those puppies-and the others were even worse."

"You should have rescued me-carried me off. I didn't want them."

"I didn't know-you hadn't said."

Where the words were coming from, he didn't know, but they were suddenly flowing. "I hate seeing you waltz with other men."

"I won't-not ever again."

"Good." After another searching kiss, he added, "Just because I'm not forever by your side doesn't mean that's not precisely where I want to be."

Her "Mmm" sounded deeply content. She softened in his arms; his breath hitched, his wits reeled-even in her breeches, her body flowed with the promise of warm silk over his erection. He gritted his teeth and heard himself admit, "I nearly went mad thinking you would fall in love with one of them-prefer one of them-over me."

She drew back. In the moonlight he saw surprise and shock in her face, then her expression softened; slowly, she smiled at him-glowed at him. "That won't ever happen."

He looked into her eyes, and thanked God, fate-whoever had arranged it. She loved him-and she knew it. Perhaps he could leave it at that, now he'd admitted so much, and soothed her silly fears that his caution had been disinterest, that his towering restraint had been coolness. He studied her eyes, basked in her glow. Perhaps he could leave things to ease by themselves…

A second later, his chest swelled; he bent his head and kissed her-deeply, demandingly, until he knew her head was spinning, her wits in disarray. Then he drew back and whispered against her lips, "I wanted to ask…"

Drawing back a fraction further, he drank in the sight of her angelic face-the finely drawn features, smooth ivory skin, swollen, rosy lips, large eyes lustrous under heavy lids, her bright curls gleaming gold even in the moonlight. Her cap had disappeared, as had her muffler. As had his wits. "I hadn't meant it to be like this. You had engagements all day today-I was going to call on you tomorrow to speak to you formally."

Her lips curved; her arms tightened about his neck. "I prefer this." Arching lightly, she pressed against him; he caught his breath. "What were you going to ask?"

Flick waited, and wondered, with what little wit she still possessed. She felt so happy, so reassured. So wanted. Deeply, sincerely, uncontrollably wanted.

His eyes held hers-she both sensed and felt him steeling himself.

"What will it take to make you say yes?" After a moment, he clarified, "What do you want from me? What do you want me to do?"

She wanted his heart-she wanted him to lay it at her feet. Flick heard the words in her head, which was suddenly spinning much too fast. She dragged in a too-shallow breath-

"Just tell me." His voice was so low she felt it more than heard it.

Eyes wide, she held his darkened gaze and dazedly considered it-considered asking the one question she'd told herself she never could. Searching his face, she saw his strength, and a new, more visible devotion, both unswerving, unfailing-there for her to lean on. Neither surprised her. What did-what made her breath catch and her head swim-was the raw hunger in his eyes, in the harsh planes of his face; for the first time, she saw his naked need. She shivered, deeply thrilled by the sight, shaken by its consequence.

He'd asked for the price of her heart. She would have to tell him it was his.

Drawing in a deep breath, she steadied, calmed. This was, without doubt, the highest fence she'd ever faced. She felt his arms about her, felt his heart thudding against her breast. Her eyes locked with his, so dark in the night, she drew in a last breath, and threw her heart over. "I need to know-to believe-that you love me." Her lungs seized; she forced in a quick breath. "If you love me, I'll say yes."

His expression didn't change. He looked at her for a long, long moment. She could feel her heart thudding in her throat. Then he shifted, one arm sliding more completely around her, holding her locked against him; with the other, he lifted her hand from his shoulder. He held her gaze, then carried her hand to his lips.

His kiss seared the back of her hand.

"I could say 'I love you'-and I do." Raising his lids, he met her gaze. "But it's not that simple… not for me. I never wanted a wife." He drew in a breath. "I never wanted to love-not you, not any woman. I never wanted to risk it-never wanted to be forced to find out if I could handle the strain. In my family, loving's not easy-it's not a simple sunny thing that makes one merely happy. Love for us-for me-was always going to be dramatic-powerful, unsettling-an ungovernable force. A force that controls me, not the other way about. I knew I wouldn't like it-" His eyes met hers. "And I don't. But… it isn't, it appears, something I have a choice about."

His lips twisted. "I thought I was safe-that I had defenses in place, strong and inviolable, far too steely for any mere woman to break through. And none did, not for years." He paused. "Until you.

"I can't remember inviting you in, or ever opening the gates-I just turned around one day and you were there-a part of me." He hesitated, studying her eyes, then his face hardened, his voice deepened. "I don't know what will convince you, but I won't ever let you go. You're mine-the only woman I could ever imagine marrying. You can share my life. You know a hock from a fetlock-you know as much about riding as I do. You can be a partner in my enterprises, not a distant spectator standing at the periphery. You'll stand at the center of it all, by my side.

"And I'll want you there always, by my side-in the ton as much as at Newmarket. I want to build a life with you-to have a home with you, to have children with you."

He paused; Flick held her breath, very conscious of the steely tension investing his muscles, of the brutal strength holding her gently trapped, of the power in his voice, in his eyes, so totally focused on her.

Releasing her hand, he tucked one stray curl back behind her ear. "That's what you mean to me." The words were gravelly, raw, compelling. "You're the one I want-now and forever. The only future I want lies with you."

Demon drew breath and looked into her eyes, and saw tears welling bright against the blue. He inwardly quaked, unsure if they meant victory or defeat. He swallowed and asked, his voice barely audible, "Have I convinced you?"

She searched his face, then smiled-glowed. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

His hands, one at her waist, the other at her hip, tightened-he forced them to relax. Disappointment welled, but… she seemed happy. Deeply content. If anything, her glow had reached new heights, new depths.

He studied her eyes, hard to read in the silvery light, then forced himself to nod. "I'll call on you midmorning." He raised her hand and pressed an ardent kiss to her palm. If he had to wait, that was all he dared do.

Steeling himself, he eased his arms from her.

Instantly, she clutched-her eyes flew wide.

"No! Don't go!" Flick locked her eyes on his. "I want you with me tonight."

She didn't want to tell him her decision in words-she could never match his exposition. She intended telling him in a more direct fashion-in a manner she was sure he'd understand. Words could wait until tomorrow. Tonight…

He grimaced lightly. "Flick, sweetheart, much as I want you, this is my parents' house, and-"

She cut him off with a kiss-the most potent one she could muster.

Long before she stopped for breath, Demon had forgotten the point of his argument-he'd lost the reins of their carriage long ago. The only point he was capable of contemplating lay at the juncture of her thighs, but… deeply ingrained honor forced him to pull back, catch his breath-

She touched him.

Inexpertly, not firmly enough-but she was learning. He shuddered, groaned-and caught her hand. "Flick-!"

She wriggled-he had to move quickly to catch her other hand before she reduced him to quivering helplessness.

"Dammit, woman-you're supposed to be innocent!"

Her warm chuckle was the very opposite. "I gave you my innocence at The Angel-don't you remember?"

"How could I forget? Every damned minute of that night is engraved on my brain."

She grinned. "Like an etching?"

"If an etching can convey sensations as well, then yes." The memories had warmed him, tortured him, for weeks.

Her grin widened. "In that case, you must recall that I'm not a sweet innocent any more." Her expression softened, and glowed. "I gave you my innocence. It was a gift-won't you accept it?"

Demon stared into her lovely face-he couldn't think.

She dropped her gaze to his lips. "If you won't stay with me here, I'll come back to your lodgings."

"No."

"I'll follow you-you can't stop me." Her lips curved; she met his eyes. "I want to see your etchings."

Demon looked down into eyes so blatantly full of love he wondered how he could have doubted her answer. She loved him, and always had, regardless of whether he loved her. But he did love her-desperately. Which meant they'd marry soon. Why was he holding her away?

He blinked. The next instant, he released her hands, wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her hard against him. "God, you are so stubborn!"

He kissed her-powerfully, passionately, deliberately letting the reins go-feeling her tug them from his grasp and fling them aside.

At some point in the subsequent heated exchange, they surfaced long enough to turn the corner of the gallery and find the door to her room. Once inside, he leaned back against the door-and let her have her way with him. It was a new experience, and oddly precious-to have a woman so wantonly, ravenously, set on ravishing him.

He reveled in it, in the hot kisses she pressed on him, in the greedy clutch of her fingers on his naked chest. She'd wrecked his cravat, crushed his coat and waistcoat-his shirt had lost buttons. When she hummed in her throat and reached for his waistband, he summoned enough strength to back her to the bed. "Not yet." Catching her hands, he stayed her. "I want to see you first."

Despite having had her more than once, he hadn't, yet, had a chance to sate his senses as he wished, and view her totally naked. He wanted that-and he wanted it now.

She blinked as he sat on the bed and drew her to stand between his thighs. "See me?"

"Hmm." He didn't elaborate-she'd catch on soon enough. At The Angel, he'd seen her naked back, but not her naked front-not in any degree of light. Her male attire made undressing her easy-he had her clad only in a whisper-fine chemise in less than a minute.

By then her eyes were round.

He stood. She stepped back, swiftly scanning the room, noting the lighted candles on her dresser and bedside table, the flickering glow cast by the fire. Dispensing with his coat, cravat, waistcoat and shirt took a minute-his boots and stockings took one more.

Then he sat on the bed again, thighs wide. She turned to look at him, then shyly smiled. All but swaying with the force, the steady pounding, of desire, he went to move-to reach out and draw her to him-

She moved first.

With that same, shy smile on her lips, she grasped the hem of her chemise, and slowly drew it off over her head.

His chest locked-if his life had depended on not looking at her-not visually devouring her-he'd have died.

He wasn't sure he hadn't-he couldn't breathe, couldn't think-he certainly couldn't move. Every muscle had seized, poised, ready… It took enormous effort to drag in a breath, to drag his gaze upward from the lithe sweeps of her thighs, from the golden nest of curls at their apex, over the smooth curve of her stomach, up over her waist-one he could span with his hands-to the swells of her breasts, high, pert, and tipped with rose.

Her nipples puckered as his gaze touched them; he felt his lips curve, and knew his smile was hungry.

He was ravenous-aching to have her, to haul her into his arms and possess her, sink his throbbing staff deep into her softness, to ride her into sweet oblivion.

She still held her chemise in one hand, but she didn't clutch it close, didn't try to hide from his hot gaze. She shivered, but let him look his fill; when his gaze reached her face, she met his eyes.

There was no mistaking her glow-it was invitation and known delight-it held a siren's allure, and the confidence of a woman well-loved.

If she ever looked at another man like that she would break his heart. The vulnerability washed over him-he acknowledged it, accepted it and let it pass. Reaching out, he took her chemise from her, let it fall to the floor, then curved his hand about her hip.

He urged her to him and she came-shy but not hesitant. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders; he slid his about her waist and held her, sensing the supple strength of her, then he looked up, trapped her gaze, and slid both palms down, over her hips, over the firm spheres of her bottom. He spread his fingers and cupped her, caressed her, kneaded gently-within seconds, her skin dewed and heated. Her pupils dilated, her lids half lowered; she caught her breath and tensed slightly.

Holding her gaze, refusing to let her break the contact, he left one hand evocatively fondling, tracing the smooth curves and hidden valleys, brushing the backs of her thighs. His other hand he placed palm flat on her belly. She sucked in a breath, and tensed even more. Ruthlessly holding her gaze, he slowly slid his hand up, brushing the sensitive underside of one breast with the backs of his fingers, then closing his hand about the firm mound.

She gasped softly; her lids fluttered, then fell. He smiled and kneaded, stroked and tweaked, all the time watching desire flow across her face. Her lips parted. Her tongue slipped out to moisten them; her breath came in little rushes, not yet pants, but with urgency building. Her lashes fluttered as she felt him learn her, explore her.

With a wolfish smile, he bent his head.

Her shocked gasp rang through the room. She clutched his head, fingers gripping tight as he rasped his tongue over the nipple he'd suckled, torturing it even more. She was soon panting in earnest, the sound sweetly evocative.

He drew back. Desire had flooded her, changing her skin from flawless ivory to rose. Sliding his hand down over her waist, he watched her face as he gently kneaded her taut belly, then reached lower, spearing his fingers through her soft curls, pressing into the soft flesh behind.

She was already wet, swollen and ready-he stroked, and she shuddered. And leaned against one thigh, caught his shoulder for balance.

Before he could blink, she hauled in a breath, opened her eyes, and reached for his buttons. Her nimble fingers slid them free; she reached in-

He closed his eyes and groaned.

She closed her hand and he shuddered. His hands fell from her; head bowed, hands fisted, he endured as she eased her hold and went searching, exploring.

He gritted his teeth. He didn't want to open his eyes-his lids still lifted, just enough so he could see her slender arm, wrist-deep in his open breeches, fine muscles flexing as she stroked and squeezed.

Then she reached deep.

The groan she ripped from him was one of real pain-he was achingly hard, throbbing fit to explode.

Her other hand pushed at his chest. "Lie back."

He did, falling flat on his back, chest heaving as he struggled for breath-control was far beyond him. Her hand left him-he cursed the loss of her touch.

"Just a minute."

In disbelief, he felt her tugging at his breeches. This was nothing like what he'd had planned, but… with a defeated groan, he lifted his hips and let her strip them from him. She got them halfway down, then froze.

Only then did he recall she'd never seen what she'd so successfully accommodated four times thus far.

Oh, God! He levered his lids up-she was standing between his thighs, completely naked, staring, absolutely mesmerized, at his groin. At his rather large member, thick as her wrist, which was presently standing at full attention out of its nest of brown hair.

Stifling a groan, he tensed to sit up, to grab her before she jumped away-to calm her, soothe her, reassure her-

In that instant, the stunned look on her face dissolved into a glorious smile-a wicked, purely sensual, blatantly eager light danced in her eyes. Releasing his breeches, she reached for him-

"No!"

Chest heaving, he lay on the bed and gazed at her in absolute horror. Her fingers had stopped mere inches from his staff, which was growing more painfully rigid by the second. He glanced at her face.

She opened her eyes wide and raised her brows back. She didn't get close to looking innocent-it was pure sensual challenge that flashed in her eyes. When he didn't immediately respond-just lay there looking at her, stupefied and at her mercy-her chin firmed.

He hauled in a breath. "All right-but for God's sake get these off me first."

She chuckled wickedly and did, quickly easing the tight breeches down his long legs, then hauling them off his feet.

He used the moment to gather his strength-she was going to kill him.

His breeches hit the floor; the next instant, she clambered eagerly onto the bed-and surprised him again. He'd assumed she'd come to his side-instead, she climbed up between his thighs, settling herself on her knees directly before what was clearly her present obsession.

He sucked in a breath-it got trapped in his lungs; they seized as she seized him. Too gently. On a groan, he reached down and closed his hand about hers, showing her how much pressure to exert. As in all things, she learned quickly. After that, all he could do was lie back and think of England. Of Lady Osbaldestone-of anything that might distract him. Not that anything did-it was utterly impossible to detach himself from her touch, from her increasingly explicit caresses. With the fingers of one hand wrapped about his rigid length, she reached to his chest, running her warm hand over taut muscles that tensed and tightened even more.

Then she leaned over him-she couldn't reach his mouth-she did reach his flat nipples. When he jerked, she chuckled-when he moaned, she only licked harder. With gay abandon, she spread hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest, then nibbled her way down, over his ridged abdomen.

He went rigid when she nuzzled along the trail of hair leading down from his navel-

And nearly died when she closed her hot mouth about his head.

He caught her, gripping her arms tight, fighting a desperate battle not to buck and push himself deeper. Dizzy, almost faint, he clenched his jaw, and hauled in three deep breaths, even while he gloried in the intimate caress.

Then he slid his hands further, gripped and lifted her.

Her eyes went wide as he held her briefly above him while he brought his legs inside hers.

"Didn't you like it?"

He met her gaze briefly. "Too much." He bit the words off-he wasn't up to talking. He set her down astride his hips. "I need to be inside you."

He was nudging into her as he spoke, muscles bunching, flickering, veins cording as he fought to be gentle. He should have readied her more, eased her more, but…

He glanced up-she met his gaze, studied his eyes fleetingly, then she smiled, gloriously wanton, and gave her wicked little chuckle. Setting her hands on his chest for balance, she leaned forward, just a little.

She flowered and opened for him. Before he could catch his breath and thrust upward, she sank down, not in a rush-he was too big for that-but slowly. Her lids fell; her breath caught. Frowning in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth, she eased herself down on him, inch by steady inch, even tucking her rear deeper to take him all. She enveloped him in hot, wet silk, slick with her own passion; when she was fully impaled, she released the breath she'd held-and tightened firmly about him.

After that, he couldn't remember anything clearly-just startling moments of achingly sweet sensuality, a delight he'd never experienced before. As she rode him, loved him, used her body to pleasure him, he lay back, conquered-defeated-and surrendered and simply took. He let her set the pace, let her gallop, rush, or amble as she would. While she moved over him, rising and falling, he let his hands roam, refreshing his memory, learning more-feasting on the knowledge, reveling in the intimacy.

And when, flushed and panting, she convulsed about him, collapsing, sated, into his arms, he decided this had to be heaven. Only an angel could have given him so much.

He held her, soothed her, waited until she'd caught her breath before he rolled her beneath him. Pushing her thighs wide, he thrust heavily, deeply; she caught her breath and opened wide, then clung.

She stayed with him as he rode her, reaching up to stroke his chest. Briefly meeting his eyes, she smiled-a cat who'd savored a whole bowlful of cream. "I love you." Her eyes drifted shut on the whisper; her smile remained on her face.

"I know," he murmured, then closed his eyes and concentrated on loving her back.

A soft, smug smile flirted about her lips. Two minutes later, it died.

She blinked, and shot him a surprised look, immediately wiped from her face as she gasped and arched beneath him. He stifled a groan as she tensed, and tightened about him once more. He was fully engorged and so deeply inside her he was going to lose his mind.

She lost hers first, coming apart in a series of small explosions, a shatteringly long, rolling release.

He continued to ride her, hard and deep, waiting until she eased, until all tension leached from her limbs, until, open and possessed, she lay beneath him, her body accepting him with no resistance-in that instant just before she started drifting, just before he joined her in the void, he leaned down, and kissed her gently.

"I love you, too."