Just how strong his desire to have her had grown, he'd only then fully comprehended.
Only to have her tease him.
Eyes narrowing, he replayed yet again all she'd said, heard again the tenor of her assurance.
He trusted her not one jot. He'd be watching her closely; from this evening on, he'd keep his guard high…
A moment later, he grimaced and surreptitiously shifted. His body was trapped in the most peculiar vise. On the one hand, he was champing at the bit to have her, on the other, he was desperately reining back, fighting to postpone the very moment he so desired. If anyone had suggested he was capable of contorting himself to this extent, he'd have laughed in their faces.
The door opened. The supercilious butler looked in, saw him, entered, and shut the door. Crossing the floor, the man offered his salver. 'For you, my lord. I was told it was urgent.'
Luc nodded his thanks and lifted the folded square. The man had spoken quietly; none of those resting had been disturbed. The two chatting glanced over, then resumed their discussion. The butler bowed and retreated. Luc laid aside the news sheet and opened the note.
Luc—
He frowned, read the note again, then refolded it and slipped it into his pocket.
He might not trust her, yet… she couldn't have even settled in. Maybe the lock on her trunk had jammed — no, it had to be something more serious. Perhaps she'd mislaid her jewelry case. Perhaps… perhaps she was in some more dire trouble.
Stifling a sigh, he rose. Whatever was behind her summons, she presumably needed him specifically, and the note, hastily scribbled in pencil on a scrap of paper, bore little resemblance to an illicit invitation. With a nod to the two men still awake, he walked from the room.
He found the stairs at the end of the west wing. At this hour, there were few about whose notice he needed to avoid — all the ladies were in their rooms, fussing and unpacking and harrying their maids.
He climbed the stairs and found the right door. Very softly, he tapped.
And heard her call, 'Come in.'
He opened the door. The room was large. Sunlight streamed in through two sets of windows, both with their curtains wide. To the left stood the bed, a largish four-poster with diaphanous white curtains presently roped back. The counterpane was of sprigged ivory satin. A jumble of lace-trimmed pillows was massed welcomingly at the bed's head. A dressing table and stool were set against the wall beyond the bed. In the room's center a round table boasted a vase of white lilies, their scent perfuming the air. The area to his right, containing an armoire and dressing screen, the fireplace and a chair, was in relative dimness, the shadows darker in contrast with the brightness elsewhere.
His quick survey failed to locate Amelia. Hovering on the threshold was too dangerous; frowning, he stepped in and closed the door. He opened his mouth to say her name — a movement in the dimness caught his eye.
Caught his breath — every muscle he possessed froze, rigid with…
Not exactly shock yet something a long way beyond surprise.
She'd been standing by the edge of the screen, in the deepest shadows. He'd missed seeing her because of the brightness streaming in, the brightness into which, unhurriedly, she moved.
His mouth dried as he realized what she was — and wasn't — wearing. His gaze had locked on her; his wits, driven by instinct, had brutally focused. On the slender ivory goddess, her charms in no way concealed by the translucent silk robe hanging open from her shoulders.
She walked toward him; he couldn't move — couldn't drag his gaze from her. She wore not a stitch beneath the sheer robe, the delights of her body boldly and brazenly displayed.
For him.
The knowledge shook him. He knew he should turn and escape, now, yet he stood rooted to the spot as she neared, incapable of turning away, of refusing what she was so blatantly offering.
She didn't stop until her breasts met his chest, until her silk-screened thighs brushed his. Reaching up, she looped one all but bare arm about his neck; her other hand splayed on his chest, she met his gaze fearlessly. Expectantly.
His control quaked; he managed to draw enough breath to rasp, 'You
Her lips curved gently — that sweet, understanding, patronizingly challenging smile. 'I told you there was no reason to worry — and there isn't.'
Without conscious direction, his hands fastened about her waist, his intention to put her from him immediately corrupted by the feel of her — the warmth of her skin reaching through the delicate silk, the suppleness, the reality of her body under his hands, so nearly skin to skin.
Sheer seduction.
He knew it — saw the truth, and her understanding, in her face, in the brightness of her blue eyes, in the inherently feminine set of her lips.
Felt the reality rise through him in response, a desire infinitely stronger than any that had come before, a passion immeasurably more compelling.
He made one last attempt to cling to reason, to whatever the reason was that had made him deny this. He could no longer recall what it was, from where or what it sprang.
Her gaze fell to his lips. He dragged in another breath. Opened his lips—
She stretched up, drew his head down, brought her lips close to his — murmured, 'Stop thinking. Stop resisting. Just—'
He covered her lips with his, stopped her last entreaty; he didn't need to hear it. He kissed her voraciously, deliberately let the reins he'd been gripping so desperately slide — simply let go. Could do nothing else. Hands splaying, sliding over the fine silk, he closed his arms about her, pulling her close, molding her to him.
Let his senses exult — let them free.
She was right — there was no point trying to resist, not this. Any chance he'd had of escaping had died the instant he'd set eyes on her, on all she was so set on offering him. All but naked in his arms, she clung, and returned his kisses greedily, avidly — flagrantly encouraged him to seize, take, and claim.
Her heart soaring, Amelia felt his arms lock tight, felt, in the lips bruising hers, hard and demanding, his decision. His surrender. He straightened, locking her to him; without interrupting the kiss, he lifted her and walked to the side of the bed.
Halting, he let her down, sliding her body down his, his hands cupping her bottom, pressing her to him, molding her softness against his erection while his tongue plundered her mouth, wreaking havoc with her senses. Within her, heat bloomed, burgeoned, grew — but this time she wanted more.
This time, she wanted it all.
She drew back from the kiss, found breath enough to gasp, 'Your clothes.'
Hands on his chest, she pushed his coat wide, trapping his arms. With a curse, he let her go, stepped back, wrenched the coat off and flung it aside.
The violence behind the movement had her blinking. He noticed, and stilled. His eyes, dark, burning, narrowed on hers, then he reached for her; palm curving about her jaw, he tipped up her face, drew her close. He studied her eyes — she didn't try to mask her curiosity. He bent his head, murmured, 'You should beware of what you ask for. You might get it.'
She met his lips brazenly, hoping she would — hoping she would meet the wildness she'd glimpsed so fleetingly a moment before. It was a part of him she'd always known was there, lurking behind his facade, a part he kept most deeply hidden — a vibrant, ruthless vital part she suspected was closest to his real nature.
A nature she'd always found fascinating — something different, illicit, veiled. At base, it was why she found him so attractive, why he and only he would do for her.
That revelation was simply there, its truth resonant and clear. She acted on it, grappled with the buttons of his shirt and yanked the halves apart, splayed her hands and touched, searched, grasped — purred with satisfaction. The skin under her palms was hot, the muscles beneath it rigid and locked. His chest was a wonder of
