Having made her decision, wild impatience had infected her during their ride home and hadn’t dissipated in the least, not over their fifteen minutes in the drawing room, where she’d played the dutiful damsel for Nicholas’s benefit, nor over dinner, an unusually silent meal.
Charles hadn’t been interested in talking any more than she; they’d both had other matters on their minds. As for Nicholas, he’d remained sunk in thoughts that appeared little short of openly distressing. He’d looked wretched, but had shown no signs of confiding in them.
Climbing out of her evening gown, she donned the nightgown Ellie had waiting, then sat at her dressing table to brush out her hair-anything to keep her hands busy, to conceal her rising, nervy impatience.
Charles had been discretion itself, appearing from outside as if he’d just driven over for dinner, then later, after they’d sat through the required hour and the tea trolley had come and gone, formally taking his leave and, apparently, heading out to the stables.
He’d be waiting to see Ellie depart, to hear her go down the back stairs.
“Will that be all, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Ellie.”
Ellie curtsied. Penny nodded in the mirror, watched as Ellie went out.
The instant the door shut, she rose, set down her hairbrush and looked at the bed. Imagined…then stiffened her spine.
The candles…should she snuff them? The single candle by the bed and the two in the dressing table sconces were all relatively new; they’d burn for hours before guttering.
Years ago, she’d been a prude; she hadn’t looked, hadn’t wanted him to look. Now…drawing in a deep breath, she left the candles burning. She wanted to know
The latch clicked; by the time she glanced at the door, Charles was inside. He’d seen her; she heard the clunk as he locked the door.
His gaze had locked on her. “Penny…?”
She flew across the room, flung herself into his arms. Knew he’d catch her. She didn’t want to talk.
Charles swore, the oath muffled beneath her lips as she framed his face and kissed him. At least he had the answer to the question she hadn’t waited for him to ask. He rocked back against the door as he took her weight, without conscious direction his arms wrapping about her and locking her to him.
With a herculean effort, he broke from the kiss. “Pen-”
She caught him again, dragged his mouth down to hers, found his tongue with hers, and breathed fire down his veins.
His next curse was entirely mental; she was racing faster than the wind had blown, and it wasn’t wise, wasn’t safe-not for her, not with him. He’d been half-aroused before he’d entered the room; now he was rigid, one step from pain, his demons eager and straining, his control seriously weakened.
By her. Again.
He seized her. Tightened his arms, lifted her from her feet, and wrenched control of the kiss from her.
Tried to; to his amazement, it didn’t work. She levered herself up in his arms until she leaned over him, her forearms on his shoulders, his head clasped between her palms, and kissed him as if he were the last man on earth and tonight was her only time with him.
Women and their passions were his specialty, but this…this devouring, hungry,
Hadn’t expected to be left gasping, wits reeling, pulse pounding, reduced to elemental need with just a kiss.
She angled her head, pressed the kiss deeper, and he shuddered. She spread her thighs, gripped his hips with her knees, and something inside him quaked. Then his cravat loosened; he felt her hands slide down, working between them, felt his shirt give-felt her hand slide in, fingers spreading, palm gliding over his upper chest.
And down as far as she could reach.
He’d been caressed by courtesans expert in their art; no touch had ever rocked him as hers did. It nearly brought him to his knees.
Never, not ever before, had any woman met him like this. Challenged him like this. Relinquishing any thought of sophisticated play, of hours spent introducing her to all he’d learned in the years he’d been away, he staggered to the bed and fell across it.
He rolled to pin her beneath him, and succeeded. In position, at least. As for the rest…in a blinding flash of insight he realized where they’d gone, where she’d taken him. Straight into blind lust, just like the last time.
He wasn’t in control, and neither was she.
Their mouths remained welded, hot and urgent-there was no chance of either of them ending that kiss, not anytime soon, not until they had something else to cling to. Like each other.
Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his clothes; they rolled and tussled as with her help he shed them in a frenzy, one bit here, one flying there. He toed off, then kicked off his boots. At last she broke from the kiss, but only to help him strip off his breeches. Then her hands were on him, sliding up his flanks, along his hips.
It was the innocence in her touch, almost a sense of wonder, that gave him pause, that was just uncertain enough to jerk him back to some semblance of sanity.
He smothered a curse against the silk of her hair, then rolled again and brought her atop him. The sudden change to a position that was new to her momentarily stopped her. He framed her face, pulled her down to him, and covered her lips, dragged her back into their incendiary kiss. He knew what he had to do, knew he had to do it now, before she shattered his control again.
As he knew absolutely beyond doubt she would, and soon.
Just the thought…
He had to get his hands on her, now, this minute. Her lawn nightgown had ridden up to her knees, but was inextricably tangled between their legs. The front placket only opened to her breasts; seizing one half in each hand, he yanked-and heard it rip. Frantically, he kept ripping, down and down; through the kiss, through the eager pressure of her lips, the wanton dance of her tongue over his, the almost desperate flexing of her fingers on his chest, she urged him on. Then she shook her arms free and the halves fell away, and were forgotten.
He gripped her waist, felt her skin bare beneath his hands, held her as he plunged deep into her mouth, returning her fire, then he ran his palms up, over her breasts, shuddered as he leaned back and closed his hands.
And kneaded. Not gently but with the same urgency that coursed through their veins. With the same devouring need with which she spread her fingers and desperately clutched.
At last, she broke the kiss, flung her head back, her glorious hair spilling like a living veil down her back, strands sliding over her shoulders, caressing her as he did, as she whimpered and shifted under his hands.
Begging for more.
He rose up on one elbow and gave her what she wanted. Pressed a kiss into the hollow beneath her ear, then traced down. Over the taut line of her throat, over the swell of her breast, full and swollen cupped in his hand, to the furled nipple he was rolling between his fingers.
He took it into his mouth, and she gasped. He suckled, and she moaned.
Penny heard the sound, and could only wonder that he could draw such a confession of surrender from her. Wonder she could manage; thinking was beyond her. Her mind was awash with sensation, her body thrumming with need, every particle of her awareness engaged in this, with him, her very soul bathing in their heat.
She was straddling his lower chest, his ribs solid between her thighs, his naked chest and shoulders displayed before her, a fascination revealed as he suckled strongly at her breast, sending lightning streaking down her veins to condense in pulsing heat deep within her.
His hands roved everywhere. Hard and demanding, caressing, claiming, exploring, urgently learning. He’d always been bold; now hunger added another dimension, a more flagrantly possessive edge to his touch. Heat flared wherever his palms traced, fire danced where his fingers grazed.
Remembered feeling flooded her, an internal sensation of molten emptiness that opened inside her even before he slid a hand between her widespread thighs and touched her swollen flesh. Closing her eyes, she spread her
