Ethan’s focus narrowed to her skin exposed to the nighttime air. “This neckline will be the end of my sanity.”
Her laugh turned into a gasp when his teeth found the sensitive spot on her neck. After their time at Woodrest, he knew she loved that. But only the right side made her breathless, not the left.
If given the chance, he would be a husband who paid attention.
Husband. Ethan grinned against her skin, relishing her light giggle. A very un-Lottie-like sound, made all the more precious because he’d caused such a girlish noise. “I can’t stop thinking about that night in the library with your mouth on my cock. Remember the next day, when I returned the favor?”
The grin she shot him played with every wicked thought in his brain. He set her hands on either side of him, to grasp the stone railing he leaned against. “Keep your hands here. Don’ let go, lass. You’ll be needin’ the support. And try tae keep that wig on.”
“What? Now? Ethan, where are you— Oh mercy!”
The layers of her costume muffled sound when he dived under her skirt, tucking his costume tail behind him so it wouldn’t give away his location should someone pass by. Surely, he wasn’t the only man in history to think of this. These skirts had to be good for something beyond making walking a hazard.
“I didn’t know you meant now.” The hissed statement reached him loud and clear, cutting through the layers of fabric without a problem. However, she didn’t step away from the edge of the balcony, and she widened her stance to make room for him. The trust she offered and that willingness to explore passion were two things he loved about her.
Grinning, he kissed the inside of one knee. There was plenty of room under here to maneuver. It would be nice to see the landscape, so to speak, but beggars can’t be choosers. If he couldn’t find everything in the dark by feel alone, then he had no business being under a woman’s skirts in the first place.
Ethan tugged off his evening gloves, tucked them in a pocket, then used his fingers to see her, beginning at her knees before traveling north. Her garter ribbons were silk. Kissing one bow, Ethan hoped he’d have the chance to determine its color another day, then continued on, tracing the line of her legs with eager fingers.
When he greeted the plump curve of her inner thigh with an openmouthed kiss, her body quivered for an instant under his lips. But then—oh, beautiful lass—she leaned into his mouth.
Holding her open, Ethan blew lightly across the top of her slit, where her bud waited. Her body jolted, but not away from him. Drawing in her scent, he placed an almost-chaste kiss on the triangle of curls before letting himself go further. Lord, he’d missed her.
Finally, the taste of her coated his tongue again. Years seemed to have passed since he’d last savored her unique flavor.
Ethan grasped her legs, curling his long fingers at the crease of her buttock and thigh, then he encouraged her movements against his mouth with light presses and squeezes of his fingertips. Similar to leading a dance, except that this was something more intimate than a waltz. And just like on the dance floor, she was a brilliant partner.
The soft, willing body under his hands froze.
A woman’s voice filtered through the lusty haze clouding his brain. They were no longer alone.
Lottie’s side of the conversation came through clearer, although her tone struck him as a wee bit shrill. Understandable given the circumstances. His caress along the back of her thighs was partly to reassure her that she was handling the situation well and partly for the sheer joy of touching her.
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Lord Amesbury and I are glad you were able to join us this evening.” A moment later, Lottie said, “I last saw him going, er, downstairs.” Ethan bit his lip and pressed his face against her leg to smother the laughter, then nibbled a path back toward heaven, soothing each nip with a flick of his tongue. “Although, knowing Aunt Agatha, she’s probably introducing him to friends. If you see them, do let him know I’m waiting.” Her strained laugh sounded credible enough. With a lazy lick, he tasted the slit of her quim. She handled herself admirably under pressure.
“Yes, the man is such a dear.” Lottie took one step forward—largely unnoticeable to the likes of Mrs. Fitzwilliam but effective in pressing his head back against the railing. He grinned at the silent reprimand, then held her hips in place, laving her core with the flat of his tongue.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam must have moved along to mingle with the other guests inside, because Lottie’s body turned pliable under his hands once more. Skimming hands up toward her wet curls, he brushed her open to hint at his intention before sliding his finger inside. The soft curve of her lower belly quivered against him, and he would have given anything to have more than just a finger inside her. With a wee bit of luck, they’d have a lifetime to take their pleasure in each other.
And wasn’t that just the damnedest thing.
Or he’d be left with just his hand and memories. The worry about her father tried to rise in his mind, but he ruthlessly squashed it to focus on the present moment, when once again, Lottie pressed him to the railing.
Holding his head in place with her glorious body, she set the pace against his mouth. The sound of her low, shuddery moan sang a song meant for only him. A rush of earthy sweetness flooded his tongue, and he swallowed her release, softening the pressure against her
