She half turned to stare at the fire as if accusing it of complicity with him, which told him she’d definitely not posed provocatively on purpose. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He wouldn’t mind her being provocative. He would damned well prefer her being provocative.
Then again, something about her guileless responses stoked his need even more.
“Do you wish me to don my wrapper?” she asked.
“No, indeed.” He approached her, his heart hammering in his chest. What he wished her to do was take her hair down. He’d expected to find her that way, actually. Then again, he might prefer to do that himself. “If you want, I’ll remove my banyan.”
She snorted. “That’s hardly the same. You have practically all your clothes on underneath.”
He suppressed a laugh. “Should I strip down to my shirt and smallclothes then?” Please say yes.
“If you wish.”
That was close enough to a yes for him to count it. But the uncertainty in her eyes made him hesitate. “You’re nervous.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Hardly. It’s not the same for a man. Any nervousness we might have pretty much vanishes whenever we see a half-dressed woman.”
That got a tentative smile from her, which was exactly what he’d hoped for.
He approached her to stroke a curl away from her forehead. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We have all night.”
“True,” she said with a bit too much enthusiasm.
“How about this? Let’s go sit and talk for a while.” Even if it kills me. “Then we’ll progress at whatever pace makes you more comfortable.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Is this some sort of test?”
That caught him off-balance. “Of what?”
“I don’t know.” She turned away. “Mama told me that whatever you wanted, I was to do. And that even if I didn’t like it, I was to say I did, anyway.”
Good God. Just what he did not want of her. “Do you generally listen to what your mother says?”
Casting him a faint smile over one shoulder, she said, “Not usually, no.” Her smile faded. “But in this case, she has been married, and I have not. I have nothing with which to gauge the truth of her words.”
He walked up to take her hand. “Come sit with me.” He led her to a smallish settee.
“We can’t both fit on that,” she said.
“We can.” He smirked at her. “And anyway, I thought you were supposed to be doing whatever I told you to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. See for yourself.”
Amused by her sudden crankiness, he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “I told you we could fit.”
Clearly fighting a smile, she shook her head. “I should have known you would never do what’s expected.”
“You call me ‘Saint Sheridan.’ Isn’t that the very defi nition of doing what’s expected?”
“If you were really Saint Sheridan,” she said dryly, “you wouldn’t have landed us in this mess in the first place.”
He chuckled. “True.” Then he sobered. “Now, I know this may be a bit embarrassing, but you must tell me exactly what your mother said was going to happen tonight.”
She looked at him as if he were thickheaded. “I just told you what she said.”
“That’s all? Nothing about the actual particulars?”
“No. Why?” He could see a bit of panic in her eyes. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Because I don’t know enough to instruct you in the matter.”
He stifled another laugh. “Yes, I know what’s going to happen. It’s just that most mothers . . .”
She stared at him expectantly.
“Never mind. How about we try this? Once we proceed to the . . . bedding part of the evening, I won’t do anything without preparing you for it first. Will that make it less nerve-racking?”
“Yes, I think so.” She threw her head back. “But honestly, how should I know? I’m not even aware of what I’m supposed to do.” She squirmed on his lap as if trying to find a better position.
He groaned. “Well, to start with, don’t do that for the moment.”
“Why not? Did I hurt you?” With a look of horror, she tried to leave his lap, but he wouldn’t let her.
“It’s fine. All I meant was that since I’m aroused, your wiggling about on top of me is making me want to lay you down on the floor and ravish you too soon.”
“Oh.” She settled back on his lap, but more gingerly. “I arouse you?”
“You know that you do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have ‘landed us in this mess in the first place,’ as you put it.”
She cast him a shy smile. “I don’t mind the mess so much.”
That made him breathe easier. He hoped she meant she wasn’t sitting there wishing he was Juncker. “If we do this right,” he said, his voice gravelly from the effort of restraining himself, “you won’t mind the mess at all. With any luck, you’ll end up enjoying it.”
“How do you know? Have you done this before?”
“A lady isn’t supposed to ask a gentleman that,” he said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to do that, except with his wife.”
“Good point.” He ran his hand lightly down her still-clothed back. “Let’s put it this way—I have occasionally behaved less than gentlemanlike. Certainly less than saintly.”
He began unbuttoning the tiny buttons of her nightdress. There were several of them, going down to her waist. And undoing them with one hand was more difficult than he expected. Especially when her breath was coming in thick, shuddery gasps that resonated well below the waistband of his trousers.
“How . . . how often is occasionally?” She stared down at what he was doing. “Have you . . . ever had a mistress?”
“No. Can’t afford one.”
She stiffened. “Oh, trust me, if a man wants a mistress, he can always find a way to pay for her.”
As a shaft of ice pierced his heart, Sheridan halted the unbuttoning. “Do you know that from experience?”
With a sigh,
