Page 125 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“About what?”

“Undressing.”

Her blush deepened. “No. I’m just— I’m wondering if I should—”

“It seems only fair that you should take some of your clothes off,” he said. “For no other reason than to put us on equal footing.”

She uttered an unsteady laugh. “Oh well, in that case…”

Sitting down in the chair by the bed, she swiftly removed her muddy half boots. Her stockings were damp. They would have to come off, too. She hesitated briefly before hoisting up her skirts to untie her garters.

It may have been only her imagination, but she thought she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

Some of the feminine power she’d felt standing on the banks of the Thames returned in a blood-fizzing rush.

She very deliberately untied her white satin garter and—extending her leg out in front of her—slowly rolled off her stocking.

The air in the room thickened with tension. She felt it as surely as she heard her pulse throbbing in her ears.

She removed her left garter and stocking in the same manner. Barefoot and bare legged, she stood and turned to face him.

Teddy was no longer focused on massaging his legs. He was watching her, his big body gone still, and his eyes darkened with a dangerous light.

Another flicker of hesitation went through her. Ladies didn’t undress in front of gentlemen. Not even their husbands. Not as far as she knew.

But goddesses did.

And that was how Teddy saw her. She could see it in his face. He was enthralled. Enraptured. Hardly breathing for wanting her.

It gave her the courage to continue.

Her spangled shift was secured with only a simple clasp at her neck, and several other hook closures at her back and hips. She made quick work of them.

“Do you mean to send me to an early grave?” Teddy asked in a husky growl.

She smiled to herself. “No more than you meant to send me to one when you took off your trousers.”

“I wasn’t trying to bewitch you. I was in pain, lest you forget.”

Holding his gaze, she shrugged her shift from her shoulders. It shimmied down over her bosom and hips, paillettes clinking softly as it fell to the floor. She wore nothing beneath it save a knee-length linen chemise. No petticoats or crinoline. Not even a corset.

“And how are you feeling now?” she asked.

“I’m aching like the devil,” he said gruffly. “Come here.”

She turned down the lamp. Crossing to the bed, she climbed in beside him. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, just as it was when she posed for him. But this time, the thick tresses fell on him, too, draping them both in a silvery veil as he enfolded her in a powerful embrace. She’d barely settled herself in his arms before he kissed her.

Her blood heated in a mighty surge. Her heart was beating so quickly. She could scarcely catch her breath. It didn’t prevent her from kissing him back. She moved over him, her bosom pressed to his chest, and her hands first at his neck, then in his hair, then tugging impatiently at his shirt.

He helped her, pulling his shirt the rest of the way over his head and tossing it to the floor. His bare arms and chest were lean and hard with muscles. She ran her hands over him in raw appreciation, so bold that she shocked herself.

“Are you certain you’re—” she began.

“Let me know if I’m—” he said at the same time.

Their words tumbled over each other, lips meeting again, as they both laughed breathlessly.

“Doubtless this isn’t the way you imagined spending your wedding night,” he said.