Page 62 of The Lady’s Deception

She didn’t. She matter-of-factly picked up a washcloth, dipped it into the water, and began to scrub a bar of soap across it. “Good. Because kissing you, lying all night in your arms… It left me with such an ache. And I know you can make it better.”

He was powerless to protest as she laid the hot, soapy cloth across his chest and began to bathe him, her fingertips tracing his collarbone and the curve of his muscles, stirring the dusting of hair along his breastbone. Then upward, across his shoulder, the back of his neck. He wanted to close his eyes and absorb the sensations, wanted to watch every movement of her hand and take in every detail of her face. Her lashes swept down, veiling her eyes, and her lips parted without making a sound. God, but she was perfection, with her pink-stained cheeks and her rose-scented hair and her…

“Rosamund.”

He had no idea what he’d been going to say next, but she stopped further speech with the tip of her finger. It tasted of soap, and still he wanted to draw it between his lips. “Don’t say we shouldn’t. Don’t say we can’t. Tonight may be all we have. Tomorrow could change everything.”

It will, he vowed silently. Tomorrow, he would find a way to protect her from her brother. Find a way to turn this one night into forever.

“Oh, Paris,” she sobbed. “I’ve been allowed to make so few choices in my life. Don’t tell me I’m making the wrong one now. Or if I am, let me make it anyway.” She lifted her finger away. “Please.”

If there was a man alive strong enough to say no to that, Paris hadn’t met him.

As he turned toward her, water sloshed out of the tub and onto the floor, wetting her dressing gown and making it quite clear she wore nothing beneath it. Lifting one hand, he cupped the side of her head and drew her close for a kiss. Her lips parted eagerly, but he did not immediately press his advantage. She deserved the utmost care, the sweetest caresses. He brushed his mouth across hers, softly at first, taking in each curve and line. Then firmer, more demanding, devouring her little gasps of pleasure, more tantalizing than the richest feast.

When he let her have her breath again, she whispered, “This is the most improper thing I’ve ever done.”

“Ah, my sweet Roisín.” He bent to nuzzle beneath her ear and knew by the kick of her pulse beneath his lips that she liked that bit of Irish lilt in his voice. “You’re just getting started.”

But the bath water was growing cold. “I think we ought to make ourselves more comfortable.”

“Drier too,” she said, reaching for the stack of towels on a low stool closer to the fire.

A rough, knowing laugh burst from him. “I wouldn’t go so far as that.”

Whether she understood the meaning of his words, he couldn’t be certain. She’d hidden herself behind an outstretched towel, held up so he could step out of the bath behind it. He stood, let the water run down his arms and back, then took the towel from her hands to dry his face and hair. When he tossed the towel aside, he discovered she’d overcome her momentary shyness. Her gaze was fixed on his half-hard cock.

“I, er…” She couldn’t seem to make herself look away, even as he stepped from the tub and began to dry the rest of his body with another towel. “I, uh, don’t… Why, I should think that would make things ache worse,” she finally blurted out.

A proper reply to such a statement required some thought. Feeble though the gesture might be, he wrapped the towel around his waist and secured it as tightly as he could, hoping the cool, damp linen would exert a calming influence. When he was done, he stepped closer and dipped his head to meet her eyes. “It could,” he said honestly. “If I were careless. Or a cad. But I want only your pleasure, love. Which, let me be perfectly clear, can be ensured without any reference to…that.”

Her blush deepened. “But I understood—that is, from what Mrs. Sloane told me, you have to…”

“Hang Mrs. Sloane.” Doubtless the woman had regaled her with some horror story. He’d heard a few himself. “I don’t have to do anything.” He reached for her hand. “And I want to do only what you wish.”

Her eyes were so incredibly blue. Every cloud had been driven off. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Gladly, love.”

He claimed her lips, let himself taste her at last, teasing her tongue with his until she caught the rhythm, the playful dance, the flicks and licks and strokes that set them both ablaze. Driving his finger into her golden hair, he kept her a willing prisoner to his mouth as he dragged his lips over her jaw to her ear, ever watchful for her response. A suckle here, a nip there—which sensations produced a sigh of pleasure, which a gasp of delight?

Her own hands were not idle, traveling across his shoulders, down his chest, then rising to bury themselves in his hair, pinning him as he had pinned her so that she could kiss him back. While his mouth trailed over her throat, she rubbed the palm of her hand along his jaw, against the grain of his beard. Five days since he’d last tamed it. “You look the veriest rogue,” she teased. She liked that too. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the thrum of her pulse.

He pulled away just far enough to trace his fingertips along the curve he’d been kissing. “I ought to shave. It’s too rough against your skin. Every place I want to kiss you is so soft, so tender.” She tipped her chin back as he stroked down her neck. “Here. And between your breasts.” His fingertips slipped lower, into the hollow of her breastbone. “And most especially between your thighs.”

Her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. “You want to kiss—?”

“Your sweet quim?” He was determined to match her boldness. He couldn’t let this chance go by. He dropped his hand lower still, tugging loose the tie of her dressing gown. “God, yes. Surest way I know to help you with that ache. Climb onto the bed and I’ll show you.”

For just a moment, she was too stunned to comply. But before he had a chance to reassure her, she slipped from his embrace. Her dressing gown slid over her shoulders and onto the floor as she scampered to the giant four poster and sat on its edge.

He’d cradled her in his arms the night they’d met. He thought he had some familiarity with her body. But what could have prepared him for the reality? The small high breasts with pale pink nipples. The surprisingly generous hips and thighs, and that thatch of curls a few shades darker than the hair on her head.

But first and last, he saw her eyes, flared with passion. Eager despite her innocence. Trusting.

She was watching him too, watching his face as he drank in her beauty. She sat leaning back on her arms, her lower legs dangling over the high mattress. This gift…he knew he didn’t deserve it. But she was bestowing it upon him anyway. Slowly, she parted her legs, inviting him. He tossed aside his towel and went to her.

It would be an exaggeration to say he’d formulated any sort of plan, though he could not deny having dreamed of touching her. His hands trembled as he set them at her waist and kissed her thoroughly before sinking to his knees.