Page 85 of The Mistletoe Dare

Carefully, Rochford undid each heavy coil, captivated by the way it slid through his fingers as the long locks fell to midway down her back.

“By God, but you are lovely,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ve wanted you since the first minute I saw you. Did you know that?”

“You mean when you knocked me on my arse and left me there,” Georgie remarked, quirking one eyebrow.

Rochford hesitated, studying her face to be certain she was teasing him. “Yes. Then.”

“Why didn’t you help me up then?”

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid to see revulsion in your eyes if you had to touch me, afraid of what you might see in mine. It’s one thing to know you’re not wanted, it’s quite another when the person not wanting you knows you want them more than anything else.”

“Oh, Alden.” Georgie turned on the seat and stood up. “You are too hard, both on yourself and others. You are everything I want. I think I have known that for a long time. I only feared you would swallow me up, that you’d not make room for me. But you will. You have already, haven’t you?”

He nodded, his gaze going to the silk ribbons holding her dressing gown closed and all coherent thought vanishing.

“Georgie,” he said desperately.

“Unwrap me, then,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Rochford wished he could say something tender or romantic, but his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth and he couldn’t even swallow. He reached out and tugged at the first ribbon, and then the second, each breath harder to find than the last, as one after another the bows fell apart and exposed a tantalising glimpse of skin. Finally, they were all undone. Rochford lifted his hands to her shoulders and slid the silken material away. It fell with a soft flurry and pooled at her feet, and what remained of his breath evaporated.

“God in heaven,” he murmured, gazing at her.

Georgie let out an uncertain laugh and crossed her arms, trying to cover herself, but Rochford caught at her wrists, stopping her.

“You are perfection. Don’t hide, please. I want to look at you.”

He stared, unable to believe this woman was not only his, but happy to be so. Life had never been especially kind to him. At times it had been bloody cruel, but now…. Perhaps this was God’s idea of balance. Perhaps he’d had to suffer through the past to be worthy of this moment. If he’d known that had been the deal, he’d have agreed without hesitation. It would have been worth it for this moment alone.

He was about to touch a hand to her lovely skin when she shivered, and he cursed himself for an unfeeling devil. She must be chilly, and her bath water would grow cold. So instead, he took her hand and led her to the bath, helping her step in.

She sighed with pleasure as she sank into the warm, scented water and Rochford smiled. “Like Botticelli’s Venus.”

She laughed and shook her head. “She was fair, and coming out of the sea, not climbing into a bath.

“If I say you’re Venus, then you are. I am a duke, you know. You can’t contradict me. I’m always right.”

“Is that so?” she replied, one dark eyebrow arching. “I may have trouble remembering that.”

“You’ll prove me wrong every day of our married life, I don’t doubt,” he retorted.

“I’ll give it a good try,” she said sweetly, and Rochford laughed, unaccustomed to bantering with a woman in such intimate circumstances, but finding he liked it very much. He was about to reach for the soap and a sponge when her hand touched his arm.

“Take it off, Alden,” she said, tugging at his shirt and blushing, though whether that was the heat of the water or embarrassment, he wasn’t certain. “You’re not the only one who wants to see.”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Georgie. I should have said before, but this….” He touched a hand to the scar on his cheek. “It’s not the only one.”

Her expression softened, and she turned to lean against the side of the tub. “Do you think it will make me want you less? Because you’re a fool if you do.”

Rochford sighed, but nodded. It wasn’t as if he could conceal it from her, and he’d not let her hide from him, had he? Quickly, before he could think any more about it, Rochford stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. He heard her quick intake of breath and looked at her, wondering if he’d see pity, though he knew better than to think she would revile him. Every part of his body tightened at the look in her eyes, at the desire burning there.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He knelt beside the bath and shivered as her hands ran over him, over the scars that no one else got to see. They striped the base of his neck and one shoulder, not so deep and ragged as the one on his cheek, but ugly enough. At least the skin on his body was smooth, the measles scars mostly confined to his face, neck, and a little on his shoulders.

“So big, and hot.”

Her voice trembled, as did her fingers as they explored his chest, smoothing through the dark hair that curled there and arrowed down his belly. She looked up at him and Rochford thought he’d die if he didn’t kiss her. He ducked his head and took her mouth and she pulled him closer, opening to him at once. She kissed him back, matching his urgency with her own, with breathless little sighs and gasps that lit him on fire.