Page 48 of Lyon on the Loose

“Very well, Miss Ashby,” he said, his voice sliding along her senses like the nectar of the gods, “I’m not one to refuse a request from a lady. Shall we continue our conversation upstairs?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Mercifully, the hall was empty as Lissy pounded up the stairs and hastened to her room. Moments later, she heard the scratch of Roland’s fingers on the door and let him in, locking it decisively behind him.

This moment was hers—theirs—and no one could take it away from them. She collided with Roland in a passionate embrace that seemed to go on forever, while he kissed her until she was so breathless she feared she might faint in his arms. His body pressed so closely against hers, it felt as if she were melting into him.

He released his hold and took several deep breaths. “Forgive me. I’m forgetting my manners!” He chuckled, a ripe, delicious sound, and she felt, if it were possible, that she loved him even more.

She wandered across the room, a little dazed, while Roland pulled the curtains across and lit a lamp. Its light shadowed his face with intensity as his pale eyes imprisoned hers. Then, with a soft smile playing about his lips, he tugged loose his cravat and tossed it on the back of her chair. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he shrugged off his jacket and started working on the buttons of his waistcoat.

She watched him, awkward, excited—and realized she wanted to join in the game. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the rug and laid her fingers on Roland’s chest. His torso heaved as she unbuttoned his waistcoat, and she felt his breath stir in her hair as his chest muscles flexed beneath her hands.

He was distracting himself with her hair now, carefully removing the pins, stroking curls down the side of her face, over her neck, with a slow reverence that made her feel like the most perfect woman in the world. Then, as his waistcoat swung open, he leaned forward and lined up a row of kisses from her ear to her shoulder, his hot breath on her neck as she fanned her fingers across the rough linen of his shirt.

“Are you still certain?” His voice was a mere whisper.

“Are you?”

He laughed. “No need to ask any man that question. We’re always certain about what we want. We just don’t know if we ought to take it.”

“Not even when it’s offered freely?”

“Not even then. You are going to marry me, aren’t you, my love? I cannot proceed if I don’t have your promise.”

Foolish fellow. Was he expecting her to put it in writing? Did her actions not speak louder than words?

“I will consider your proposal, Mr. Chetwynd. But you need to prove yourself to me first.”

“Minx!” he exclaimed, then reached behind her and started unhooking the bodice of her gown.

As if in a dream, she felt her dress slide slowly to the floor, and a flurry of cool air brushed her shoulders. She kicked the garment away then stepped back to watch, spellbound, as Roland shrugged off his waistcoat. The linen of his shirt was so sheer she could see the pink tones of his flesh beneath it, the dark circles where his nipples pressed against it, and she suddenly knew she had to touch them, to explore him, and learn all the secrets of his alien but captivating body.

Moving close, Roland stippled her neck and throat with kisses while his clever fingers untied the laces of her corset. How daring she felt, how bold, how wanton! She turned her head to press her lips into his hair and ran her hands over the bunched muscles of his shoulders and the firm planes of his back.

He seemed to enjoy this, for he sighed and sucked in a breath. She echoed his staccato breathing, her body changing with every new touch, every new sensation, ready to mold itself to his. Each new touch of his hand, each new placement of a kiss, awakened her body, making her feel desired and loved.

When her corset was free, and she stood revealed in only her short-sleeved chemise, Lissy felt she’d been undressed enough—it was Roland’s turn again. She tugged at the waist of his shirt. Obediently, he drew it over his head and stood before her, in all his muscled magnificence, a magnet for her touch. When she pressed her hands against his heated flesh, he groaned softly. Her fingers ventured into the valley between his pectoral muscles, with its fine smattering of curling dark hair, then over his small brown nipples, which sprang to life at her touch.

Finally, she ventured a kiss, relishing the salty taste of his skin and the heated satin of his flesh against her lips. This drew another deep, shaking breath from him, and he eased away so he could run a line of kisses all the way down her arm, pausing to lick the inside of her elbow, which sent shivers up and down her spine. Then his thumbs caressed her breasts, catching the tight buds of her nipples and stroking over them, tantalizingly. Then, without warning, he bent his head and took one in his mouth and sucked at it, fabric and all, leaving her with a cold, damp patch where his mouth had been, leaving her yearning for him to do it again.

Things were starting to happen inside her, in her belly, between her legs. Was it time for them to make love? Things were certainly changing for him—she could see the ridge of his arousal pressing against his breeches and watched fascinated as he released it, stepping out of breeches, drawers, stockings, and shoes in a few swift movements.

At the sight of his erect manhood, springing from its forest of curls, she gasped, half afraid. So much potency, so much of the masculine spirit, all magically distilled into this majestic organ, all empowered by desire for her!

He took her hand and made her touch him. “Don’t be shy of me.”

Lissy thrilled at the heat, the hardness of his erection, compared with the silky softness of the skin. Experimentally, she stroked along his shaft, and Roland growled deep in his throat.

He deftly drew her chemise over her head, and she stood exposed before him, protected only by her hair and the pink blush she could feel flooding over her from her face to her bosom. As her hands came up to cover herself, he caught them and held them gently away. “No, I want to look.”

She shivered a little, for the room was cool, but even though he didn’t touch her, the heat of his gaze as it roved over her curves was like a blast of sunlight, warming her. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “All of you. Inside and out, mind and body. I do believe I’m the luckiest man on Earth at the present time.”

She chuckled. “You know my faults better than most. I’m no angel.”

He sounded alarmed. “I sincerely hope not!”

“You are beautiful too. Speaking as an artist.” She reached for him, and when he pulled her into his embrace, she felt a rush of feeling that shook her all the way down to her toes. It felt so right, so . . . inevitable.