Page 60 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

“She said it’s wonderful.”

“She didn’t tell you how?”

“No.”

“Shall I show you?”

She glanced to the closed doorway, and he answered her unspoken question.

“Lady Illston is away on calls. We are entirely private here.”

“But the servants—”

“Will stay away. I promise.”

She shook her head. “You cannot know that.”

“I do know that.”

“How?”

He shifted his hand, letting his thumb roll over her breast where the nipple would be beneath corset and shift. It was a small thing, done light enough that she might not even feel it. Except he watched her lips part on a gasp and knew that she was as excited as he. And while she was distracted, he made his confession.

“I bribed the butler to keep away. He will be sure of the rest of the staff.”

Her eyes widened. “You what? When?”

“Weeks ago.”

She shook her head, clearly surprised by his foresight. “But why, when…” Her voice trailed away. It took him a moment to understand what she hadn’t said. To realize that what he valued most was the very thing she decried.

“I’m fascinated by your waywardness,” he admitted.

Then he pulled her to her feet. She was pliable in his arms, loose-limbed despite her hesitancy. He tugged her close to feel her breasts against his chest, the sweet scent of her hair, and the heat of her breath against his neck.

“Do you trust me?” he asked. “I swear I will not cause you any harm. No one will know.”

“I will know,” she answered.

“That is the best part.”

She smiled against his neck, and again, he took that as consent. He wasn’t pushing the bounds of propriety. He was breaking them. But he knew how desperately she needed the touch of another person. Someone who cared for her. Someone who could show her that wildness didn’t have to cost anything.

He gently guided her to lean back against the table. It was high enough that it would brace her perfectly, if she allowed it. Then he moved quickly to the door and twisted the key in the lock, just to be sure.

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said as he returned to her. “It destroys me to know you hate the best part of yourself.”

Her lips tilted up. “The part that forgets to guard her tongue? Who insults wealthy, powerful men?”

He smiled. “Exactly so.” He kissed her again. Slow and sweet, letting her get used to the taste of him while he reveled in the sweetness of her. Soon she was gripping his shoulders, pulling herself toward him.

He broke the kiss. His breath was short, but hers was stuttering, lifting her breasts in tiny jerks as she struggled to restrain herself.

“Let yourself feel everything,” he said. Then he took her hands and guided them to the table. He wrapped her fingers around the edge and squeezed slightly, so she knew to hold on. “Don’t do anything but feel.”

Then he began to rain tiny kisses all over her. Her cheeks, her neck, the curve of her shoulder. He felt her shudder beneath his lips, and when she moaned softly, he fought to keep himself from taking her in the most primal way.

It took a moment for him to control himself. Long enough for her to focus on him, a question in her eyes. He held her gaze and answered.