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She was in her men’s attire but dressed down in just a lawn shirt and trousers. The shirt gaped open at the neck, and he could just make out the outline of her half stays through the thin fabric. She was so…undone.

“A pleasure. And much more to come,” he murmured as he took a step inside. Before he could turn, her hands gripped his greatcoat, and she helped him shake it free.

He spun around and arched a brow. “Miss Dawson. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to find an excuse to undress me.”

She stepped up to him, her fingers making quick work of his waistcoat buttons. “I don’t need an excuse, Duke. I am.”

Rafe’s pulse spiked and heat rushed south. She shoved him backward, and he stumbled into her living area, shrugging out of his waistcoat and losing it on the way. She kept guiding him back toward the hall that led to her bedroom, making quick work of his cravat. When that was pulled free, she tossed it over her shoulder and yanked his lawn shirt from his trousers. Bloody hell, she was on a mission. A feral goddess attacking his garments. A chuckle built in his chest and spilled free.

They both froze. Wide, rich-brown eyes blinked at him in the darkness of her hall. “Did you—Was that?” Her mouth opened and closed.

He grimaced and cleared his throat. “I do know how to laugh…even if it’s not something I do often.”

Something dangerous flashed across her features. “Bedroom. Now.” She strode past him, whipping her lawn shirt over her head.

Rafe blinked after her, white fabric fluttering to the ground in her wake.

“Lose the boots and trousers—lose everything,” she called from somewhere inside her bedroom.

He tugged off his boots and clumsily stumbled out of his trousers, throwing his shirt somewhere along the way as he hastily made his way into her bedroom

And pulled up short.

He’d known how he was going to find her, but somehow it didn’t lessen the shock. Because seeing her naked did something to his brain.

He didn’t understand why. She wasn’t like the women he typically preferred. She lacked curves; her bosom was so small she didn’t even need to bind it when she dressed like a man. She didn’t have pouty lips done up in rouge; she didn’t bat her eyelashes coyly behind fans.

No. What she was, was glorious. All long lines, strength, and confidence. Legs that never seemed to end, toned and sure to put any mount to a test. His cock pulsed, thickening. Shoulders back, breasts thrust forward, pretty pink nipples so bloody tempting. He swallowed hard.

So. Tempting.

She smirked at him, hand outstretched, the long white fabric of his neckcloth swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

“What are you waiting for, Your Grace? Tie me up.”

His eyes fluttered shut. Thank the bloody gods.

She chuckled, low and throaty. “Oh, I like that.”

He stepped up to her, tilting his head to the side. “Like what?” He took the neck cloth from her.

“How desperate you are for me.” She held out her wrists obediently.

Rafe frowned against the tightening in his stomach. She wasn’t wrong. He was desperate for her. He hesitated. It gave her power he didn’t like her having. This wasn’t how his typical trysts went. Rafe was about to bind her wrists, but somehow he still felt like the one who lacked control. His muscles twitched, and he barely held back his flinch.

He didn’t like it.

Confusion clouded the large brown eyes watching him, and she lowered her arms. “Is something wrong?”

“Turn around.”

She studied him for a moment, then slowly spun to face away from him.

“Hands behind your back.”

Her hands balled into fists, the muscles in her arms and legs going rigid. She didn’t want to.

Fuck.