if she could never be his duchess. All she knew was he was taking her mouth with the desire of a man who had no rank, no expectations . . . except that she yield to him. And, Lord help her, she was.
Through the fog of her pleasure, she felt him tug her scarf from around her neck and drop it on the bench next to her. Then he broke the kiss, only to drag his parted lips down her cheek to her neck, where he tongued the hollow of her throat, making her pulse jump and her blood run so hot that she didn’t at first notice him inching her redingote and petticoat up her thigh on one side.
But she definitely noticed when he slipped his hand behind her knee and pulled her leg up so he could prop her foot on the bench. It opened her thighs in a most scandalous fashion, which he instantly took advantage of, settling her redingote and petticoat on her bent leg so he could get at the same place he’d been fondling earlier—her honeypot, as she knew men sometimes called it.
Now she realized why, for when he ran one finger down the cleft, she realized she was slick as melted honey there, in the spot that ached for him. “Grey . . . I’m not sure this is . . . wise.”
“No, not wise.” He nuzzled her throat. He dipped his finger inside her, and she gasped, which made the cursed fellow chuckle. “You like that, do you?”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice deliciously husky. “I will show you delights beyond compare. If you’ll let me.”
She clasped his shoulders. “Right now, I’ll let you do anything you want,” she admitted shamelessly.
“Don’t say that,” he growled, though his mouth found hers, pausing a moment to hover there. “Because what I want would take hours, and your brother is bound to come looking for us eventually.”
That should have been a warning to her, but his fingers caressing her blotted out anything except her need to have him fondle her down there. “Hours?” she asked, half-aware of pushing herself against the hand caressing her below.
“Days,” he muttered. “Weeks, if I had the chance.”
He covered her mouth with his again, and kissed her with a savagery that called to her own. She wanted him; he wanted her. What could be wrong about that?
Oh, so much. Yet she rose to the kiss like some bitch in heat, needing him to take her, to show her those delights he hinted at. And show her, he did. His fingers plucked deftly at her, finding some hard, yearning spot that throbbed and ached beneath his touch.
What a devil. Even now, he knew how to intoxicate her.
“Touch me, too, sweetheart.” He urged her hand down to where he was rigid in his trousers. “Here. Please . . .”
His voice sounded as needy as she felt. So as he rubbed her, she rubbed him through the fabric, reveling in the catch in his breathing, the way his fingers stroked harder than before, stoking a fire in her that she never knew existed. The glorious sensations inflaming her were almost unbearable.
Before long, she was gripping his arm with her free hand, desperate for more . . . greater . . . fiercer, until she felt the flames leaping inside her, burning away every inhibition, turning her moans and sighs into loud groans and gasps.
“Grey!” She erupted in a wild explosion that shattered her from the inside out. “Oh . . . my word!”
In the next instant, he swept her hand away and clutched her to him. “Holy hell, sweetheart!” His eyes slid shut as he threw his head back. His body shuddered against hers. “Dear sweet . . . Beatrice . . . God help me but . . . you’ve made me . . . go too far.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant until he fumbled for a handkerchief and shoved it inside his trousers as his breath came in the same urgent gasps as hers. She gazed up into his taut features and felt a surge of satisfaction that she could make this handsome, desirable man feel such things.
He lowered his head and stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes for a long, tense moment. “Do you finally understand? This is what you do to me, just by being yourself. So never again say