to let the sight of him this close, alone in her bedchamber, addle her thoughts.
“Lovely,” she replied, noting that his expression darkened to a scowl. Did he not like Mr. Prentiss? “And how is Lady Elise?”
“Lovely,” he echoed.
“Should you not be downstairs with her?”
“I’m right where I want to be.”
With her? In her bedchamber?
Alone in this vastly inappropriate scenario?
It seemed uncharacteristic of him to place either one of their reputations at risk in such a way. He had much to lose. Lady Elise did not seem like a female to look the other way at her husband’s (or husband-to-be’s) indiscretions.
“How is your head?” His gaze flickered over her face as if seeking the answer in her features.
Her fingers moved to her temple. “M-my head?”
“It was aching. Remember?”
“O-oh.” She shrugged, recalling the excuse she had used to flee the drawing room. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He took another step closer. “I’d hate for you to be feeling poorly.”
“That is . . . kind of you to say.” She backed up a pace, inching deeper into the room.
“Nothing kind about it. Rather selfish of me, actually.”
She frowned. “Selfish?”
“Indeed. If you were unwell then you wouldn’t be up for this.”
He advanced then, his body crowding her. The air grew charged, crackling between them.
She retreated, and he followed like a predator in steady pursuit. Her heart took flight like a wild bird in her chest.
All at once, she stopped. Excitement warred with wariness inside her. Lifting her chin, she froze in place, waiting.
He reached for her, tumbling her against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her easily.
She held her breath as he clasped her against him, suspended above the ground, her body pressed so tightly to his that it would be impossible to determine where either one of them ended and began. They were eye level and she found herself drowning in his dark gaze.
Then they were moving.
He was walking quickly with her in his arms, her toes dangling inches off the ground as he carried her.
She could scarcely digest what was happening.
Everything was sensation.
Was that her pounding heart? Or his? With their bodies plastered together, she could not know for certain.
He set her down carefully on the edge of the bed, and then he dropped at her feet, lowering himself before her until he was on his knees like some prostrated medieval knight.
She moistened her lips. “Wh-what are you—”
His hands landed on the tops of her knees, the heat of his palms singeing her through the fabric of her nightgown. “Let’s rid you of this, hm?”
Before she knew what he was about, his fingers seized the hem of her nightgown and he yanked it up, over her knees, over her thighs, with rough and, to be honest, faintly thrilling movements.
She obliged, lifting her bottom so that he could continue pulling it up over her hips.
And that’s how she knew she wanted this . . . how she knew she was totally and irrevocably lost.
Logic might have fled her, but her body knew what it wanted. Before her mind could recognize the truth, her body was already there. It knew. It was in total agreement with Constantine.
She wanted this.
She wanted him. She had since the night of the tonic. No. That was not true. She had wanted him before that. Certainly by the time he had taken her to Middlesex to observe the surgery. Because he knew she would like it. Because he cared for her pleasure.
He pulled the nightgown the rest of the way over her head and tossed it aside.
She sat naked, propped on the edge of her bed.
He came in closer, nudging her thighs open and wedging himself between them. He set his hands on her thighs and this time there was no barrier. No nightgown in the way, no interfering obstacle of fabric to bar him from her skin. Just his big searing palms gliding over the tops of her thighs.
She trembled, gooseflesh puckering her skin as he explored her body, skimming her flesh, touching and fondling her until she couldn’t stop from moaning.
Sensation rippled over her. It was like her body didn’t belong to her anymore. She shook and trembled, sharp little pants escaping her.
He moved from her thighs to her breasts. She jerked at the first contact. Her breasts felt heavy and alien in the cups of his palms. His head dipped, his tongue flicking over one nipple, then the next.
Her head dropped back on her shoulders, her hair swishing down her back as he sucked