Lady Rosabella's Ruse - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,65

it matter now?’

The desperate note in her voice gave him pause. She didn’t believe what she was saying, but she believed she had a say in her destiny. She didn’t realise it yet, but she would bend to his will.

‘I won’t offer something not in my power to give. It would be a lie.’

She frowned. ‘But you could try?’

He shrugged. ‘I could.’ But he wouldn’t.

Her smile warmed him, even as he cynically knew she did not see the escape in his words, or didn’t want to. Not as clever as she thought, his little nun.

He walked her around the stool. She came willingly, if hesitantly, and the willingness pleased him. As did the spark of heat dancing between them. Embers that carefully nurtured would leap into flame. The flame had seared him the last time they came together. The flame for which he hungered. The flame he would ignite again and again, for as long as it lasted.

He dropped her hand and placed his hands in the dip of her waist. The nightgown disguised nothing of her shape, the ribcage above, the gentle curve of hip below, the waist he could fully encircle with his hands, should he try.

This time, when he took her lips, he lingered, tasting her, renewing his acquaintance with the feel of her velvety mouth, the taste of her tongue, the way her eyes drifted closed and her dark lashes formed mysterious crescents against the warm tone of her skin. Her body melded to his, not yielding, not bending, but expressing its own hunger.

Delicious. Sweeter than honey, more potent than brandy. Intoxicating. He devoured her mouth, explored every inch of her back with eager hands. The span of her shoulders, while not broad, had unexpected strength, backbone, determination; her back narrowed at her waist, then flared to the softest sweetest buttocks it had ever been his pleasure to stroke and caress. They filled his palms like delectable fruit. She arched her back, pressing into his hips, unconsciously, innocently, arousing him to greater heights of lust.

Only with effort did he break free. She stared up at him, her lips red from his kiss, her cheeks scraped by his scruff of beard. He winced and rubbed his jaw. He should have shaved.

She followed the movement. ‘I like it,’ she whispered. ‘It makes you look like a pirate.’

A thief like her.

But the treasure he planned to steal was not wrought of gold or precious jewels. In a woman it was quicksilver and hard to hold. The truth.

He smiled and held out a hand. Unhesitating, she took it. Bold. Brave. No outward sign of trepidation, but it was there, in the too-fast inhale and exhale of breath, in the tremble of her hand in his. She sensed danger. But she hadn’t yet learned where it lay.

He led her to his bed.

He grinned. ‘Shall I lift you up?’

With one hand, she swept the hair back from her breasts and over her shoulders. ‘I can manage a few steps.’ She hopped up and leaned back against the pile of pillows and gave him a sultry look from beneath half-lowered lids.

More bravado. A strangely soft feeling in his chest caught him off guard. He almost opened his mouth to set her free. What, had he turned into some chivalrous knight? Hardly.

No woman walked away from his web of seduction until he was ready.

‘Comfortable?’ he asked, slipping out of his waistcoat and pulling his shirt free of his pantaloons.

‘Very,’ she said in that low voice that drove him wild. About to pull his shirt over his head, he glanced at her and caught the swipe of her tongue over her lips.

When she saw him looking, she smiled.

He ripped the shirt off and discarded shoes and stockings.

Putting one knee up on the bed, he stole a brief kiss. ‘Wicked minx.’

She laughed. ‘No more wicked than you.’

He grinned ruefully. ‘I know.’ He pulled at the white satin bow nestled in the valley between her breasts. The ribbon slithered undone. Gently he pushed aside the froth of lace on one side, revealing the full rise of an impertinent breast, the furled nipple clearly visible through the lace. The crescent of dark areola peeked at him over the skimming fabric beckoning, his tongue. He obliged with a swift lick.

She gasped and shuddered.

His shaft jerked in reply, demanding its place in the proceedings. Not yet, lad. There was much to accomplish before he took his own pleasure.

Although words were the last thing forming on his tongue when such delights