words would not have a chance.
She nodded jerkily, and he kissed her again.
“If I do anything you do not like, you have only to ask me to stop. Is that understood?”
Again she nodded.
He laughed softly into her hair. “Where is Miss Clare—what have you done with her? Why isn’t she here to scold me—to hector me?”
“I—I don’t know,” she answered foolishly, staring at his feet.
“Look at me, Drusilla.”
She realized, as the seconds ticked past, that he was not going to speak or move until she obeyed.
“That’s better.” He slid his hands around her throat, his thumbs resting on her jaws while his fingers massaged the taut cords of her neck.
“I’m going to remove your gown. I want to look at you—at all of you.”
“But—”
His fingers paused at the fastenings that ran from her neck to her waist. “Yes? Remember, you may ask questions or tell me to stop at any time.”
“Is that, er, well, necessary? My aunt said—”
“I can guess what your aunt said. No, nudity is not necessary, but I would like to see your body.”
Drusilla felt positively woozy and closed her eyes. “Oh.” She gulped. “Why?”
“Because it would give me pleasure to look at you—to touch your skin, all of it.”
“Uh.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded.
His fingers resumed their journey, his featherlight touch almost imperceptible on first her dressing gown and then her nightgown.
“Do you want a child, Drusilla?”
Her eyes snapped open.
He was smiling, and his gaze flickered from her eyes to her chest.When she looked down, she saw the soft fabric was gaping open. Her breasts were still concealed, but she saw, with horror, that her nipples had hardened, as if she were cold. But she wasn’t cold . . .
“Drusilla?”
Oh, yes. He’d asked her a question. “Wh-why do you ask if I want a child?”
“Because I know you did not wish to marry. I’m in no need of an heir and there are ways to lower the likelihood of conception.”
She wanted to ask—with all her person—if this was what he did with his mistresses. And did he have any children already? But luckily she could not force out the words.
Instead she stared up at him, his gaze mesmerizing her.
He smiled when she didn’t answer. “We can utilize a sheath, if that is what you would prefer.” Her face heated at his intent look—and she knew he was recalling the last time they’d discussed the subject, and how that had ended. When she said nothing, he continued. “It is no guarantee that I will not put a child inside you, of course, but it will reduce the chances.”
He continued his distracting stroking, his high, sharp cheekbones tinted with pink; Drusilla realized he was excited. By her. Never in her life had a man looked at her like this. She knew, deep in her bones, it was an expression she would do almost anything to see again, and again.
“I love children.” She swallowed, finding thought difficult with his proximity, her near nudity, with . . . everything. “It is true I never expected to have them.”
“Oh? Why is that? I think Mary Wollstonecraft had children, did she not?”
Drusilla’s lips parted. “Yes, she did. But how did you—”
“I am not so savage or ignorant as you might think, Mrs. Marlington. I might have glanced at the good woman’s writings once or twice, if for no other reason than to have artillery when next we met.”
Drusilla could only gape. He had thought about when they would see each other and imagined what he might say? But that was what she had always done with him. Why would he do such a thing?
He caught a spiral of hair and wrapped it slowly around his finger, his eyes tracking the motion.
“You never answered my question.” He kept his gaze on his hand, which allowed her to force out the words that boiled and bubbled inside her.
“I very much want children.” Her voice shook and she sounded hoarse, rough . . . desperate.
The muscles seemed to shift subtly beneath the skin of his face, and his expression became almost . . . austere. He released the curl and pulled her close, lowering his mouth over hers.
He stroked her tightly pressed lips with the tip of his tongue. “Open for me, ya helo. I want to taste you, Drusilla.”
She parted her lips, as she had earlier, in the garden, and he made a low humming sound, all the while stroking, kissing, nibbling.
The feel of his tongue on her teeth, her gums—it should have been revolting.