mattered not, for she was burning, burning, burning. She had never felt anything like this.
But then, she had never known a man like him.
He kissed her slowly, deeply. His lips moved over hers with so much tenderness, she ached. He rose over her, bracing himself on his forearms, gazing down at her. “Still certain, love?”
He was giving her a chance to change her mind. To flee. And although he claimed to be a scoundrel and villain, here again was evidence he was a good man. Here was the Blade who had rescued her kitten. Who had kissed her breathless. Who had learned to dance for her.
Here was the only man she longed for.
The only man she wanted.
Now and forever.
The realization would have left her stricken for the futility of it, but in the next moment, he kissed her cheek. “Felicity?”
She swallowed against a rush of unwanted emotion, reminding herself of what would inevitably happen after this magical night. “I am certain.”
“Thank God for that.” He kissed her again.
But just as their tongues tangled, he withdrew. This time, he kissed his way down her body. His lips branded her through her mended night rail, one of the shabbiest garments she owned. But though she knew his sharp eyes would have taken note of the places she had repaired it herself, he said not a word about it. Instead, he worshiped her everywhere, as if she were a goddess clad in silk and gold. He rained kisses over her breasts, her nipples. Down her belly. To the mound between her thighs.
Her hips bucked at the surprise contact. Though a thin layer of fabric kept his lips from her flesh, the heat of him and the way he kissed her there, where she had scarcely dared to touch herself, was nothing short of a miracle. Suddenly, that secret place became the center of her world.
The hem of her night rail slid higher. Baring her thighs. His hands, callused, warm, and knowing, were on her bare flesh now. Caressing, stroking. Stoking flames and soothing at once. Making her wild and weak.
His mouth followed the path, starting with kisses on her knees. Then higher. His mouth dragged along the incredibly sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His hands coaxed, molded, opened her to him. Her legs slid apart. She forgot to be shy. To fret over what he was about to do. The hem of her night rail reached her waist. At his coaxing, she lifted her bottom from the mattress so he could glide the fabric higher still, revealing more of her to him.
There was a voice inside her, the one that cautioned her she must face her duty, that she had responsibilities, the one that warned she was taking far too many risks. But she did not want to hear that voice just now.
That voice could go to the devil for all she cared.
“Fucking hell, Felicity. You are so beautiful.” His mouth moved, kissing up her thighs. “I never could have imagined how perfect you are.”
She was far from perfect. She had a birthmark on her left hip in the shape of Gibraltar. There was a scar on her right knee from when she had fallen in the gravel path at the gardens of her mother’s ancestral home as a child.
Then, there was the reminder Auntie Agatha had never allowed her to forget.
“My hips are too wide, and my bosom is too large,” she said.
He ran his hands along her inner thighs, then grasped the outer curve of each hip. “These hips are lush and womanly. And your breasts are nothing short of goddamn miracles.”
He was almost stern as he said the words.
She would have laughed, or mayhap offered a nervous giggle, but his gaze met hers, and she read the sincerity on his handsome face. He meant those words. And he made her feel beautiful in a new way, through his eyes.
Other suitors had praised her face. Written sonnets for her. Fawned over her. They had told her everything they knew they should say. But Blade was not offering her empty flattery. He was giving her honesty.
Her heart went fluttery.
She was falling in love with a man she could never have. A man who was all wrong for her.
“Tell me you know how beautiful you are,” he demanded, raining kisses on her center.
She was breathless. His lips on her were nothing short of astounding. Sinful, just like the bawdy book. Heat streaked through her. And then the most delicious bolt of pleasure.