more prominent. She had never been lovelier.
“No,” she returned softly. “Thank you.”
“You are the most stunning woman I have ever seen,” he told her, and he meant those words. It was not idle flattery. Not his inner rakehell speaking.
There was more he wanted to say, so much more, clambering up his throat. But he could not find the proper words to communicate them. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her, how much being her first meant to him.
How much he wanted to be her only.
Hell and damnation.
The color in her cheeks heightened. “You make me feel as if I am.”
“Because you are.”
It was a travesty that she was not utterly confident. That she did not know how easily she could bring any man to his knees. Including Blade.
A sad smile curved her lips. “I shall treasure this night always. But I should go.”
A physical ache sprang from his chest. “Stay with me.”
The thick fringe of her lashes swept over her cheeks, shielding her eyes from him. “I fear I have already lingered long enough. The damage to my reputation…”
She was still in his bed, and she was already worrying about the marriage she would need to make with another man. Every part of him railed against the notion.
He squeezed her fingers. “I promised you no one would be the wiser. I will get you back to your chamber without anyone knowing, I swear. Just stay here a bit longer.”
Christ, he was pathetic.
But he didn’t care.
All he wanted was more Felicity.
She looked as if she were about to argue, so he settled his lips on hers and kissed her. He took his time, showing her all the words he wanted to say, the sentiment, ripe and confusing, within him. He had never been a man given to emotion. Hell, any empathy he had possessed had been beaten out of him in his youth. He had fled from his mother’s endless string of lovers and saved himself by inflicting further violence upon others.
But this woman—Felicity—the innate goodness and purity of her—humbled him. Made him want to be better. To be a man she deserved. And he was not ready to surrender her yet.
He broke the kiss, pressed his mouth to her cheeks, her jaw, breathing her in. “Stay with me, love.”
“Blade.” His name was a sigh in her dulcet tones.
The urge to give her a piece of him rose, strong. Undeniable. He kissed her ear, her throat, the delicate curve of her shoulder. “Richard.”
“Pardon?”
He dragged his mouth across her collarbone, absorbing the silken warmth of her with his lips. “The name I was born with. It’s Richard Barlow, after my mother’s maiden name and my mother’s father. I became Blade Winter later.”
“Richard,” she said softly, her hands on him, caressing.
His heart thudded. This was a part of himself he had not shared with anyone. No one had spoken his true name since he had been a lad. “Aye. Richard.”
He kissed his way back to her delicate jaw.
Her fingers threaded through his hair. “How did you come to be Blade Winter?”
Her soft query took him by surprise. He kissed her lips again, then raised his head to study her. At this proximity, he found tiny cinnamon and gray flecks in her eyes.
He caressed her cheek. “Blade because I am a dab with daggers and knives. I could win a knife fight blindfolded, with one arm tied behind my back. Hell, I have, and won fifty beans for the trouble. I took on the name Winter after I discovered who my father was, one of my mother’s many patrons. And only on account of Blade Winter sounding better than Blade Barlow.”
“Oh, Blade. Your mother was…”
“A ladybird,” he finished for her. “And my father was a man I’ve never met. A heartless businessman who left a secret family of bastards scattered all over the East End. I’m not fit to touch a fine lady like you.”
And yet he was touching her. Because he could not stop. He ran his knuckles over her cheek.
Felicity pressed her lips to them. “There is no other man I would rather touch me.”
He had to swallow against the crashing rush of need her words invoked. He could not find words again, so he sealed their mouths, kissing her slowly, savoring her. Savoring the moment, the connection. This was a new form of intimacy, unprecedented.
When the kiss ended, he was breathless, his cock rigid and ready. But he knew he would not make love to her again. Likely,