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Her eyebrow lifted.
He swallowed.
“Or,” he said, his voice roughening, “I would kiss you. Hold you. Taste you properly. And I would very much like to make love to you.”
Her eyes met his in the mirror then—wide, dark, shimmering with nerves and something hotter.
“Make love,” she repeated. “Yes. That was the phrase I was looking for.”
He smiled, helplessly.
She bit her lip. “We do have to practice,” she said, surprisingly steady. “To see if it will work. The heir business. Making one, I mean.”
Oh yes, I know what you mean, my love.
Heat punched through him.
He didn’t answer with words.
He simply moved.
One arm swept under her knees; the other braced her shoulders. She squeaked—an entirely undignified, utterly delightful sound—as he lifted her bodily from the floor.
“Chester!” she yelped, grabbing at his neck.
He carried her back through the little passage, into his own room. The bed loomed like a promise. The city disappeared as he turned; the only world that mattered was four posts, soft linens, and the woman in his arms.
He set her down with exquisite care, her back coming lightly against one of the carved posts.
“Would you like,” he asked, voice low, “to begin practice, my duchess?”
She was breathing fast now, the rise and fall of her chest visible even through the silk. Her hands flattened against the post behind her for balance.
“I am not,” she said, lips trembling into a half-smile, “one to put things off.”
She was gorgeously, recklessly brave. He had never wanted to be gentle and utterly ruined by someone in quite this way before.
He sank his weight onto his heels, giving himself a fraction of distance, and lifted a hand to her cheek.
“Then,” he murmured, “we will go as slowly as you wish.”
He kissed her.
This was not the stolen, hungry snatching of Brighton. This was deliberate. Patient. He tasted her like a man allowed, finally, to sit with a favorite dessert and no one to tell him time was up. His mouth brushed hers, coaxed rather than claimed. When she sighed, soft and startled, he deepened the kiss just a little, savoring the way her fingers twisted in his lapel.
Her body leaned into him along the length of him, framed by the post, the silk of her bodice whispering against his waistcoat. Everything in him tightened with the effort of control.
He broke the kiss first, just long enough to rest his forehead against hers.
“If anything hurts,” he said, “you must tell me immediately. If you feel uncertain, we stop. If you simply change your mind…” He cupped her jaw gently. “We stop, Pepper. There is nowhere else I would rather be than exactly here, but only if you want me.”
Her eyes shone, wet but fierce.
“I am terrified,” she admitted. “And I have never wanted anything so much in my life.”
He swallowed hard.
His hands dropped, slowly, to the fastenings of her gown.
