She smiled a crooked smile and glanced down at their joined hands. His knuckles were so big, almost rough looking. Next to them, her fingers looked slender and pale. But both were gripping one another as if they needed to hold on for dear life.
Maybe they did.
She looked up into his eyes, overcome with sudden emotion. “I know this is no time to joke,” she said, equally earnest. “I’m a little…overwhelmed.”
“I know,” he replied softly.
She leaned forward. “Yes, I will be your wife. And the honor will be entirely mine.”
He exhaled like he hadn’t taken a breath in days. She felt a little breathless herself. Especially when his lips touched hers. As when they’d kissed before, she felt the mouth-to-mouth contact all over her body.
He teased her lips apart, probing deeper. The intimate invasion made her gasp with shock. He untangled their hands so he could use his fingers to tip up her face. She threaded her arms beneath his and held him close, never wanting the contact to end.
“The things I want to do to you,” he whispered against her ear.
Huh.Eliza had been right.
Men did have all sorts of unexpressed desires inside of them. She got the feeling there was much more to Ambrose Augustus Merriweather than she had expected.
“What things?” she teased, hoping to again provoke the raw, hungry scratch in his throat.
“Perhaps youshouldknow—”
His heated expression made her pulse jump.
“—in case what I want changes your answer.”
She remembered the fiery perusal he’d given her as she sat in the chair across the room. Had that only been this morning?
“I think,” she said with a little too much breath, “you should tell me now.”
He kissed her again, trailing his lips across her cheek to her ear. With nose, teeth and lips, he nuzzled there, filling her with urgent desire. With each moment that passed, her need increased. Soon, she was shivering with anticipation.
“Tell me what you want to do.” She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him against her neck.
“I want to undress you, piece by piece.” His hands spanned her ribs, as if in demonstration of where he might begin, if she were dressed.
Her breast felt weighted. She lifted her lids. “Like a lady’s maid?”
“Notlike a lady’s maid.” He caressed her hip, watching her carefully. “At least not of the proper sort.”
Were there such things as improper ladies’ maids? And if there were, what did her Auggie know about them?
“I wonder,” he murmured, “what thought brought on that eye-narrowed expression?”
“No thought,” she replied lightly, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable about how much she wanted to mark him as hers. She gripped his shoulder to prevent herself from grabbing a fistful of his hair and making him swear he’d never so much as look at another woman again.
Ladies’ maids. She frowned. “You don’t want to brush my hair, do you?”
He scowled. “No.” He glanced away. One brow went up. Then, the other. “At least, I never considered…”
His palm accidently grazed her nipple as he moved his hand. The resulting sensations made her want to whimper.
He ran his hand down over her braid. “Perhaps.”
How odd.
She had much to learn about male desire. Neville’s was potent—though thoroughly restrained. She rather thought she’d like to resume the kissing…not to mentions his provocative hints as to his needs and intentions.