“And what would be the benefit to me of this magnanimous gesture?”
“You know full well what the benefit would be,” she said, tired suddenly of this game. “Don’t play with me.”
He took a sip of his wine and set down the glass with finality. “Come here.”
She rose and circled the table to stand before him. Her heart was beating fast and hard, but she tried to regulate her breathing. Tried not to show how desperately he affected her.
He pushed his chair from the table and spread his legs. “Closer.”
She stepped between his legs, almost touching him, the blood rushing in her ears.
He looked up at her, a conquering warrior. “Kiss me.”
She inhaled and then bent, placing one hand on his shoulder. Her lips brushed his, and she could not control their trembling. She straightened and looked at him.
“More,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not here. The servants will return soon to clear the meal.”
“Then where?” His eyelids drooped lazily. “And when?”
In answer, she held out her hand, for she didn’t trust her voice. Her action went against everything she’d ever been taught about how a lady should behave. She’d been told this was wrong. That it would only lead to sorrow and disgrace. But her heart seemed to be telling her otherwise, and she had no one else to turn to anymore. Jeremy was dead. Uncle Reggie had made clear his displeasure with her, and Lottie was too wrapped up in her own life right now.
Which left only herself to depend upon.
He placed his hand in hers, and she gave a gentle tug to make him stand up. She led him from the room without saying anything. The hall was deserted; Uncle Reggie didn’t like servants hanging about during the evening meal. She went quickly up the stairs, aware of Lord Hope’s footsteps, steady and almost ominous behind her, but she didn’t look back. She took him to her own room and then paused beside the door.
“Wait here,” she said, and slipped inside. Quick was in her room, as she was every night, waiting to help her ready for bed.
“That’ll be all,” she said to the maid. “And, Quick?”
The maid turned toward her. “Miss?”
“Be sure you don’t see anything in the hall.”
Quick’s eyes widened but she was far too good a servant to comment. She merely curtsied and left the room.
Beatrice took a deep breath and went to the door, opening it. He was outside, leaning against the wall, waiting patiently.
“Come in,” she said, and he straightened.
SHE STOOD TALL and prim and invited him into her room. He’d been there twice before, of course, but not at her invitation.
And that, it seemed, made all the difference.
He could feel his pulse pounding at his temple and lower down at the base of his cock. He was already erect, already ready for her, but he moved slowly. The wolf never wanted to frighten the deer until it was ready to pounce.
She turned and went to the fire, stirring it with a poker. “Will you undress?” Her hand might be steady, but her voice was high and thready.
“Why don’t you?” he asked, his own voice deep.
“Oh.” She set aside the poker and reached for the laces of her bodice.
“No.” In two strides he was beside her, staying her hands. “Why don’t you undress me?”
She looked at him, her face pinkening into a blush, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He wanted to bite that lip himself, wanted to catch her in his arms and bear her to the bed, a warlord with a prize. But he needed to have her come to him of her own volition. True, he’d coerced her, but she’d led him here. He’d take that small bit of free will on her part.
Beatrice set her hands on his coat, slowly, carefully pushing it back over his shoulders. He moved his arms to help her take off the garment, but otherwise he simply watched her. As a young officer in His Majesty’s army, he’d been to brothels in London and the New World. Had sampled the favors of accomplished courtesans. Yet the sight of this properly brought-up woman taking off his coat was far more erotic than anything he’d ever seen at a brothel.