“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.
She folded his coat and carefully set it aside. Then she stood on tiptoe and pulled off his wig. He ran his hands over his head, scrubbing at the stubble of his hair.
“I confess it made me sad the day you cut your hair,” she said quietly.
A half smile curved his lips. “You’d rather I sport that wild mane?”
“No.” She reached up to smooth her palms over his head. “But maybe a little more hair than this. Your long hair softened your aspect a bit. I never really realized until you cut it all off. Without it, you look so… ruthless.”
But he was ruthless. Didn’t she know that yet? He didn’t say the words, merely watched her as she bent her head over the buttons of his waistcoat. The only sounds in the room were her breathing and the slide of fabric over the bone buttons. She reached the end and pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders. She laid the waistcoat aside and hesitated for a moment, staring at the expanse of his white shirt. Had her feet grown cold? Only two days before, this woman had been a virgin, and now he was demanding that she undress him. He should take pity on her.
He grasped her hand and brought it to his chest. “The shirt next, I think.”
She began on the buttons without comment, though her breath was coming faster. The brush of her fingers, even with the fine linen in between his skin and hers, was a torture. She undid the last button, and he raised his arms so she might draw the shirt off over his head.
She licked her lips and glanced shyly at him from under her brows. “Everything?”