He made the right choice.She giggled, attempting to remain quiet.
That thick hair begged for her fingers, and the nobs of his spine were perfect notches for her tongue to explore on the way to bite that delicious derriere she’d been watching work for the past week.
Sighing, she set the candelabra down with a clack and twisted her arms to undo her dress. An older courtesan had once advisedher to make her gowns as easy to get out of as possible, and her modiste had accommodated that ever since. Forgetting about the screen, she slid her gown off her shoulders and moved to the laces of her stays and the tapes of her petticoat.
The stays dropped with a muted clunk to the floor.
Luke stirred, rolling onto his back with the covers at his waist. Her gaze roamed, enjoying his shirtless torso.
“Mmm,” she moaned. Clad only in her chemise and stockings, she threw herself sideways across the bed to lie on her stomach, head propped on her elbows to enjoy the view.
ThatTcaptivated her. Most men had more of a heart-shaped cloud of chest hair pointing downward. In her current mood, theTseemed significant.
“Perhaps ’tis for tempting,” she whispered. “Or tantalizing... or, oh, treasure. Or it could be pointing ‘this way.’”
Luke stirred, raising a hand to rest on the cross of theT.
She giggled and whispered more ideas. “Or target.”
“What is a target?” His voice was a sleepy grumble. “Is someone else here or are you talking to yourself? And what is so funny?”
“Someone else is here. Charlotte is in your room. And I’m attempting to decipher yourT. Oh, I know. The Tower of Luke. Terrifying.” She was outright laughing now, the bed jiggling under her.
He sat up to peer at her in the dim candlelight, bringing him within reach for more than a wandering gaze. “What are you going on about?”
“Touch!” she proclaimed, shooting out a hand to trail down his chest.
He sniffed and raised a brow. “Sherry? Did you bring me some?”
“No, silly. You’re not allowed. Besides, I have not worked out what to do with you yet. Or what yourTstands for.” She gasped. “I hope it is not tiny!”
He narrowed his gaze and glanced to where her hand lingered. His head shot up and he growled, “No. You’ve seen it. You know ’tis not tiny.”
“What about thrust?” she giggled, listing sideways without both hands to prop her head. Her fingers curled in his chest hair and tugged.
His hand came to cover hers. “No thrusting shall happen tonight. Not when one of us—the wrong one, I might add—is anothertword: tipsy.”
“Oh, Clodpate,” she sighed, folding her arms under her head.
“No,” she heard above her. His arms came around her and half-lifted, half-dragged her up to her pillows where he tucked the covers around her.
“Sleep, Belle. We can talk”—he emphasized theTand she giggled—“in the morning.”
Hearing whispers, Bellerolled onto her back and groaned. Her mouth was full of cotton.
A fully clothed Luke approached with a tea tray as the door closed. He set it down on her dresser with a minimum of rattling.
Thank goodness. Her head was almost as cottony as her mouth. She dragged herself up against the pillows, taking a moment to regret that hisTwas covered. She supposed she should be embarrassed by her behavior last night, but she was used to having leeway as a courtesan. If it scared him away, all the better, before she gave into her yearning for more of him.
“Good morning,” he whispered. “Your guest is still asleep.”
“That is for the best. Please, Luke”—he blinked at her rare use of his first name, but she had a more immediate concern—“do not tell William where she is. She needs a few days to sort out her thoughts. And whilst I hope she’ll realize that she is what’s best for him, I am not confident in that outcome.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “’Tis not my story to tell.”
“Fair enough.” He stood with his teacup in hand, not drinking. “May I ask why you do not want her to know I’m here?”
