‘I’m still desperately trying to be a gentleman.’ His dark eyes were serious and full of longing. The question implicit.
‘There is no need. I am not very good at playing hard to get... I’ve never really had cause to practise it. If you want me, I am yours.’
His gaze heated. ‘I can wait. I am happy to wait.’
‘I’m almost thirty. I think I have waited long enough. And I am dying of curiosity. And lust... It has been torture all day... My body feels so ripe and needy... I’ve read about it. Extensively. But reading about it isn’t like actually experiencing it, is it? And...’ Should she be admitting all this? ‘What I mean is... I have so many questions...’ He placed his finger over her lips.
‘Breathe, Effie.’ The wretch was smiling, on the cusp of laughing at him. ‘Then for the love of God shut up so I can start answering all of them.’
He kissed her again, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He sat next to her on the mattress and simply stared. ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to do for the longest time. Something that I’ve imagined at least a thousand times... Something I dream about incessantly... Something very,very...intimate.’ His voice had dropped to a sultry whisper. The intense and carnal way he gazed at her made her pulse quicken and every tiny nerve in her body tingle in anticipation.
‘What?’
‘I can’t explain it. I have to just do it... May I?’
She nodded and intently watched his hand as it came towards her, excited and perhaps a little anxious at the unexpected and unknown. Except it didn’t head to her breasts or her gown as she expected. It went to her hair. ‘This pencil...is the single most erotic thing I have ever seen.’ He sighed as he slowly pulled it from her hair and watched the tangled mess fall about her shoulders. ‘That’s it. I am thoroughly seduced.’
‘That’s all it took?’ She found herself laughing. ‘I’ve been worrying myself silly all day about how to go about seducing you tonight and all I needed was a pencil?’
He tumbled her back on to the mattress. ‘A pair of mismatched shoes or those fetching breeches would have worked, too—but that damn pencil has haunted me for weeks.’ His dancing eyes turned serious then and his mouth brushed over hers. ‘Are you sure about this, Effie?’
‘For once, I do not have a single nagging question in my mind.’ She traced her finger over his mouth and down his throat, then boldly began to undo his cravat. He stiffened, but did not pull away, and her full heart wept for him and the way the callous Miranda had made him feel.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright ‘Perhaps now is a good time to turn off the lamps...’ Effie stopped him as he reached over.
‘I want to see you, Max. All of you. Don’t you want to see me?’
She watched him swallow and nod, saw his anxiousness and indecision and decided there and then he needed her to take the lead to help him banish his demons. She moved to sit before him on the mattress and lifted up her hair in invitation. ‘Undo my laces, Max.’
She felt his fingers fumble and smiled to herself. His nerves empowered her. If he was seduced by a mere pencil, then he was about to receive a shock. How wonderful would it be to have this complicated, damaged and intrinsically lovely man so overcome with desire he couldn’t think straight?
As the bodice loosened, she allowed it to slip from her shoulders, then stood to make him watch her send it falling to the floor. His gaze swept the length of her, then settled on where her hands undid her stays before following the tiny garment where she tossed it to the floor. The gauzy shift which went with the gown left little to the imagination. She knew that because she had thought as much as she had donned it earlier. Max’s sharp intake of breath confirmed it. No doubt he could see the dark shadow of her nipples, but in case he missed it, or was being too gentlemanly to look, she glanced down and watched his eyes follow. Watched his jaw clench. Heard his ragged breath as those eyes darkened with unmistakable desire.
To torture him, she bent to kiss him, letting her tongue leisurely entwine with his while she held his hands to prevent him from touching her. Only when she couldn’t bear it any longer did she step back and slowly peel the translucent linen from her shoulders, until her bare breasts were fully revealed, closely followed by the rest of her.
‘Oh, Effie...’ His sigh was like a benediction. His appreciative gaze like a caress. But she knew he needed to be half-mad before he fully forgot his scars and gave himself completely to her as she intended to give herself to him.
She kissed him again and lost herself in it, revelling in the feel of his hands on her naked skin. Max was lost, too. So lost he hadn’t noticed she had unbuttoned his waistcoat until she pushed it from his shoulders. Beneath her palms she could feel his heart beating, and it sped up when she began to untuck his shirt.
‘It looks like Africa... The scar...’ His voice was awkward again. Self-conscious.
‘Useful, then—for a sailor. If you ever happen to be going that way.’
‘I suppose.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Sometimes you say the damnedest things.’
‘I’m odd, remember. What do you expect?’
‘Always the unexpected with you.’ He lifted his arms and allowed her to drag the soft linen over his head, then held his breath.
As did she.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected to see—but it wasn’t this. The muscles across his shoulders and in his arms were beautifully defined, like a Roman statue, but carved out of flesh instead of marble. The light dusting of dark hair across his chest narrowed to an arrow which bisected his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his breeches. Breeches which did little now to disguise the impressive bulge beneath them.
Because she couldn’t help herself, she ran her palms over his skin, feeling those distracting muscles bunch and tense beneath her touch, only because he was awaiting her judgement. She allowed her eyes to focus on the scar. It was one continuous mass which started on his left cheek, down that side of his neck and bloomed over his shoulder before petering out towards the bottom of his ribs. She trailed her fingertips across it. It felt different from the rest of him. Tighter and textured, but not unpleasant. ‘Is this the part where I am supposed to recoil in horror?’
He nodded. ‘Hideous, isn’t it?’
‘I never ever believed I would have something in common with Nelson, but I don’t see hideous. I see the bravery it took to get them and the determination it took not to allow them to kill you like the doctors assumed.’ She traced the outline with the pad of one finger. ‘And it is shaped like Africa, which is fortuitous.’
