Page 49 of Cocky August Rake

“The first pleasure,” she said, “is being wanted.”

When he said nothing, Rose looked over her shoulder.

His eyes were on the line of hooks running down the back of her gown.

“Look at me,” she whispered. “Want me.”

His breath changed.

Only a little, but she was close enough to hear it.

How was her own heart racing so fast?

Closing her eyes for a moment, Rose forced her own breaths to slow.

This was a strategy. A means of saving The Domus.

But when his fingers touched the first hook, she went utterly still.

She wanted him. She could take some pleasure, of course.

She intended to. But contrary to what he believed, this was not about her.

She needed to keep her wits about her. She could not let the ache already building low in her body carry her away.

The first hook slipped free.

Then the next.

His silence told her more than words ever could. He was trying very hard, she knew, to remain in command of himself.

The gown loosened by degrees and Rose lowered her lashes.

Claret silk gave way at her back, parting to reveal her stays worn over a short shift. The chemise—French—was short, ending at her hips, and indecently light. Almost nothing.

It could pass through a ring, Madame Fournier had said when she delivered it, though Rose had never cared whether that was true.

What mattered was the effect.

Her chemise was nearly transparent, cut low across her breasts and ending just below her hips. Narrow lace edged the neckline, with pale ribbon threaded through it.

Over it, she wore short stays of ivory silk, lightly boned and fastened at the front with pink cords.

They lifted her breasts indecently high beneath the sheer fabric, making the chemise seem less like an undergarment than an invitation.

A lady would not have worn such things.

Rose was not a lady.

The final hook came loose and for one suspended moment, the gown clung to her hips.

Rose wiggled her hips and it slipped, whispering down her body to pool at her feet.

Perfect.

She stood before him like a work of art, silk stockings drawn above her knees and held there by embroidered garters.

Turning slowly, Rose knew what he saw.