Page 140 of The Siren of Sussex

“Then don’t stop,” she whispered.

Warmth was already coursing through Evelyn’s veins, just to look at him. To feel him cradling her face with such infinite care. It was utterly disarming that a man his size should be so gentle. But Ahmad was no run-of-the-mill gentleman to fumble roughly about with a lady. He was used to handling fine things. And in his hands, she felt like the very finest.

It was a heady sensation, to be the object of his undivided attention. And not for her clothing this time, but for herself.

Dropping one hand from her cheek, he bent his head closer to hers. He placed a kiss on her lips, as gentle as the last kiss they’d shared.

“I told you that you don’t have to be careful with me,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Impatient,” he murmured back. “I’m just getting started.”

“Forgive me. Do go on.” She felt him smile. Was he laughing at her? But he didn’t seem to be amused. He kissed her again. A sweet, clinging caress that stole her breath.

She sighed into it.

And this time there was no holding back. His arm came about her waist, and his mouth covered hers in a kiss so deep and passionate that the warmth in her veins ignited into a blazing conflagration.

Her eyes closed and she melted against him. A strange sensation—part victory, part surrender. She gave herself over to it for a moment.

And then she returned his kiss.

She had little enough experience. Only the kisses they’d shared in the fitting room and the brougham. But she prided herself on her ability to discern physical subtleties. She felt the pressure of his kiss change, his mouth seeking . . . something. Her lips parted in answer. Their breath mingled. And—

“Oh,” she said. “Like that?”

“Just like that,” he said huskily, drawing her closer.

“I never knew.” No one had ever told her that a kiss could be so warm and intimate. That it could make one’s limbs weaken into blancmange, even as it was inspiring a peculiar, tightening ache at one’s center. She felt strange all over. Stranger still when he pressed hot, drugging kisses to her jaw, and to the secret, sensitive spot behind her ear.

When his mouth found the curve of her neck, her knees sagged. She clung to him as he surged against her.

His fingers tangled in her hair, loosing the pins Agnes had placed so carefully this morning. Some of them pinged to the floor. Evelyn glanced down at them, half-dazed. They’d fallen into the corner at the edge of the fireplace, alongside a folded piece of white paper. It had Ahmad’s name written on it in black ink.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He continued kissing her.

She clutched at his cravat. “It looks like a note.”

At last he stilled. Raising his head from her neck, he followed her gaze.

A long moment passed before he eased away from her.

Evelyn stayed pressed to the wall, afraid to move. She had the sense that they’d been on the precipice of some further intimacy. She wasn’t entirely ignorant of the act. But she certainly hadn’t planned to indulge in it before marriage.

And she realized, suddenly, how little planning had to do with it.

When one was in the arms of a man, feeling hot and trembly and longing for him so much, all one wanted was more and more and more.

It was all she had wanted.

Distance helped to cool her wild yearnings, but not by much.

Ahmad knelt to retrieve the note. “It must have blown from the mantel when I opened the door.”

Evelyn put on her spectacles. “Is it from Mira?”

“It is.” He scanned the message inside. His expression hardened into an implacable mask.