Page 44 of The Lady’s No Angel

Hart dragged her back into his arms, pulling her flush against him, so close she could not possibly mistake the results of her impromptu assault on his person. To his relief, she did not squeal or slap him, but pressed closer, sliding her arms about his neck.

“Wicked, wicked girl,” he growled, kissing his way down her neck as his hands slid higher, cupping her breasts and squeezing.

She gasped, arching into his touch, angling her head to allow him better access.

Anything resembling a coherent thought fled as she let out a little sigh of pleasure and Hart’s attention became riveted upon the problem at hand—too many clothes—and how to solve it. With as much speed as possible.

His hand slid around her back to the fastenings on her gown, unhooking them as he deepened the kiss. Having made quick work of the gown and having heard no sounds of protest, his nimble fingers were no less speedy dispensing with her corset, which sagged a short time later.

Miss Baxter broke the kiss with a little yelp, glancing down at herself as dress and corset slid down, revealing a glorious expanse of bare bosom, though her nipples remained tantalisingly covered.

Hart swallowed a groan.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Good Lord,” she said, sounding more staggered than appalled. “You made quick work of that. You’re more dangerous than I realised, and I thought I had a pretty clear idea.”

“Sorry,” he offered, though he wasn’t, not even a little.

She snorted and reached for his hand. “Well, don’t waste all that effort,” she told him, pressing his hand over her breast.

He sucked in a breath as his fingers met skin of such silken perfection that he was certain his heart stopped. With the back of his free hand, he trailed his fingers over the other plump mound, aware that his heart was racing. The desire to tug on the bodice of her dress and reveal what lay beneath the stiff fabric made his mouth water with anticipation.

Though he’d seen plenty of breasts in his time, he was rivetingly aware that something about this felt different. With that awareness came the unwelcome and badly timed awakening of his much-neglected conscience. It stabbed at him, reminding himself of all the reasons Miss Baxter deserved better than this.

She was not the kind of young woman to take to bed and move on. If he did this, it… well, he didn’t know what, not precisely, but he wasn’t ready for it. But he didn’t want to stop either.

“Miss Baxter,” he said, his voice husky as he tried to force his brain to speak the words that would put an end to this delicious interval. But his brain was refusing to cooperate, and he couldn’t find what ought to follow.

“Angel.”

He blinked, gazing down at her with a crooked smile. “Sweetheart, I am many things, but angelic… no,” he said with a huff of laughter.

Her smile, one of fond exasperation, did odd things to his heart. “Not you, you great nitwit. Me. I’m Angel. Angelica, but my friends call me Angel.”

He felt a stupid grin curve over his lips. Oh, and wasn’t that ironic and utterly perfect. “My wicked Angel, sent to drive me distracted,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers again.

She kissed him back, reaching up to sink her hands into his hair and—glory be to God—the dress fell the remaining inch. Hart sighed as he filled his hands with her breasts, the delicate rosy buds of her nipples pressing against his palms.

“Oh, Angel, such blessings you gift me with,” he said, and with such reverence she giggled.

He gazed down at her, toying with one perfect little nub as he tried to remember what had been so important a moment ago. Surely not more important than her splendid breasts?

“I believe I could be moved to write poetry, perhaps even an opera, dedicated to the perfection of your breasts,” he said earnestly.

She shook her head, staring at him with amusement glinting in her beautiful eyes.

“I mean it,” he said, gazing at them with longing.

His mouth watered, and even though he knew he ought not, he lowered his head, capturing one taut little bud in his mouth. The sound she made as he suckled made every muscle in his body lock down tight, his cock throbbing hard with impatience. Yet, he wanted her to trust him, and this was not the way to make that happen. Though it almost killed him to admit it, he knew he must not let this go any further.

He gave a tragic sigh as drew back, gazing with helpless longing at the bountiful gift he was about to reject, and tugged her corset back up. “And now you must put them away and… and not show me such temptations again or we’ll both be in the basket. Turn around, drat you, before I change my mind.”

She did as he told her and stood obediently—apparently shocked into silence, praise be—while he tugged and rehooked everything he had unhooked. It was a very depressing experience.

He turned her around again and took a step back before he could start undoing all his good work.

“You’d best go.”

Angel nodded, still looking somewhat dazed, and walked to the door.