Page 91 of A Symphony for the Earl

His heart thumped rapidly under her hand. “I would say so.”

She chuckled softly. “And here?” Her palm skimmed the dusky crests and he shuddered. “Are they as sensitive as mine?”

“God, yes.”

Richard’s buff breeches clung to his thighs, outlining the blatant evidence of his arousal. His eyes glittered as she slid her hand over the tense ridges of his abdomen. She made a small sound of satisfaction. When her fingers brushed the waistband of his breeches, he sucked in a sharp breath, stilling her hand.

“This is madness,” he muttered, bending to kiss the column of her throat. “We are in the music room, for God’s sake. Anyone might come and…Christ, Fiona, what is that scent you wear?”

Her heart sang with happiness, and she reached up to smooth back the dark locks of hair falling over his forehead.

“Lilies of the valley, lavender, and rosemary, mo chuisle. From an apothecary hidden deep in Dublin and made to bewilder men—”

“Laughing at me again, my love? You should, because I’m behaving like a lunatic.”

She giggled softly. Taking his face in her hands, Fiona stood on her toes and kissed him. His tongue slipped between her lips and thrust hotly, tangling with hers, then exploring her mouth intimately. She sighed, letting her damp femininity settle against the column of his thigh.

“Fiona…” he groaned.

Her wrapper bunched around her hips, and the delicate nightgown she wore clung to the moist heat of her sex, which throbbed unbearably. She had to get closer to assuage the persistent ache. Tentatively, she slid her cleft against his muscled leg. Her breath hitched with pleasure and he jerked, breathing harshly.

She slipped her hands under the heavy silk of his dressing gown and pulled the lawn shirt from his breeches. “I want to know you, chomh ládir, an-álainn,” she whispered. “To see everything, every part of you, Richard.”

“Not yet, love…” His eyes dropped to her breasts, which rose and fell rapidly under his heavy-lidded gaze. He reached for the tie of her turquoise wrapper, pulling it through long, elegant fingers. Five satin-covered buttons held the garment closed.

She shivered in anticipation. The gold-and-onyx signet ring on his hand gleamed in the dim light as he went to the first button. When he paused, his handsome face a study of conflicting emotions, she knew his scruples had won. His hands fell to his sides, fisted so tightly that the knuckles gleamed white, and he gently disentangled himself from her grasp.

“Fiona…my restraint is tenuous. I won’t seduce you when I’ve already cornered you into an engagement. One that we have no idea if I can convince your father to accept.”

She didn’t reply but looked him up and down, pressing her palm to her racing heart as if that could still its wild thumping. “I’m tired of you both deciding my future, Richard. And I’m at my wit’s end with your inconsistent conscience.”

“That stubborn look on your face scares the hell out of me, Fiona. I’m asking you to please go to your bedchamber now. I have only your best interests at heart. You don’t realize how easily things could get out of control.”

Enough was enough. “If I did this…” Fiona reached down and lightly traced the length of his arousal through his breeches. The iron-hard shaft seemed to leap under her touch. “…would I change your mind about sending me to my room, gra mochroí?”

“No,” he said through clenched jaws. “There will be a wedding. And then there will be a wedding night—oh God…Fiona…will you desist? I am not made of iron.” Roughly, he stilled her hand from its explorations.

“I think you surely must be,” she teased breathlessly.

“Fiona—”

“Let’s go to your chamber, Richard, and show me all about making love. I don’t want to wait until a wedding.”

“Believe me, sweeting, you demonstrate far more understanding than I gave you credit for…Fiona! For Heaven’s sake, stop!” He jerked away, his eyes stormy. “Do you imagine that you are playing with some boy from your conservatory?”

“At least I don’t flaunt a former mistress in front of my betrothed at a ball in her honor,” she flashed back.

In the next breath, he seized the front of the satin wrapper and jerked it apart, scattering buttons across the floor.

“You couldn’t listen, Fiona, and do what I asked, just for once, could you?”

She squeaked, attempting to gather the material together as it slipped off her shoulders. He froze, staring at the cambric nightgown underneath. It was sheer as cobwebs, with fine Irish lace worked into the sleeves and worthy of a princess.

“Good God,” he finally muttered.

She looked down. The transparent fabric clearly outlined her ivory breasts and worse, the rosy nipples had reacted to his intense stare by peaking to hard buds. Surely, the triangle of ebony hair at the juncture of her thighs was entirely visible.

His struggle to overcome his arousal was palpable, and she was determined to conquer him more than ever. This ridiculous chase and retreat had gone on too long. If they were to be parted, at least she would have something to remember. She’d know he was completely hers, if only for one night.