Page 92 of A Symphony for the Earl

Her hands dropped to the pearl buttons of her nightgown, unfastening the first two with unsteady fingers. He swallowed visibly, and his hand hovered over the placket of his breeches. As she reached for the last button, he closed his eyes, and his fingers closed around the outline of his arousal. He ground out a muffled curse and looked at her with narrowed eyes, then shrugged loose his dressing robe so that it dropped to the floor.

The size of his jutting erection was impressive, even confined by the buff breeches. Her sense of triumph waned. Had she pushed too far? She backed toward the door, and his lips curved in a sardonic smile.

“Come, love—it’s too late for regrets.”

She looked at him, little ripples of desire dancing through her body. He would solve this mystery, this frustrating craving for something—probably, the elusive intercourse she had often wondered about. And she would bring her arrogant fiancé to heel.

But he had other ideas and scooped her up, depositing her on the settee.

“This is for looking at me like I’m a sweet to devour, darling…and for provoking me beyond measure.” He lifted the cambric nightgown over her hips.

She tried to wriggle away. “What are you doing?”

He dropped to his knees on the Aubusson carpet.

“This.” Cupping her bottom, he pulled her back toward him. And he lowered his dark head between her thighs.

“Richard, you wouldn’t!” She struggled to rise as his incendiary mouth nuzzled her inner thigh. “Oh, stop, Richard—you can’t do such a wicked thing—”

“I certainly can, and most emphatically will. And what is more, my headstrong pain in the arse, you will beg me to continue.”

His lips explored the sensitive flesh, trailing upward to trace the crease of her leg with his tongue. Her traitorous legs fell open of their own accord.

He paused, his warm breath hovering over her ebony curls. Panting, it was all she could do not to pull his mouth to her aching core.

But he skillfully skirted around the folds of her femininity, feathering lingering kisses everywhere but the place that she wanted him to touch most desperately.

She choked back a whimper of frustration.

“Are you asking me to continue, Fiona?”

His guttural tone told her that he too was barely in control. But all thought of victory vanished when he swirled his tongue over the cleft of her sex, then flicked it back and forth as the bud within blossomed and throbbed.

Her body stretched taut, and she arched convulsively toward his mouth. “Yes, yes, Richard…there—oh God—”

He lifted his head, stifling a groan. “Forgive me, love, but we’re going to my bedroom. I don’t trust either one of us to keep our voices low.” He took her up in his arms and strode to the door.

Fiona pummeled his chest. “You beast! Why did you stop?”

Richard turned at the threshold. “Damnation.” He went back to snatch up their discarded clothing, then strode down the hallway.

He shouldered open the door to his study but didn’t stop there. He continued to the spacious chamber beyond and placed her on the soft feather mattress of a colossal brocade-covered bed.

She scrambled up to her knees, breasts heaving. “You are a devil to tease me like that, Richard. And to think I said I loved you when I have yet to hear the words back even once—”

“I love you.” He reached down to unfasten his breeches. “Deuce take it, Fiona, is it not enough that I’m about to jump on you like some randy farmer, half undressed, and out of my mind with lust? Believe me, this isn’t the scene I usually set for seduction.” The pants slipped to the floor and his fine shirt followed until he stood in nothing but his small clothes.

It was as if she had the wind knocked out of her. Richard in clothing made an impressive figure, but naked, he was thrilling. Well-defined, broad shoulders narrowed to slim hips and powerful thighs, and his sculpted chest and taut stomach were a work of art in the style of Greek statues in the Dublin Museum—and just as provocative.

And then, there was his rigid member, the length and breadth of which she could see quite clearly through the thin underclothes, and that created some serious doubts about the mechanics of it all.

She gulped and immediately wanted to rebutton her nightdress. He must have noticed because he extended his hand in invitation.

“Come, sweetheart, it’s not like you to balk at a fence…but then, my skill in wooing a woman seems to have vanished completely.”

Fiona took his hand, and he lifted her fingers to his lips. “There’s not a waking moment that I don’t want you by my side. I am no saint, Fiona, but I have never offered my heart to another woman, only the smallest part of who I am.”

She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.