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She’d been seducing him the entire evening. Luring him in with her every sweet word and bright smile, her generosity and kindness, the easy way she touched him and wanted to help. The delicious way she kissed him, gave in to him. He might be reclusive and quiet amongst society, but he was a man who knew exactly what he wanted in the bedroom.
And at this very moment, more than anything, he wanted her.
Daphne.
* * *
Her back ached, what with the way she hunched over Hartwell sitting on the settee, but she could ignore the agonizing pain for a few more moments. As long as he kept kissing her, licking her with his velvety tongue, his fingers plunged so deep in her hair she heard the pins fall out one by one, landing with a soft ping to the floor.
The moment their mouths touched, he turned into a different man. It was quite thrilling, the low, growling sounds he made deep in his throat, the aggressive way he kissed her, caressed her. If she weren’t in such a horrendous position she might throw herself at him with wild abandon.
But first, drat it all, first she needed to move. She was bound to break her back if she didn’t.
“Wait.” She tore her lips from his but he wouldn’t let her. His hand tightened in her hair and his mouth returned to hers, kissing her again and again, stealing her breath, her words, her thoughts. “Hartwell, please…Camden. You must. Stop.”
He broke the kiss completely, his hand dropping from the back of her hair. His breathing was ragged, eyes so dark as he studied her they appeared almost black. “Forgive me,” he muttered, clearly out of breath. “I didn’t mean to push myself upon you.” The haughty, closed-off expression on his face was immediate.
“Oh, don’t be silly.” She slapped him on the shoulder, earning a startled growl from him. He really was too serious. “If I don’t move from behind the settee I’m afraid I may crack my back in two.”
“Ah. Well.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, across his eyes. Squinted at her once more, his swollen lips pursed. Her heart immediately stumbled over itself. Oh, how she wanted to kiss him again. And keep on kissing him, all through the night. “Perhaps…perhaps we should move,” he suggested.
Daphne flashed him a saucy smile, all the while her body sprang to giddy life. “Do you believe I would let you take advantage of me, my lord?”
His gaze clouded and he slowly shook his head. “You did mention I shouldn’t care what society thinks. Do you not take your own advice?”
“I do.” She licked her lips, savoring the taste of him, which still lingered. She’d felt his kisses right down to the tips of her toes. Rounding the settee, she stood before him. “For you, I will.”
Chapter Seven
Hartwell didn’t hesitate. He leaped from the settee with the grace of a wild jungle cat, grabbing her and hauling her to him so fast he knocked the very breath out of her.
Ah, but the reward was worth the shock. He kissed her. With such depth and delicious exploration she capitulated rather easily, not that she’d ever fight him. He wound his strong arms around her waist and crushed her close. Splayed his large hands across her back, the hot press of his fingers burning through the many layers she wore. She rested her hands on his chest, stroking the silky fabric of his waistcoat. He groaned at her touch. The primal, masculine sound made her shiver in awareness.
The man could kiss, and kiss well. He might lack in social skills and behave as if he were being tortured when amongst a crowd, but on a one-on-one basis?
Hartwell was absolutely divine.
He nipped and sucked at her lips and tongue, his hands winding a gentle exploration, mapping her body with methodical skill. They skimmed along her waist, over her hips, slid to her bottom, eliciting tingles wherever he touched. She wasn’t as brave, keeping her hands firmly on his front, though she did allow herself to stroke him everywhere. Marveling at the hard musculature of his form, the heat of his skin scorching her through his clothing, she couldn’t help but notice how different he was from her husband. Pomeroy had been older and slight, almost frail, especially near the end. Hartwell, on the other hand, was so virile and strong and masculine…
He broke the kiss, his lips drifting down the length of her neck, wet and hot as he panted against her skin. She clutched at him for fear of melting into a puddle at his feet, her breath coming in shuddering gusts as he continued to blaze a path with his lips down her neck, her shoulder, his mouth nudging away the fabric of her gown, revealing more and more flesh.
“Camden,” she whispered, run
ning her index finger down the center of his waistcoat, following the line of buttons. For all her earlier bold words, she was suddenly acting like a virginal miss. How she wanted to undo each button. Wanted to strip him of his clothing and see if he were as muscular as he felt. Most of the men who moved amongst society were soft. Many wore padding on their shoulders to increase their bulkiness.
Not Hartwell…Camden. He felt hard everywhere.
Everywhere.
The word echoed in her mind and she slipped one button from its slot. Then another. And then another, until every single button was undone on his waistcoat. She spread it wide with both hands, pushing it and his jacket from his shoulders and down his arms so they both fell to the floor with a gentle swoosh.
“Are you undressing me, my lady?” His velvety voice was laced with amusement as he lifted his head to study her.
She returned his stare, blatantly reaching for his perfectly knotted cravat and slowly, carefully she unwound it from around his neck. “Yes,” she confessed. “Do you have an issue with that?”
He smiled, slowly shaking his head. “I’ve always found it rather pleasant, being undressed by a woman.”
“I’m sure you have,” she said wryly, tugging the starched cloth from around his neck, letting it too fall to the floor, where it landed on top of his discarded clothing. She admired the strong column of his neck, the corded muscles that strained, his golden skin. Everything about him was utter perfection. “Shall I call the butler and ask if he’d like to take over the job?”
