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“Are you settled in then?”
Pierce frowned, absently rubbing a sunlit tress. “My belongings have been transferred. Settled in? I don’t think I’ll ever be that.” He blinked, startled by the natural candor of his own response.
Evidently, Daphne wasn’t. “You’re wrong, Pierce. Just give yourself time. And remember, there are all varieties of dukes. You will merely enhance that number by one.”
Acting on gut emotion, Pierce pulled Daphne into his arms. “Must I ask permission?”
“No,” she whispered, twining her arms about his neck. “You know what my answer would be.”
This time the magic was abrupt, shattering, exploding the instant it began. Pierce took Daphne’s mouth fiercely, kissing her with bone-melting thoroughness and heartrending need. His tongue swept inside to mate with hers, his hands trembled as they dragged her closer, fitted her more totally against him.
Daphne’s response nearly brought him to his knees. As urgent as he, she met his tongue, stroke for stroke, leaning into him until he could feel the very pounding of her heart.
“Daphne.”
Whose raw, aching voice was that? Pierce wondered dazedly. Who was this unknown stranger whose control was as diaphanous as the finest silk?
Evidently it was he.
As if from afar, Pierce watched himself ease Daphne to the grass. Never breaking the kiss, he lay on his side, clasping her to him with all the desperation of a drowning man seeking shelter. With a will of their own, his fingers unfastened the tiny row of buttons down the back of her gown, tugging at the sleeves until he’d bared the upper slope of her breasts.
Tearing his mouth from hers, Pierce kissed her neck, her throat, moving slowly down to the warm skin he’d exposed. He felt Daphne shiver, heard the small, inarticulate sound of pleasure she made as his lips caressed her.
“Do you like that?” he rasped.
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Daphne’s arms slid up to cradle his head, her breath breaking as he kissed the hollow between her breasts.
“Tell me you want more.” His fingertips grazed her nipples, felt them tighten beneath the confines of her gown and chemise.
“Pierce.” Her reverently whispered word was all the reply he needed.
In one sharp tug, her bodice and chemise slid lower, freeing her breasts to his greedy gaze.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” Pierce was shuddering so violently he could scarcely speak. Moreover, there were no words vivid enough to describe what he was feeling. He had to show her.
Arching Daphne closer, Pierce captured her nipple between his lips, surrounding it in liquid heat. She cried out, and he deepened the contact, alternately tugging the hardened peak, then soo
thing it with gentle sweeps of his tongue.
“Pierce. Stop,” she gasped, shaking her head from side to side.
Instantly, Pierce raised his head, met Daphne’s smoky gaze. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.”
“Frightening you?”
“No.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he combatted desire, attempted comprehension. “Tell me it’s not shame. Tell me you know how right this is between us.”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes were heavy lidded with passion.
“Is this a matter of honor? Of virtue?”
With a breathy sigh, she sifted her fingers through his hair. “Neither. It’s a matter of torment.”
Now it was Pierce’s turn to look baffled. “Torment?”
