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He strode forward, eyes passing over the statue to come back to her. “I had thought...when I returned home last night, I could not sleep. I thought to work, and yet...I have no energy for the shaping of stone. No energy at all for anything. And I find myself strangely disinclined to begin today.”
“If you are tired from your event last evening—”
“I am not so tired as all that.” Eyes like chips of multi-hued jade rested on her face. “No, what I lack today is not rest. It is inspiration. Desire to work. For how could I entertain such notions, when I can but think of one thing?”
“And might I inquire what that one thing is?” There was a strong temptation to call him ‘my lord’, to put the familiar barrier of formality between them and perhaps let him draw his conclusions from that. However, she could not bring herself to do so.
He moved toward her with smooth, silent steps, like a great cat stalking nervous prey. She forced herself to stand her ground as he came close enough for his warmth to reach her. One rough, callused hand reached out and tipped her head gently, the slight amount needed for their eyes to meet.
“What were you doing at the Duchess of Merriweather’s masquerade ball, Hetty?”
“What?” No ready response sprang to mind. She didn’t want to introduce yet another lie into their relationship, but neither could she think of any graceful way to tell the truth. She felt trapped, not so much by his insistence and his touch as by the circumstances that she had fabricated, which now seemed a web that trapped her.
“I do believe you heard me quite clearly. I wish to know why a young woman, whom I suppose to be a working young lady, should appear at an event hosted by a duchess, and a rather prestigious one at that. How did you come to be there, much less gain entrance? And what were you there for?”
And still she had no ready answer. No explanation she could give, none that did not sound foolish and feeble in her mind.
And so, she did the first thing that came to mind, though a part of her wondered how she dared be so brazen.
She tipped her chin down and pressed a teasing flick of her tongue to his hand. “A pity, if that is all that interested you, dear Marquess. For I had some hopes that you might be interested inotherhappenings of yestereve. And perhaps a continuation of certain activities. But if that too is outside your inclination…” She raised her chin and arched a brow, a teasing smile on her lips. “Then perhaps I shall—”
She started to turn away but got no further as his hand fastened on her arm and spun her back to face him—gentle enough not to bruise, but quite firm enough that she would not have been able to resist, even had she been so inclined.
Firm hands pulled her close, the one on her arm moving to her back, the other diving into her hair and holding her head, tipping it back the slightest bit as his lips crashed against hers.
There was no gentle teasing this time, no playful swipes of the tongue. His mouth was hard, demanding, as her practically devoured her gasp of surprise and plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking control with a fierce forcefulness that rocked her, even as it sent a pulse of wild heat spiraling through her. It tingled into her fingers and down to her toes with a delicious, heady feeling that not even the one glass she’d snuck of her father’s distilled spirits many years ago could have hoped to match.
Her hands clenched in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until she could press against him, almost shoulder to shoulder with their similarity in height. Certainly, chest to chest, front to front. She felt a rising hardness against her thigh and shifted slightly, so that the growing pressure touched the spot between her legs instead as she arched up to press more firmly against him.
Daniel gave a gasping moan, a low guttural sound that seemed to sink straight through her. His hands tightened where he clutched her to him. “Hetty…”
She had never had occasion to explore the activities of the bedchamber. She’d anticipated them with her previous fiancé, enough to seek information on what might be expected and how things might progress. But she had never had a chance to put her acquired knowledge to the test.
Until now.
She moved one hand from where it rested, and feeling more than a little wild and wanton with her own temerity, she traced a path down the center of his chest, past the waistband of his trousers, until her hand rested on the hardness tenting the fabric at his groin. She stroked her fingers over the bulge, then her palm, cupping him as she leaned up the short distance required to whisper in his ear. “Yes, my lord?”
A softer exhale and a slightly firmer pressure, determined to leave no doubt as to her interest. “Or do you prefer Daniel?”
Daniel made a sound that might have been more appropriate on the battlefield than in this sunlit room, body arching into her touch in a way that she suspected was not entirely of his own volition. The sound, the feel of such a loss of control was thrilling, exciting in a way she had never before experienced, intoxicating in the power it revealed she had over him.
He did not let her have the upper hand for long. From all she knew of him, Daniel was not a man to surrender, not in verbal exchanges or any other matters.
He tipped his body, bringing her with him in a lockstep as he spun them in an arc that ended with her pressed against the wall, his hands on her shoulders. His knee pressed her thighs apart, sliding between them to rub against the pooling warmth and dampness there, sending sparks through her that left her near trembling with desire.
His hands shifted on her shoulders, did something to the laces of her borrowed bodice. Callused fingers dragged the suddenly loose fabric down, to uncover her breasts and leave them entirely bare, the feel of sliding fabric and then cooler air causing her to flinch and bite at her lip in an effort to hold back an entirely unladylike sound…
Only for her to release a startled gasp of mingled pleasure and need, as Daniel’s mouth fastened, hot and moist and demanding, over her right nipple, tongue lapping at the sensitive bud and mapping every inch of the flesh around it. Teeth scraped gently at the sensitized flesh, making her shiver against him, sending more shocks through her body, and intensifying the pulsing heat that had settled low in her abdomen. She was begging for something more. She found herself pressing into his leg, seeking...something, as his attention inflamed her nerves.
Daniel made another sound, a sigh mixed with a growl. He stopped teasing her breast to tip his head against her collarbone. “Tell me to stop.” His voice was rough and ragged.
She knew she should, and that he would respect her word if she but gave the slightest indication she did not wish to continue. But she had invited this, and she delighted in the sensations. She knew as well as he that this might happen only once, though her reasons for such knowledge were surely different than his.
She had thought herself beyond any hope of such experiences after the disastrous end of her previous relationship. Even if this was to end in more heartache, she did not want to relinquish this chance with Daniel.
She released the back of his shirt. Before he could move away, she slid her hands to the front of it, tugged the fabric loose from his waistband, and plunged her hand underneath, running her palms over the heated, toned flesh of his abdomen. She felt the muscles there quiver with the same tension that sang through her. At the same time, she turned her head, tipped it the slightest bit, and whispered, “I will not,” into his ear, before nipping the lobe and tracing her tongue across the skin just below it.
Daniel jerked, tipping his head to allow her better access—quite unconsciously she thought. His hands flexed on her waist, low moans echoing from the depths of his throat and sending vibrations through his chest.
