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She shrieked and covered her eyes. “Clothe yourself!”
“Are you having me on, Madam?” Beatrice peeked and saw Arthur’s hands planted on his hips, inexorably drawing her attention there, doing nothing to calm her nerves. She covered her eyes again. “Here you are, facing down the largest bear on this island, and when confronted with a bit of skin—”
“More than a bit, you heathen,” she muttered from behind her palms. She peeked again. “Larger than His Highness?”
“What larger?” His voice was as silky as stockings drawing up her legs.
“Your bear! Not your…parts.”
“Both larger.” Could a man his size snicker like a boy? “Additionally, I feel I must point out, you are not unfamiliar with my mighty oak.”
“I have not been required to gaze upon it.” She turned her back.
His warmth and size were like a bulwark without being overwhelming or overpowering. “Do so, if it pleases you,” his voice at her ear. “It is your right.”
***
Madam turned her back on him. He, Arthur Humphries, Duke of Osborn, one of the few truly fearsome predators at the top of the hierarchy in the whole of England, and she turned her back on him with as little thought as if he were a goldfinch or a snail.
He moved closer, let his heat wash over her back. Paradoxically, it made her shiver.
“We have lain together,” he murmured against her ear. He inhaled her unleashed fragrance; he was intoxicated.
“We have,” she said, her tone acerbic and yet…possibly only in an effort to keep up frosty appearances. “In the dark, under the covers. Not out in the open, like those dippers down in Brighton.”
“Dippers? In Brighton?”
“The Bawdy Bathers of Brighton.” She went so far as to send an incredulous glance over her shoulder and got caught, in a manner of speaking, in his chest hair. He flexed his pectoral muscles; rather than blush as he thought she might, Freya help him, she moistened her lips, the little pink tip of her tongue dragging along her plump lower lip, and he lost track of what—
“Thewhatnow?”
“They are women and men bathing in the sea together, in the, in the—”
“In thenip?” He knew he sounded gleeful. He had never heard of this, and he heard of everything. Well, not nearly as much as his sister-in-law did, to be fair.
“Ask Charlotte, I am sure she will provide you with chapter and verse.” Her gaze slipped down to his belly, and she turned fully away again.
“And here you said you do not like gossip.”
“This is not gossip, it is factual information as you may find in a newssheet or a ladies’ magazine.”
“If this is what lies between the covers ofLa Belle Assemblée, I shall take up a subscription posthaste.”
“You will not find articles on how to woo your intendeden plein air.”
“Shall I woo you despite the barn door closing behind the horse?”
“I hope I might have more distinction than to be, to be taken on the ground.”
“Madam.” He laid his hands on her shoulders and stood as close as he dared, given his state of arousal, which had sprung up, pun intended, in a heartbeat. “I would take you everywhere and anywhere and always assure your comfort in every case. Come, now,” he purred, yes, he would admit it, like one of those bloody cats she pampered. “Shall we not look upon one another and see ourselves as we truly are?”
“I am not truly Lady Frost,” she whispered.
“Oh, that lady. I find her to be intoxicatingly capable,” he whispered in return. “I find when she melts, she reveals a fierce little creature who is delicious.” He rubbed his nose against her ear. “And delightful.” She shivered; he did it again. “I am not a ravening beast with no thought to your pleasure or comfort.”
“I find when the beast rumbles and grumbles, he reveals his desire for me.”
Ah. “My desire for you is incontrovertible and was growing before your status was revealed. It is not merely due toversipelliancustom I desire you. But due to it I know we will suit, forever.”
