He forced himself to step back long enough to get out of his own clothes. When he was finished he hesitated, seeking some sign of approval.

She levered herself up on her elbow and groped around the nightstand. She found the spectacles, put them on, and looked at him with an amazed expression.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, clearly nonplussed. “I realized the other night that you were considerably larger than the statues of nude males I have seen, but I hadn’t realized the enormity of the situation, as it were.”

He was not sure how to take that. “I do not believe that I have ever been compared to a statue,” he finally said.

She started to giggle. The giggle turned into a laugh. She clapped a hand across her mouth. Her eyes were brilliant.

Another rush of intoxicating need and anticipation swept through him. He removed the freshly washed and ironed linen handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and walked back to the bed.

He reached down, removed her spectacles for the second time, and set them on the table. Crouching beside the bed, he unfastened first one little high-heeled walking boot and then the other, letting the shoes tumble to the carpet. Slowly he drew a hand down one of her soft, sweetly rounded legs, taking the garter and stocking with it. Then he stripped off the other stocking.

He lowered himself onto the bed beside her. She sucked in a quick, shaky little breath when he tugged her chemise off over her head, but when he bent his head to kiss the taut tips of her breasts she uttered an urgent little moan. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and then she was clawing at his back.

He moved slowly along her body, savoring her, letting her become familiar with his touch. When her legs began to shift restlessly and she twisted, trying to get closer to him, he stripped off the drawers. She flinched as the last barrier to modesty fell away. He looked up and saw that her eyes were very tightly closed, but she did not attempt to retreat.

She moved her hand down between them, encircling him gently. The rush of desire that hit him very nearly did him in then and there.

He threaded his fingers through the triangle of soft curls at the apex of her thighs and found her core with his hand. She was already slick and hot and swollen. He stroked her gently, seeking the sensitive nubbin. When he found it she nearly levitated off the bed.

“Anthony.” Her nails bit into the skin of his upper arm.

He teased her until she writhed at his touch and tried to press herself more firmly against the heel of his hand. Then he slid two fingers deep inside, hooking upward.

Louisa gasped and tightened around him. He looked down at her. She was beyond any sense of restraint or hesitation now, caught up in the heat of her own passion. No woman had ever looked more beautiful, he thought.

He slid between her legs. Before she could even begin to realize what he intended to do, he put his mouth on her, giving her the most intimate of kisses.

“What on earth?” she yelped. “Oh, no, you mustn’t.”

Frantic now, she tried to sit up and scoot backward. He caught her hips, dragged her back into position, and with her anchored there, he resumed stroking her with his tongue. The taste and scent of her body was a drug that he would have killed to obtain.

Her fingers tensed in his hair.

“Anthony?”

He felt the telltale tightening of her body and knew what was about to happen before she did. He inserted his thumbs and stretched her gently.

“Dear heaven,” she moaned. “Dear heaven. Anthony.”

There were no more words. Her release took her away. It very nearly took him with it.

He managed to slide back up her body, easing into her tight, intense heat before the tiny ripples of release had ceased. She clenched around him, destroying the last of his self-control.

His climax exploded through him after only a few strokes. He barely managed to drag himself out of Louisa’s snug little channel in time to spend into the handkerchief.

When it was over he collapsed into the pillows, feeling more at peace than he had since the night Fiona died.

35

Louisa floated slowly upward out of the pleasant sea of contentment in which she had been drifting. She stirred, stretched out a hand, and fumbled around on the bedside table. Her fingers finally closed around her spectacles. She put them on and looked down over the side of the bed.

Her chemise lay in a frothy little heap on the carpet. She snatched it up and slipped it on over her head.

Feeling somewhat more modest, she sat up amid the bedclothes and studied Anthony. He was sprawled on his stomach, his head turned toward her on the pillow. His eyes were closed, his dark hair tousled. The contoured muscles of his back looked very sleek and sensual and excitingly powerful. She had loved the feel of his weight on her, crushing her into the bed.

She stretched out a hand and stroked his shoulder gently, not wanting to awaken him.

“I must remember to bring some French letters next time,” Anthony said into the pillow.

She jumped, jerking her hand back as though she had touched a hot stove.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

“Almost.” He did not open his eyes. “You exhausted me.”

“What are French letters?” she asked, very curious.

He opened his eyes and smiled his slow, inviting smile. “Condoms.”

She felt herself turn pink. “I see.”

“The technique I have employed thus far is not entirely reliable.”

“Oh.”

More heat rose in her cheeks. As a woman of the world who was now involved in an illicit affair, she would have to grow accustomed to the casual discussion of such intimate matters, she reminded herself.

“Well?” he asked, watching her intently.

She looked at him, baffled. “Well, what?”

He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. “Was that a more satisfactory experience?”

She was blushing so furiously now she was amazed she did not set fire to the sheets.

“Indeed.” She cleared her throat. “I now comprehend why illicit affairs are so fashionable.”

“Huh.”

He did not look nearly as pleased as he had a moment ago.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

“There is something I have wanted to ask you. Something very personal. I will understand if you do not wish to answer my question.”

He took one arm out from behind his head and used it to drag her down on top of him. “What is it?”

She folded her arms on his chest and rested her chin on her stacked hands. “I have heard the rumors about what happened between you and your fiancée just before she died.”

His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “I’m not surprised. Between the sensation press, the penny dreadfuls, and the gossip in the Polite World, most of London was aware of the rumors.”

“Are any of them true? Were you planning to end your engagement to her because you found her in bed with another man?”

He was silent for so long she thought he would not answer at all.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I have never told anyone else that, however. I’m not sure how the rumors got started. I can only assume that the man I found her with confided in someone who, in turn, started the gossip.”

“Illicit affairs are almost never entirely secret.”

“True.”

“You must have loved her very much.”

He sat up abruptly, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got to his feet. “My love for Fiona died the day I found her with her lover.”

She felt a sharp pang of sympathy. “It must have been dreadful for you.”

“In hindsight, I think she intended for me to learn about the affair in that manner.” He crossed the room and picked up his underclothes and trousers. “She did not have the courage to tell me the truth straight out, but deep down I believe she wanted me to know that she loved another. In her own way, she was trying to be honest with me before the marriage.”