Page 53 of Lord Garson's Bride

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“I want it.” He took a pace toward her. “By God, I want it.”

She licked her lips again, and for the first time said the words that had been true since their wedding night. Powerful words, expressing a powerful feeling. That very power had once turned her to ice. But no longer.

“And I want you.”

At last, he seized her in his arms. “My beautiful wife, you make me so happy.”

By now, she should be used to his kisses, but perhaps because this kiss wasn’t an end unto itself, but the beginning of a passionate journey, it felt different. Hungrily she kissed him back, twining her arms about him and pressing as close as she could.

He turned around, almost waltzing her into the bedroom where last night, she’d slept in his arms. Tonight she’d lie in his arms again, but she suspected there wouldn’t be much sleep involved. He set her on her feet near the bed.

With greedy hands, she ripped at his neck cloth and cast it away. “I wanted to tell you first thing this morning.”

He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and tore at the buttons on his cream brocade waistcoat. “I wasn’t fit for you then.”

She knocked his hands out of the way and pushed the waistcoat off, letting it drop to the floor with his coat. “What about now?”

He kissed her as if he starved. When he raised his head, the light in his eyes made her shiver again. What a long way she’d come in these few days. This unabashed passion would have sent the girl who married him fleeing for the hills.

“I’m burning up with wanting you.” He kicked off his shoes and grasped her shoulders to turn her round so fast, her head swam. “Why are you wearing so many damned clothes?”

“Because I like to make your life difficult,” she said, wondering who this smart-mouthed wench was. It certainly wasn’t prim Jane Norris.

“Then congratulations, it’s working,” he grunted, tearing at her laces so roughly that her body jerked. “That bloody maid should be shot for trussing you up like a Christmas goose.”

Jane was panting, and her hands opened and closed at her sides as she fought the urge to tell him to forget aboutundressing her and just throw her on her back. “Tear it,” she said in a strained voice.

He didn’t query the command. The sound of rending fabric, and air brushed across the bare skin of her back and shoulders. She wriggled to pull the long sleeves down and twisted her hips until the ruined gray gown puddled at her feet.

“Shall I tear the corset, too?”

“No, I’ll unhook it from the front.” She turned to face him, as her shaking hands unfastened her plain corset and dropped it to the floor.

Hugh looked like a man on the brink of disintegration. How she loved that what happened between them was so important to him. She watched hungrily as he tugged his shirt over his head and sent it flying into the corner. That magnificent chest was just as breathtaking as she remembered from last night.

This time, she didn’t have to hold back from touching him. She ran seeking hands down those ridges of hard muscle. His trousers didn’t do much to hide the hardest part of all. The way he responded to her had once been terrifying. No longer.

He caught her by the waist, grabbing handfuls of linen shift, and hauled her closer until her breasts met his chest. She stroked his powerful back, feeling the subtle shift of muscle under her palms. More ruthless kisses that left her shaking with excitement. The heat of his mouth, his blatant need, made the blood pound between her legs. Dark, irresistible desire churned in her belly, as her body turned hot and liquid.

On their wedding night, she’d started to feel like this, as though she lost her footing in a raging sea. It had scared her into running away. She’d felt like this when he’d touched her in the carriage, and she’d discovered that these intoxicating responses were the gateway to blazing sensation.

Tonight instead of recoiling from the flames, she flung herself forward, seeking immolation.

With a groan, Hugh tore his lips from hers and scraped his teeth down the sensitive skin of her neck. A dizzy, quivery feeling gushed through her, and her knees turned to water.

“Oh,” she gasped, tilting her hips toward his erect rod. He groaned again and bit her neck. The faint sting sharpened her arousal. As her body convulsed, she dug her fingernails into his back.

He rubbed her loose shift up and down her bottom, creating a teasing friction. Then he edged a few inches away and tugged the shift over her head. That left her wearing filmy white drawers, black satin shoes, and white stockings gartered at the knee. She wasn’t naked, quite, but she felt like she was.

Hugh’s eyes flared as they focused on her breasts. Her nipples, already tight and aching, hardened to the brink of pain. Her hands fluttered toward her chest, before she deliberately forced them back to her sides. It took courage to face him without concealment, but she refused to be frightened. Fear had already stolen too much time.

His gaze lifted to meet hers. What she found there moved her to the depths of her soul. His expression held endless wonder.

“You’re a goddess, Jane.” The awe in his voice clutched at her heart. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.” The humor she loved creased the skin around his eyes. “Or perhaps more like this.”

Trembling, she waited for him to touch her breasts, but instead, he drew one pin from her upswept hair, then another. A long tress snaked down over her shoulder to curl over her bare breast.

“Shall I let my hair down?” she asked huskily.