Page 33 of Master of Games
“You spoke with my father?” She gasped. “Did you ask his permission to propose?”
“I did. Not that it mattered. He told me that he had no say in the matter and that I was going to have a hell of a time convincing you.”
A small laugh fell from her lips. But then her lips pressed together. “And I can’t tell you again that you might change your mind when you see my body?”
“No. You can’t. It’s time for both of us to prove our mettle, don’t you think?”
She let out a long sigh, staring off into the fire. “I think you’re right. It’s time.” She drew in a long, deep breath, the kind that filled her lungs and cleared her fear. “But I’m not going to lie, I think it was easier to run into a burning building than do this.”
He reached for her corset strings again, pulling the laces wide. “I am both impressed and appalled.”
“Why,” she untied her overskirts, sliding off the bed so that she could stand and remove them.
“Because, unlike other people who say such things, you’ve actually committed the act.”
She turned away, shimmying out of her corset. “That’s what makes it true. And when you think about it, that afternoon when the tea house burned, I didn’t have any time to think or consider the repercussions. But for the last two years, I’ve done little but wonder how a man would react to my nudity.”
His arms wrapped about her, pulling her close. When had he stood? She’d been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to hear him.
But she drew in his strength now. Her arms covering his, she closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”
Sliding his hands down her body, he grasped the hem of her chemise, slowly gathering the fabric in his hands as he pulled it up her legs.
She held perfectly still, her chin high.
This was the Tabbie he knew. He didn’t mind that she’d taken several attempts to find her strength. And he’d been more than glad to help move her to this moment. It made him feel like a man to know she’d needed his help.
But he loved that she’d found her inner steel. It only made him love her more.
The chemise cleared her derriere, delightfully round and absolutely gorgeous, with only a small tentacle of a scar reaching down to mar the perfect flesh. But as more of her back was revealed, he saw the angry red welts that covered her skin, the largest, the size of a small round target for archery that wrapped around her front.
He stopped lifting and leaned down to begin kissing the damaged skin.
He’d made a promise and before he revealed any more of her body, before the tension built any higher, he wanted her to know…he’d meant every word.
He kissed along the edges of every mark, over the middle of each welt until he lost track of time, of the space between them.
And only when she sighed out, her body relaxed and content, did he keep raising her chemise higher.
When it cleared her breasts, he heard her intake of breath.
Her father had mentioned that one of them had been affected. He’d not indulge his curiosity now. Today was not about him. It was about her and her understanding that she could trust him not to be affected.
So he didn’t look. Instead, he kissed along her shoulder and her arm as she lifted them both so that he might pull the chemise over her head.
His hand settled on her belly, pulling her back to his front. She still wore her stockings, tied by ribbons, his other hand grasped her hip, dancing over her outer thigh until he reached the ribbon and plucked at the bow with gentle fingers.
“You already know I’m not very scarred on my legs,” she whispered. “There is no need to remove them.”
“This isn’t about seeing your scars,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. “It’s about worshiping your silky skin. Which I intend to do.”
“Oh Caden,” she choked out the words, emotion filling her voice. “You can’t mean that you’re not affected…”
He glanced over her shoulder, seeing one of the most perfect breasts he’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. High, full, with the kind of pale pink nipple that might make a man ache. And then he looked at the other. Just as high and full but with a slashing angry mark that marred the skin of her nipple.
He’d heard a goat farmer on his lands once describe how if a female goat had twins, she’d sometimes care for the sick kid and reject the healthy one, assuming another goat would take up the rejected kid’s care.
Caden, in an instant, understood that the affected breast needed all of his love and attention.
