Page 83 of The Duelist for the Ton
She slapped his arm, and he gave an expression of mock hurt.
“You wound me, my darling.”
“Hush! I don’t want the shock of seeing us in a compromising position bringing on Beatrice’s confinement,” she said. “Not that she’s particularly timid. Henrietta told me that she used to keep a pistol under her pillow.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She shot her husband once, thinking him an intruder.”
“Heavens!” he said. “Am I surrounded by hoydens?”
“Would you prefer timidity in a woman?”
“Certainly not.” He approached the door and turned the handle.
“No!” she whispered. “If Beatrice is retiring, her maid will soon follow. You don’t want to get caught.”
“But I shouldn’t stay here, much as I’d like to.”
She turned toward him, her cheeks warming at her impending boldness. “Why would you like to stay here?”
He gave a lopsided grin. “There’s a warm fire—and I admit the prospect of being harangued by a harridan in the passageway is not my idea of an enjoyable evening.”
“As opposed to the harridan in this room?”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “I would never consider you a harridan, Portia.”
His tongue flicked out and caressed the back of her hand. A shiver of need rippled through her, and she squeezed her legs together to ease the ache in her center.
How could such a simple touch elicit such wicked sensations?”
He licked his lips, and her stomach fluttered at the raw hunger in his gaze.
“I confess I’m disappointed in you, colonel,” she said. A flicker of rejection gleamed in his eyes, and he tried to release her hand but she curled her fingers around his wrist. His pulse beat faintly against the tip of her thumb—his lifeblood, coming from a heart he’d professed as belonging to her.
“H-have I failed you?” he whispered, an undercurrent of vulnerability in his tone.
“I thought you valued absolute honesty above all else,” she said, tilting her head sideways in the manner of a coquette. “Do you expect me to believe you when you say you wish to remain here merely because of the warm fire?”
He drew her close, and a thrill coursed through her veins as his hot breath caressed her neck. Then he lowered his head and his hair brushed against her ear.
“Not merely the warm fire, my lady,” he said, his voice a low growl, “but the warm body I have in my arms—the body I intend to spend the rest of my life worshipping.”
She lowered her gaze to conquer the shame of her wantonness—and the fear of his rejection. “And…tonight?”
“Ohh…” His voice carried undertones of agony as he trembled against her. “Sweet Lord, what have I done to merit such temptation?”
She lifted her gaze. His eyes were closed and his jaw bulged as if he gritted his teeth with restraint.
“Stephen…” she whispered.
“Oh heavens, what you do to me!” he groaned. “What you have always done to me when I hear my name on your lips. If only you knew how I long to hear you cry my name!”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, and he drew in a sharp breath. He placed his hand over hers and exhaled.
“Portia…”
He traced a line along her arm, sending ripples of desire with each touch, the heat of his body seeming to burn through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
A whimper escaped her lips as her body began to pulse faintly, and she shifted closer to him, chasing the delicious sensation.
Heavens, was this what happened when a man seduced a woman? Was this why so many innocents fell to ruin—all for the sake of a single taste of…this?
