Page 84 of The Duelist for the Ton
He traced a line with his fingertips along her throat, then the ripples in her body increased as he followed the neckline of her nightgown. How could a touch be so soft, yet elicit such potent sensations deep inside her body?
Then he slipped his hand inside her nightgown, letting his fingers slide over her breasts. She tilted her head back, drawing in a lungful of air, as her whole body tightened with an unfathomable sensation, wicked in its deliciousness. He cupped one breast, and tears stung her eyes at the tender reverence of his touch, as if he treasured her.
His lips curved into a smile, then he flicked his thumb over her nipple. It hardened to a painful point against his palm, and she let out a low cry. Her breasts grew heavy and warm, and she arched her back, offering them to him, succumbing to her body’s instinct to chase the pleasure.
“Stephen!”
At her cry, he withdrew his hand, his cheeks coloring. “Forgive me. I-I cannot do this.”
Blushing with shame at her wantonness, Portia folded her arms over her chest. “Go, then,” she said, stepping back. “You’re under no obligation. I can speak to my brother tomorrow.”
“Oh, heavens!” he said. “Do you still believe I don’t desire you more than anything—that I don’t want to be with you, to make love to you for the rest of my days? I—” He broke off. “I-I cannottake your innocence like this—a stolen moment in another man’s house. It’s not…”
“Not what?” she said. “Not proper? Perhaps not by Society’s standards, but is not admitting our feelings and desires an expression of honesty?”
He blinked, and a sheen of moisture glistened in his eyes. Then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. His chest rose and fell in a sigh.
“Yes, my love,” he said, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, “it’s the ultimate expression of honesty.”
“Then stay,” she said. “If you love me, stay.”
He glanced toward the bed, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through her at the flare of need in his eyes.
“Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Yes, Stephen. I have never been more certain.”
He lifted his hand to her breast and grazed it with his knuckle, and she let out a low cry as the nipple again hardened, poking hungrily at the fabric.
“Shh…” he whispered. “You must be quiet.”
“But—”
He pressed a finger against her lips. “I will stay if you promise not to make a sound—however much you wish to.”
She met his gaze, and her soul surrendered at the tenderness in his eyes.
“Yes, my love,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He brushed his lips against hers, then lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed.
“Stephen,” she protested, “I can walk.”
“Perhaps, but I want to carry you,” he whispered. “Always.”
He placed her on the bed, then lifted the hem of her nightgown.
“May I?” he whispered.
She nodded, then lifted her arms while he peeled off her nightgown. Her skin tightened in the air, and she shifted her arms in an instinctive move to cover her breasts, but he caught her hand.
“No,” he whispered. “You have nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. Let me look at you—at your beautiful body.”
“More flattery?”
“No, devotion. Now hush—be still while I show you. Lie back.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back. For a heartbeat she resisted, then she yielded to his touch and sank onto the bed.
