Page 16 of A Virgin for His Grace
"Sleepless nights," he murmured, setting aside his book with deliberate care. "I find myself increasingly afflicted with them of late. Strange dreams, restless thoughts..." His gaze moved over her with leisurely appreciation, taking in her loose hair and silk-clad form. "Tell me, Miss Greystone, what manner of dreams trouble your sleep?"
The question was clearly improper, yet delivered with such silk-wrapped seduction that Arabella found herself answering before she could consider the wisdom of such honesty.
"Disturbing ones," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Dreams of... of things that should not be contemplated by a lady of proper breeding."
Devon's eyes flashed with something that might have been triumph or satisfaction. "Should they not? How tedious it must be, to have one's thoughts so rigidly governed by propriety. Do you never long to cast aside such restrictions, Miss Greystone? To explore the darker corners of your imagination without fear of censure?"
He rose from his chair as he spoke, moving toward her with that predatory grace that never failed to make her pulse quicken. Arabella found herself backing toward the door, yet something, some treacherous part of her that craved the danger he represented, prevented her from fleeing entirely.
"A lady's thoughts should be occupied with improving subjects," she said weakly, though even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.
"Should they?" Devon asked with gentle mockery, continuing his advance until she found herself backed against the solid wood of the door. "And yet here you are, wandering the halls at midnight in nothing but silk and moonlight, seeking... what? Surely not merely a book to while away the hours."
His hands came up to brace against the door on either side of her head, effectively trapping her whilst maintaining the fiction that she was free to leave if she chose. The familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot surrounded her, mixed now with the darker notes of brandy and something indefinably masculine that made her feel quite dizzy.
"I was seeking distraction from thoughts that torment me," she whispered, unable to look away from his compelling gaze.
"And what manner of thoughts might those be?" Devon asked, his voice dropping to that dangerous purr she was beginning to recognize. "Thoughts of propriety and reputation? Of the respectable future that has been snatched away from you? Or perhaps..." His thumb brushed along her jaw with feather-light touch. "Perhaps thoughts of a more... intimate nature?"
Arabella's breath caught in her throat as she felt herself swaying toward him despite every rational thought screaming at her to maintain her distance. "Your Grace, you forget yourself."
"Do I?" Devon's free hand came up to trace the edge of her silk robe where it met her throat, his fingers barely grazing her skin yet sending shivers of awareness racing through her entire body. "Or do I perhaps remember all too clearly what passed between us in Lord Godric's folly? The way you trembled when I touched you, the way your lips parted when they were so close to mine..."
"That was... that was mere shock," Arabella protested weakly, though the words sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Was it?" Devon's smile was knowing and infinitely dangerous. "Then you will not object to a small experiment, I trust. To prove that your virtue remains as unassailable as you claim."
Before Arabella could ask what manner of experiment he had in mind, Devon's mouth was on hers, claiming her lipswith a hunger that drove all rational thought from her mind. This was not the gentle, questioning almost kiss of the folly, but something far more demanding, more possessive, that spoke to needs she had not even known she possessed.
Her hands came up instinctively to push against his chest, yet instead of creating distance, her fingers curled into the fine linen of his shirt, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric, the steady thunder of his heartbeat beneath her palms, the way his muscles tensed as she pressed herself against him.
Devon's hands slid down to grasp her waist, lifting her until her feet barely touched the ground, pressing her back against the door with the full length of his powerful frame. She could feel his arousal, hard and unmistakable, against her abdomen, and the knowledge that she had provoked such a response in London's most notorious rake sent a thrill of purely feminine satisfaction through her.
"Goodness," he groaned against her mouth, her given name falling from his lips like a prayer or a curse. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? How you haunt my every waking thought?"
His mouth moved to her throat, placing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin whilst his hands explored the curves of her body through the thin silk of her robe. When his teeth grazed the spot where her pulse hammered wildly, she cried out softly, her head falling back to grant him better access.
"Tell me to stop," Devon commanded roughly, even as his hands worked at the ties of her robe. "Tell me to walk away andpreserve what remains of your innocence."
But Arabella found herself incapable of speech, lost in sensations she had never imagined possible. The silk fell away from her shoulders, pooling at her feet and leaving her clad only in the thin lawn of her nightgown. Devon's eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the sight of her body revealed by the firelight, her curves clearly visible through the translucent fabric.
"Beautiful," he whispered reverently, his hands skimming along her sides, mapping the contours of her waist and hips with reverent touch. "So beautiful it takes my breath away."
His mouth found hers again, more demanding now, his tongue exploring with an intimacy that made her knees weak. She could taste the brandy on his lips, feel the slight roughness of his jaw against her softer skin, breathe in the intoxicating scent that was purely, unmistakably him.
When his hands cupped her breasts through the fine lawn, she gasped at the unfamiliar yet exquisite sensation, her nipples hardening beneath his touch in a way that both shocked and thrilled her. The proper Miss Arabella Greystone would have been appalled by such wanton behavior, yet she found herself arching into his caress, craving more of the sweet torture he was providing.
"Please," she whispered, though she was not entirely certain what she was pleading for.
Devon's answering smile was dark with promise. "Please what? Tell me what you want, what you need."
Before she could formulate an answer, his mouth was at her throat again, trailing lower until he reached the neckline of her nightgown. With hands that trembled slightly, the first sign of his own loss of control, he slowly untied the ribbons that held the garment closed, pushing the fabric aside to reveal the pale curves of her breasts to his hungry gaze.
"Perfect," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "Absolutely perfect."
When his mouth closed over one taut nipple, his gentle pressure sent shock waves of pleasure through her entire body and Arabella thought she might actually swoon from the intensity of sensation. Her hands went to his dark hair, holding him to her breast whilst soft cries of pleasure escaped her lips without conscious volition.
Devon's free hand explored the curves of her body with increasing boldness, skimming over her ribs, her waist, her hips, before moving lower to gather the hem of her nightgown in his fist. The knowledge that nothing but thin lawn separated his touch from her most intimate places sent heat pooling low in her abdomen, a strange aching need that seemed to demand relief she did not quite understand.
