Page 21 of A Lyon’s Lesson

“I see.” She bit her bottom lip, and he was conscious of a rush of heat to his groin, and the overwhelming urge to say anything that would get her to forgive him for the unforgivable. “Was that why you wouldn’t let Lord Bidenden win?”

He frowned, trying to remember what he had been feeling in that moment at the Lyon’s Den. “I just knew I couldn’t let you be sacrificed to him. If I behaved badly, he was a hundred times worse. I’m no saint, but I’m not the blackguard he is.”

She nodded. “That is true.”

“Which bit?” he said teasingly.

She grinned back. “You’re certainly no saint!”

He laughed. “You have my measure, my lady.”

She picked up her wine glass and traced a finger around the rim, chewing her lip again in a way that triggered another surge of heat. Fuck, I want her.

The realization hit him with full force. Was that the reason he had played so hard to win? The thought of Bidenden touching her provoked something primal in him he’d never felt before.

She looked up from staring at the wine in her glass and said, “To be honest, I didn’t think you wanted to . . .”

Her words startled him, especially given what he had been thinking.

“You’ve seemed distant since the wedding . . .”

He grimaced and drank some more wine. “Have I? Yes, I suppose I have. I’m sorry.” He paused, at a loss to explain how he was feeling. Self-reflection wasn’t something he did a lot of, but the events of the past couple of weeks had confronted him with a raft of things he had never had to think about before and his own self honesty forced him to recognize that he had been pushed into uncomfortable territory. To the extent that he no longer felt like himself. Which begged the question, who am I now? And he didn’t have an answer.

Realizing he had been staring at the ruby liquid in his glass for far too long, he looked up at Cecey and was struck again by a quality in her that he had sensed before but didn’t understand: a kind of vulnerable strength. Which sounded like a contradiction and made no sense. He shook his head and put down the wine glass.

“I felt that it would be better to wait until we had arrived at our destination before—“ he hesitated, “tackling intimacy.”

He noted her fingers clenching tightly on her wine glass before she placed it carefully on the table and rose, her lips compressed tightly.

He rose too. “You haven’t finished your meal.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, turning aside. What the devil did I say to make her look like that? Her whole demeanor seemed to tense up.

“Cecelia,” he moved toward her and turned her around to face him, “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” She stared fixedly at his chest, and he said coaxingly, “Don’t be at outs with me. I won’t force you if you’re not ready.”

She lifted her gaze and searched his face, a slight pucker between her brows. “Is it such an unpleasant task?”

He smiled. “Not for me. I was concerned about you.” God, no! Not for me at all!

“Oh! I thought you—” She stopped and took a breath. “I’m quite ready.”

He let out a soft sigh of relief. “Good.” He kissed her forehead gently. “We didn’t choose this, Cecelia. We have to make the best of it.”

She nodded and leaned her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. The warmth of her body against his wove its magic again, and he pulled back a fraction to cup her face and lower his head to kiss her mouth, murmuring, “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

She leaned into his kiss with a muffled little sound, rising up on her toes. He let himself sink into the kiss, let the heat and tingling desire he’d been fighting all evening wash through his body, let his lips and tongue coax responses from her that ignited his blood.

She pressed close, he pulled her closer. He hadn’t lied about this. He wanted her, quite desperately in fact, and to his immense relief, she seemed to feel the same. He scooped her up and carried her up the stairs to her room. He noted absently that where his was decorated in dark blue, hers was dusky pink. But he wasn’t concerned with decor right now. She was the center of his attention. He set her on her feet by the big bed and ran his lips down the side of her neck while his fingers sought the laces at her back to loosen her dress.

He had thought they would take this slower, that she would retire to her room to prepare for him, but his body, and it would seem hers, had other ideas. He felt her hands tugging at his neckcloth and pulled back to help her get rid of it. She reached for the buttons on his waistcoat, he shed his jacket quickly. Returning to the vexing strings of her gown, which he eventually managed to loosen, he pulled the bodice free of her arms, along with the corset, allowing it to fall to her waist and then, with a slight wriggle, from her hips to her feet. Leaving her standing in only her chemise. He pulled his shirt free of his breeches and then picked her up bodily and laid her on the bed, crawling over her. She lay looking up at him, her face flushed, breathing quickly, her hair starting to come out if its pins, and he murmured, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She reached up to draw him closer, with a little sound in her throat, and he bent to kiss her again. His back arched, his hips working above her body. God, I want to fuck her!

He pushed the crude thought away. He needed to pace himself, attend to her pleasure first, or he was no better than Bidenden. But his cock pulsed inside his breeches, reminding him how long it had been since he’d felt the deep pleasure of sinking inside a woman.

He uttered a soft groan as he ran his lips down her throat and cupped her breasts through the fabric of her chemise. She had lovely breasts, full and round, with nipples just begging to be suckled. He latched onto one, pulling at it through the fabric, making her arch into him with an aching little sound that made his cock dance and leak. Fuck yes!

He’d never considered that making an innocent come would be so deliciously erotic. But one as responsive as Cecelia? Oh my God, yes!