Page 412 of From Rakes to Riches

“Is there anything else?” he asked softly, taking a step nearer.

Her breathing quickened at the smoldering look in his eyes.

“Anything else?” she echoed, rather dazed.

“If you have any questions?—”

“No, no questions.”

And then his hands were loosening her sash and undoing the clasp and pushing her dressing gown off her shoulders. The languid feeling of passion was sweeping over her again, making everything else fade away but the need to be touched by him. How would it feel to touch in return? Every evening it seemed more difficult to let him go.

When he spoke, she was startled, and her gaze lifted to his.

“When we were dancing today, I noticed what a delicate waist you have.”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Surely it was because of my corset.”

“I’ll have to find out for myself.”

He put his hands on the front of her stomach, then oh so slowly slid them around her waist. His thumbs feathered along her ribs, light touches repeated over and over just beneath her breasts. They were heavy with an ache she’d only begun to be aware of the last several days.

He leaned over her, the width of him blocking out the dim candlelight. His chin stirred the hair above her ear.

He whispered, “Your nightdress is so sheer that I can almost see through it.”

She held her breath, her focus concentrated on the nearness of him, the need inside her to lean against him.

“Do you want to know what I can see?” he asked.

She hesitated so long, but he waited. “Yes.”

His head lowered; his breath was hot against her neck, and she knew he was looking down her body.

“Your nipples are hard against the silk.”

She couldn’t control the shudder that swept through her. His hands continued to play at her waist, teasing higher, but never touching what he was looking at. She felt an urgent need to touch him as well, to take part in this strange dance they did every night.

She lifted her hand, and he stilled. Was he holding his breath as she had? Hadn’t he touched and been touched by women before? Or was it different because she was his wife?

She put her hand on his left wrist and felt his bare skin, and the scattering of hair. Trembling, she let her fingers slide up his arm slowly over his dressing gown. There was a hardness to him that she lacked, a curve of muscle that she had seen for herself just the night before. With her gaze she followed her hand up his arm until she reached his shoulder. She was looking up at him, and he was still leaning over her, their heads so close. She couldn’t read his expression, only knew that he was intent upon her.

To David’s surprise, tonight had proved that the touch of a virgin could be more intoxicating than that of an experienced woman. Or was it only because it was Victoria who touched him, Victoria who was proving that she wanted this marriage.

Maybe as much as he did. But his were purely practical reasons.

He said, “A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have wanted to touch me.”

She tilted her head to look up at him, and her hair tumbled freely past her shoulder. “I felt that you should not be the only one to make an effort.”

He smiled. “ ‘An effort’ sounds like a difficult thing to do. Was it such an effort, then, to touch my arm?”

“No,” she whispered. Her eyes grew determined. “I can be bold sometimes. Did you see the journal I left on the table there?”

He frowned.

“Don’t you recognize it?” she asked.

“Yes.” She was watching him carefully now, and it made him uneasy. Why did the sight of that journal disturb him?

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