Page 22 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

That mouth. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply to drive her to madness and the peak of pleasure before pulling back and making her whimper with need.

Finally, when she was shaking with arousal and all but crying with desire, he brought her to slow, blinding orgasm. Her entire body clenched, and she heard someone crying out in fractured screams. She was cryingGodandyesanddon’t stop.

And then she was crashing down, but even the aftermath was sweet as pleasant shocks vibrated through her.

Munro emerged from under her skirts, which had fallen to her thighs as she’d writhed under his ministrations. “I daresay that is a quarter of an hour,” he said, composed as could be. His gaze raked over her, and in that moment, she saw herself as he must have—bared breasts, legs open, cheeks and lips flushed. Good God, they hadn’t even kissed on the lips.

He took a breath. “You look delicious,” he said. “If I had more time…but we’ll save that, yes?”

She could only try and force breath into her lungs. She didn’t want to save anything. She wanted to release the fall of his trousers and take him inside her. But she had to remember who he was andwhathe was. She had to resist him. Yes, he’d survived three temptations. Yes, he’d given her pleasure just now and taken none for himself. But wasn’t that the way of the rake? To seduce a woman using any means necessary?

"What are you thinking?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

She could barely form any sort of coherent thought. But she had to say something. “We didn’t even kiss,” she said, feeling immediately stupid as soon as she’d said the words.

“I can rectify that.” He rose on his knees, cupped her face with infinite delicacy, and kissed her gently. The gentleness contrasted sharply with the strident passion she had felt just moments before, and she was lost again. This man continued to surprise her.

But when she would have deepened the kiss, he pulled back. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“Iwantto trust you.”

He pushed back and seated himself across from her. Beatrice fumbled with her undergarments and skirts, trying to put her clothing to some semblance of rights.

“I’ve passed three of your tests,” he said, his gaze on the flickering lantern. “And yet, it’s not enough.” He met her gaze. “I begin to wonder if five will be enough. If I pass five tests, will something suddenly shift?” He snapped his fingers.

“I need proof—”

“I don’t think it works that way, Beatrice. I think you either trust me or you don’t.”

“It’s not that easy for me.”

“And you think it’s easy for me? I’ve stood before you, heart in hands, and you gave me tests to rival those of Hercules.”

Beatrice hardly thought a half-naked woman equal to one of the Labors of Hercules. But Munro had a point. He had exposed his feelings to her, and for any man, much less a rake, wasn’t that almost as terrifying as the Lernaean Hydra?

“You’re wary because of Solomon. I understand, but I am not Solomon Barnet. He would never have been faithful to you—not because you are not worth fidelity, but because he didn’t love you. You were a prize to him, nothing more.”

“You told me at the time,” she said, sounding tired. “I just didn’t believe you.”

“I can hardly blame you for that. I know in your mind, and the opinion of the rest of theton, I was an irredeemable rake. Solomon was much better at hiding his misdeeds. All of that is in the past. Iwasa rake then, but I have reformed. If you won’t ever trust me, if you don’t love me, then tell me now. I can’t keep wanting you if there’s no hope.”

Beatrice took a breath. Her heart thudded in her chest as fear threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t trust him, not yet. But more truthfully, she didn’t trust herself. She blamed herself for her poor decision to marry Solomon more than she’d ever blamed him.

But if she didn’t say something to Munro now, she’d lose him. Again. Loath as she was to admit it, she did love him. A part of her had always loved him.

The carriage began to slow, and she parted the curtains and saw they had arrived at Notley House. Before the coach could slow, and they were ushered out and into the arms of their body servants, she grabbed his hand. “I do love you,” she said. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

Then she released him, pulled her cloak over her rumpled clothing, and took the footman’s hand as soon as the door opened and the steps were let down. She fled into the night, leaving Munro alone in the coach.

Munro dared not move. Had he heard her correctly? Beatrice loved him?

Beatrice loved him!

He wanted to open the window and shout the news to the rest of Mayfair. He wanted to race into the house, take the steps two at a time, burst into her bedchamber, and kiss her senseless.

But he had two more tests.

He could face two tests—he could face a dozen—if he’d have her at the conclusion.

---