Page 45 of Miss Dauntless
He had to kiss her for that, a long, slow tasting that ended with Matilda’s arms twined around his neck and her breath fanning across his chest.
She kissed his sternum. “You kiss differently when your shirt is off.”
“I kiss differently when your dress is off,” he replied, stroking a hand over her hip. “Into bed with you.”
She lingered a moment in his arms, then stepped away and turned back the sheets. “Tend to your ablutions before the water cools, my lord.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Soon, he’d be addressing Matilda asmy lady, though she already was his lady. She was about to become Tremont’s lover, too, and thus he was both quick and thorough with the soap and flannel.
He emerged from behind the privacy screen without benefit of clothing and made a production out of lighting the pair of candles on the mantel.
“Are your strutting, Tremont?”
“The invitation was to inspect my person. I am presenting myself for your delectation.”
“Present yourself in this bed, please.”
He tossed the lit taper into the flames, replaced the hearth screen, and steeled himself to be inspected.
As Tremont climbed into the bed, Matilda lay on her side, looking both decadent and entirely too serious. He took up the facing posture, though that was not precisely where he longed to be.
“I know why you invited me here,” she said.
To fulfill her wildest fantasies? He couldn’t say that, nor could he confidently promise that. “One hopes you are acquainted with the generalities, or Tommie’s existence approaches the miraculous.”
Oh, that was loverlike. Tremont flopped to his back on the pillows and prayed for brilliance. Well, maybe not brilliance. A good showing, manly competence, something. He prayed he would not disappoint a woman upon whom life—and men—had visited too much disappointment.
“Tommie’s existence is miraculous,” Matilda said. “I was in danger of forgetting that, but his conception was entirely unremarkable. You are wooing my trust with this interlude.”
“When marriage involves certain intimacies, no sensible lady would eschew a reconnaissance mission over the relevant terrain. You are very sensible.”
Matilda peered at him from two feet away. “You propound courtship theories when naked in bed with me.” She stroked a finger down his profile, and Tremont’s cock leaped. “I am easy to impress, Tremont.”
“Then your standards want raising.”
She sighed and rolled to her back. “My confidence wants raising, you gudgeon. Shall I take off this chemise?”
For a moment, Tremont experienced the situation from a spot above the bed. He saw two healthy people, both a bit shy, both somewhat uncertain of strategy, but intent on a shared objective. From some vestigial well of common sense, he realized that Matilda,of all women, would not be in the bed with him if she did not want to be.
“You will not remove your chemise. I will relieve you of it in due course, when you give me permission to do so. My present wishes—if you were to inquire regarding them—would be to kiss you madly, to explore your person in intimate detail by touch and taste, and to stir you to a frenzy of desire.”
Matilda smiled at him. “Let’s start with the kissing, shall we?”
He smiled back and remained right where he was. “At once would suit.”
She traced his nose again, thoughtfully. “I am to initiate this frenzy?”
“You already did that when you glowered at me in St. Mildred’s hall and made it plain I had best tread lightly. You further advanced upon the field when you allowed me to escort you home and when you kissed me. I am delighted to find myself in bed with a woman who knows what she wants from life.”
“I know more precisely what I do not want.”
He caught her hand and kissed her fingers, lest she caress him witless. “What do youwant, Matilda? What doyouwant?”
She shifted her grip so their fingers were laced and rose over him, pressing his hand to the pillow. “You. I want you, and all the pleasures, and I want them now.” She straddled him and hesitated, her lips an inch from his. “I want you, Marcus, and that terrifies me.”
He understood what she wasn’t saying. She hadn’t desired those other two louts. She had accommodated them for reasons—the youth because he’d piqued her curiosity and promised her marriage, the scoundrel because he’d promised her a sort of security.
“I am your first lover, then,” he said, “and that terrifies me—and delights me.”
