Even without actually possessing the ring, this would be the perfect moment to confess to the theft, but Helena wavered, unwilling to witness the passion fade from his eyes.
He placed his hand on top of hers. “Tell me you’ll be my wife.”
“I’ll be your wife.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
With a whoop, he leaned forward and smashed his mouth against hers, causing Helena to lose her balance, and they toppled over, laughing.
“Perhaps,” the Duke of Lennox said, sitting up, “my enthusiasm would be best applied in a different location.”
“Such as the bed?” Helena said, instantly blushing.
She shifted her attention to a broken holly branch, feigning interest in the stem, but the Duke of Lennox hooked his finger under her chin and dragged her head back toward him.
“Exactly like the bed.” Eyes blazing, he rose, then held out his hand to her. “I won’t hurt you. I swear.”
“I believe you,” she said, placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet.
The Duke of Lennox slid his arms around her waist and drew her close.
“Nothing needs to happen between us,” he murmured against her ear, sending seductive vibrations zipping through her body. “I’m content just kissing you until our wedding night.”
“Like you did in your bedchamber?” she asked, the memory of his wicked fingers drawing the most earth-shattering sensations from her body crashing over her.
He nuzzled her neck, brushing his lips across her throat. “I can do that again.”
“Do you enjoy it?” she gasped and arched her neck.
“Watching you fall apart at my hand?”
She nodded.
“Immensely.” His tongue wrapped around the word.
“But not as much as if you were to…” Her face flaming, she pulled back, dropping her eyes.
“Use a different part of my body?” he said gently.
Keeping her gaze on his shoes, she nodded again.
“It’s more enjoyable for both of us if I use that part.” He waited until she lifted her head before adding, “However, the first time may cause a bit of pain.”
“You swore you wouldn’t hurt me,” she replied, arching her eyebrows. “Were you untruthful?”
“I was not.”
“Then show me why Miss Rowe keeps sneaking the Duke of Roxburghe into her bedchamber,” Helena said, her heart hammering.
“As my fiancée commands,” he said, tightening his embrace and crushing her body against him.
His mouth claimed hers, his tongue diving past her parted lips. She moaned and wound her arms around his neck. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and blindly walked to her bed.
When his legs hit the frame, he turned around, sank onto the mattress, and laid back. Then he rolled them over, settling between Helena’s thighs. Palming her breast, he increased the pressure of his mouth, his tongue swirling around hers.
Longing to touch him in the same intimate manner, her hands skimmed up his torso, tentatively brushing over his body. Leaning forward, he took her hand and slid it down the front of his shirt. Her fingers stroked his heated skin, drawing a guttural groan from the Duke of Lennox.
Reaching between them, he unfastened his trousers, then, balancing on his knees, he yanked his waistcoat from his shoulders. After flinging the waistcoat toward the floor, he yanked his long shirt over his head, exposing his bare torso, and tossed the material over his shoulder.
“Again,” he rasped, placing her fingers on his chest.
