Page 34 of Unmasked by the Marquess
“Do you want me to?”
He hauled her onto his lap. Christ, but she was light. “Figure it out, scholar.” He pulled her against him, letting her feel how hard he was, just from a bit of glove removal and stubble stroking.
“Do you want me to?” she asked again.
“Yes, for God’s sake, come home with me.” The carriage was slowing down. “Please.”
“And what will we do when we get there?”
“I’ll draw you a picture once we get inside.”
She shook her head. “I need to hear you say it.”
Ah. “Come to bed with me, Robin.” And in case she needed him to be more direct, he added, “Let me touch you. As much or as little as you like.”
“And do I get to touch you in return?” Her lips skimmed over his own.
“Please.” His voice sounded hoarse, ragged. “Please.”
Alistair had no recollection of what nonsense he told Hopkins. Something about how Mr. Selby was borrowing a book and the servants needn’t wait up. And Robin, the little deceiver, was as cool as could be, asking after Hopkins’s gouty leg.
At the top of the stairs, Alistair possessed himself of her elbow and marched her past the library to his own bedchamber. The room was dim, lit only by a low-burning fire. That wasn’t enough, not by half. He wanted to see every inch of her. He lit a taper in the hearth, then used it to light the candles that were over the chimneypiece, near the bed—
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Robin was untying her cravat.
“In a hurry?”
“Yes, frankly.” She unwound the cravat, exposing her pale throat.
He set the taper down and sat on the edge of bed, not daring to go any closer. Besides, he wanted to watch how she disrobed. That way he’d know what to have her doing in his fantasies.
“Good.” His mouth went dry.
She didn’t step any closer, but turned so she was fully facing him. Her coat dropped silently to the carpeted floor. The only sound in the room was the crackling fire, Robin’s fingers flicking open waistcoat buttons, and Alistair’s own shallow breaths.
Alistair felt his control begin to slip when he watched her shrug nimbly out of her waistcoat. Her shirt was the usual thin linen, perhaps a trifle overlaundered, and through it he could see the outline of her silhouette. She was slim, the straight line of her braces scarcely interrupted by the slight curve of her breasts. He hadn’t allowed himself to wonder what she did about her breasts to keep them hidden in her disguise, because he feared that once he let his imagination travel down that path he’d never be able to talk to her in public without becoming visibly aroused. But somewhere in the back of his mind he had supposed she wore something to bind or constrict herself.
But it was plain that she did not. He could see her nipples through the filmy fabric of her shirt. All this time, she had been walking around with her breasts simplythere, framed by braces and scarcely covered by a waistcoat and coat? Riding in the park, lounging at the club, her breasts had been loose under a few scant layers of fabric? He dug his fingers into the edge of the mattress.
“Come here,” he rasped.
She stepped between his legs, no trace of coyness about her, and thank God for that. Gingerly, she took off his spectacles, which he had forgotten he was wearing, and reached over to place them on the bedside table.
“Robin.” He slid the braces off her shoulders and settled his hands at the nip of her waist. He felt the slide of her hands against his jaw. There was no accounting for tastes, and if she wanted to paw his stubble he wasn’t going to dissuade her. Then her hands threaded through his hair and he closed his eyes, feeling her fingers caress the back of his neck, his shoulders, his arms. Her lips were on his, another mere dusting of a kiss.
But then she pulled away, leaving him searching pathetically for her mouth with his own. “I meant what I said.” Her voice was firm, and with one hand she tipped his head back so he had to look her in the face. Her chin jutted out, like a boxer ready to take a punch. “If you have any regrets about this, or your better angels give you hell for enjoying yourself for once in your life, then I don’t want to hear about it. You keep that to yourself.”
He smiled, more at the fierceness of her tone than at her words. “All right.” At the moment, he didn’t care about anything but her, and that lightness was rare and fragile, precious and all too temporary. “I promise.”
He needed to see her. He untucked her shirt and bent to plant a kiss on the smooth, warm skin he had just exposed. Sliding the hem of her shirt higher, he kissed his way up from her ribcage until he reached the underside of her breasts. She let out a breathy sigh, and took the shirt out of his hands, tugging it over her head.
Thank God he had lit the candles.
“You can’t stare at me like that.” She brushed one of her wayward strands of hair behind her ear.
“Like hell I can’t.” He’d stare all he pleased, and then he’d run his hands along her skin. Then his mouth. He’d take his time, get every drop of pleasure out of this night. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re missing your spectacles.”
