Caroline gave him a quixotic smile. “I barely know you, Nicholas.”
He liked his name on her lips. “Surely you realized that before you sent me the note. What better way to become acquainted?”
Whatever reply she might have made was silenced as he lowered his head and took her mouth. His hands went to her slim waist, his clasp firm but not insistent as he very softly molded their mouths together. When it came to women, his instincts were well honed. He’d already sensed persuasion was going to be more effective than impetuous passion. There were plenty of ladies who liked to be swept away, who wanted their lover to not only possess but dominate them, but he had known Caroline wasn’t one of them before he even touched her.
She tasted sweet, and felt incredible in his arms, her pliant breasts just touching his chest, but when he brushed his tongue into her mouth, she jerked in what could only have been surprise.
What the bloody hell?
For a moment he paused, arrested by a startling realization.
That a woman who had been married had never been kissed in an intimate way was impossible, but he could feel her tentative response to the exploration of his tongue, as if she had very little idea what to do.
That
was an interesting facet to this country tryst. Nicholas continued, keeping the kiss undemanding, but subtly urging her closer so their bodies touched more fully. Normally he would have found that particular degree of inexperience off-putting, but—maybe it was the unique situation, maybe it was her compelling beauty, or maybe it was just how she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms; he wasn’t sure—he found he was more intrigued than ever.
He murmured against her lips, “Can I once again invite you inside?”
By now she was nestled against his growing erection, so there was no mistaking what his suggestion entailed. But then again, wasn’t that why she was there? Caroline nodded. Nicholas stepped away, took her hand, and smiled.
She didn’t smile back but stared at him for a moment, her incredible eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. Not a bad sign, he noted as she allowed him to lead her inside and up the stairs to his bedroom. The house was quiet in the late afternoon, Mrs. Sims no doubt busy arranging preparations due to his unexpected visit. There hadn’t been time to summon more staff, and since he knew Caroline valued anonymity, he hadn’t brought any servants with him except his driver. Even his valet had stayed back in London so his bedroom was empty, and when he closed the door behind them, he knew they’d be left alone as long as they wanted. The housekeeper had strict instructions to not disturb them unless summoned.
“We have connecting doors.” Caroline glanced over toward the wall separating their bedchambers.
“Convenient, isn’t it?” Nicholas grinned, his heated gaze admiring how she looked, so graceful and feminine in the masculine setting of his bedroom. The furnishings were overdone in size—the huge bed sitting on a dais, the proportions massive—and the carved dark wood was centuries old. One of his august ancestors posed in lace, hose, and a doublet in a portrait over the fireplace.
In contrast, she was curve and shadow, alluring, and oh-so-conveniently there.
His erection throbbed from that one kiss, straining against the fitted material of his breeches. “Let’s do this the right way.”
She didn’t resist as he loosened her long hair so it tumbled free down her back. It felt like warm silk as it spilled over his hands, and its summery fragrance was sweet and female. As he unfastened her gown, he kissed her softly in reassurance, taking care not to rush or alarm her. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the bed and stripped off her slippers and stockings with the same deft expertise, admiring her beauty with pure male appreciation as he sat down to take off his boots. He finished the task in record time and stood to finish undressing.
It surprised him, but he was actually in a hurry.
Clad only in her chemise, she was perfection, an auburn-haired Venus in the slanting late-afternoon sun coming in the tall windows, all supple limbs and flawless pale skin, framed by a tumble of shining tresses. Full breasts quivered with each breath, and her eyes looked darker, dilated, the unique silver color tempered by passion.
Or fear.
Nicholas realized it in a rush of consternation as his fingers stilled in the act of unbuttoning his shirt.
Yes, he thought as he fought disbelief. Fear. The trembling of the woman in his bed had nothing to do with desire.
Instead of flushed with arousal, her face was now a little pale. He dropped his hands, his shirt open to his waist, not sure how to handle this unexpected turn of events. “We don’t have to do this, you know. Say the word. We’ll go drink wine in the sun instead and you can leave tomorrow, if you wish.”
For a moment she hesitated, and then she whispered, “Is it that obvious?”
He wasn’t used to anything less than total eagerness in the bedroom, so the answer was a resounding yes. However, diplomacy seemed best. Nicholas said slowly, “I think it’s obvious you aren’t entirely comfortable, my lady. Our wager was a stupid moment between two foxed gentlemen who both had heavy heads in the morning. While the grace of your presence in my bed is appealing to me, you needn’t go through with your offer.”
In delectable dishabille, superimposed on the fine linens of the bed, Caroline gave him a faint smile. “No wonder your charm is legendary, Rothay, but did you think I volunteered lightly? Of the ladies of your acquaintance, I am probably the least likely to be found in your bed, but I am here, and it is up to you to seduce me, correct?”
She had a point. A fearful, edgy woman was
not
what either he or Derek had in mind, he was sure, but she’d come forward, they’d agreed, and he’d been the one so anxious to get her alone.
“Only if you wish it.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
Why the devil was she there, if the idea of sharing his bed made her go ashen and shake in trepidation?
She asserted with just a hint of desperation, “I want this.”
Was that true? His unruly body urged him to continue, but still he didn’t move. Every affair had its parameters, and every woman was different, but this situation gave him true pause. He had a feeling the amount of effort it cost her to lie there, compliant and willing, was enormous.
It was daunting.
What the hell had Wynn done—or not done—to her?
“Are you a virgin?” He asked the question quietly, not certain how he’d proceed if she said yes. He wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t noticed her reaction to his kiss. This was no longer about the ludicrous bet. For her, he was beginning to realize, it never had been.
She looked away and swallowed visibly, the muscles in her slim throat moving. “No.”
That one small word held a world of meaning.
More than a little at a loss, Nicholas still stood there. He knew all about the sexual games men and women played together, but not
this
one. This wasn’t about lighthearted seduction in the least. He sat down and touched her, just a light pressure on her chin so her face turned toward him. Tears glistened on her lashes, he saw with a small shock of dismay.
“Seduce me,” she whispered into the poignant silence. “Please.”
Chapter Eight
I
f things kept going as they were, she’d be the only woman in the entire world who’d lain almost naked in the bed of the wickedly sensual and gorgeous Duke of Rothay and had him decline to make love to her.
She’d just practically had to beg him.
Mortifying as it was, she was surprised such a noted libertine had the sensitivity to know she was fearful. He looked as unsettled as she felt, and that was saying something. Under different circumstances she might have been amused.
“I want to, obviously,” he finally murmured, a small wry smile curving his finely modeled mouth as he glanced down at the impressive bulge in his breeches.
Dear God, he looked . . . huge.
But weepy, inexperienced, frosty widows weren’t his usual fare. He didn’t have to explain. Who could blame him? No matter what she might look like, sensuality wasn’t her forte.
But here she was, undressed, her hair unbound, in his bed. If she gave in to cowardice now, the opportunity would slip away.
“Kiss me again,” she urged, looking into his midnight eyes. Through the gap in his unfastened shirt she could see the muscular hardness of his bare chest and it caused an odd feeling to coil in the pit of her stomach. Ebony hair, sleek and just a little disheveled, brushed his strong neck as his shirt hung open. His dark male beauty was compelling, but then again, her husband had also been a handsome man. Maybe not as magnificent a specimen as the infamous Rothay, but still . . .
No.
She would not think about Edward. Not now.
Nicholas leaned forward and, to her surprise, instead of taking her mouth in another devastatingly wicked kiss, he touched his lips to the betraying wetness of her lashes. He gently kissed away her tears, and at the same time some of her fears. When he lay down next to her and gathered her close, she did her best to stay lax, even in the strong circle of his arms.
He smelled wonderful in some foreign beguiling way. Did all men have that spicy, intriguing scent or was it his alone?
“You’re very lovely,” he whispered, stroking her back, inching her chemise up so subtly she almost didn’t notice what he was doing until his fingers smoothed over the curve of her bared thigh.
She reflexively started and he immediately removed his hand.
“Relax,” he murmured in her ear, his breath warm, bewitching.
“I am doing my best.” And a woeful best it was, she thought in bitter self-recrimination. Maybe Edward had been right all along, for if lying next to one of the most charming and handsome men in England did nothing for her, perhaps she was irrevocably flawed.
Well, perhaps not
nothing
.
His calm, even breathing and the steady beat of his heart seemed to ease the awareness of how his tall body dwarfed her much-smaller frame. To her surprise she felt her breasts tighten, and when he grazed his mouth across her cheek, she sighed and turned her head to offer her mouth.
“Maybe we should start slow.”
She wished she had some idea of exactly what he meant, but she couldn’t even hazard a guess. “Whatever you want.”
How desperately she wished she could live up to that offer.
A mesmerizing smile curved his lips. “Kissing is an art. Would you like some instruction?”
“Why else would I be here?”
On his secluded estate, in his bed, clasped in his arms. Why else indeed except for the enlightenment she hoped it would bring her?
“Then it will be my pleasure, my lady.”
Very slowly, he lowered his head again. Their lips touched, clung.
It was long, luxurious, tantalizing, forbidden. It was a real kiss.
His tongue gently dueled with hers, teasing forth a response as it explored her mouth, and Caroline began to relax into the kiss, especially since he simply held her and did nothing more. He was also still fully dressed, though she could feel the warmth from his bared skin through the gap in his unbuttoned shirt. His lips left hers, descended again, and this time trailed down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat.
The whim of sending that note—no, not a whim really, as she’d agonized over it—suddenly seemed very right.
This was exactly what she hoped she’d feel.
It was pleasant. No, not a good enough word. Better than pleasant. She shuddered at the teasing pressure of his mouth.
“All I am going to do is taste you.” His voice held a light husky note as he whispered against her skin. “Nothing more. May I?”
She realized his fingers held the ribbon lacing the bodice of her chemise together, and he was asking permission to pull it free.
Asking. That was certainly unique in her experience. The notion her wishes would be considered at all was reassuring.
But the idea he’d want to see her naked was decidedly unsettling. It was a quandary. While the last thing she wanted was for him to simply shove her skirts up and get on with it, she was shy at the idea of being nude before him—or anyone for that matter—in daylight, no less. She’d known none of this was going to be easy, but as he waited politely into the lengthening silence, she felt an unusual glimmer of trust.
A good start at least.
Caroline nodded and felt the resulting tug with a wash of heat into her face as her chemise gaped open, baring her breasts. Nicholas looked at the exposed flesh and slowly reached between the parted cloth to lightly touch one nipple with a questing fingertip. She gave a small gasp.
“The color of a summer rose, delicate and perfect.”
Caroline somehow managed to speak. “A true flowery compliment, Your Grace.”
One dark brow arched upward in amusement. “But in this case the honest truth. Keep in mind also, Caroline, when you are in my bed, I am a man and you are the woman I desire. Use my given name.”
She couldn’t help but close her eyes at the stroking of his fingers across her sensitive skin. His warm palm now fully cradled her breast and to her surprise, the heated look in his eyes eased some of her misgivings.
Those eyes. Midnight dark, seductive as sin, framed by long, thick lashes in contrast with the chiseled lines of his features. Letting her lashes drift up, she met his gaze with a small jab of realization that he was waiting, doing nothing more than leaning up on one elbow and watching her expression as he cupped her breast in his hand.
Waiting for what? She had no idea. It was humiliating, and she despised Edward even more for her ignorance. “Am I supposed to do something?”
A quixotic smile touched his mouth. “Do something?”
Since it was obvious he’d been able to see through the guise of poised widow from the moment he kissed her on the terrace, it seemed pointless to dissemble. “Please don’t laugh at me. I am sure you have already discerned—”