Miranda appeared to hesitate, as if unsure whether to believe him or not. “None of this makes sense.”
“I completely agree with you.”
“You do?”
Rolling to his side, Andrew played with the soft curl of hair drooping rather sensually across the swell of her breast. “Why so surprised? Do you think I can make heads or tails of this either? At the masquerade, I had never felt such an attraction. When I walked in here tonight, standing before the parson never crossed my mind. But, now, I can’t think of anything else.”
“What if we don’t suit?”
“We suit.”
“You sound so sure, and I hate that I am not. I am usually so confident, but now I feel lost.”
He placed his lips on the base of her neck. “Does this help?”
Extending it, she gave him access to every inch of skin. She offered, he accepted. She smelled like rose hips, her skin the softest he had ever touched. Every inch fascinated him. He had undressed more women than he could count but felt as if she was the first one. Perhaps it was because she belonged to him, or perhaps she was special in a way he had never thought of any other woman. He had no idea how Madame Evangeline had done it, but she’d found the type of woman he desired; one who had been hiding in plain sight.
Chapter Four
Miranda’s eyes blurred as his lips touched her bare neck. His hand under her bosom burned, ached in a way she wished would never end, and he wasn’t even touching them. Then there were his kisses; the line of light, torturous heat bringing her nerves to a near-breaking point.
She whimpered, exposing more of her neck to him. “Milord.”
“Andrew,” he whispered against her earlobe. “I do not want to hear ‘milord’ cross those kissable lips when associated with me, and never when we are in bed.”
“But—”
“No buts, and I will include other places where milord is off-limits.”
She leaned back, puzzled. His eyes held playful sensuality.
“Oh, I plan to make love to you in every room of every home I own.”
She would have gasped, at the very least protested that as a well-bred lady, discussing such inappropriate things should not happen, but his lips caught hers, leaving her unable to remember any protest or what she was protesting in the first place. His tongue coaxed hers into a waltz. Every stroke brought the temperature to furnace levels. Her dress, even with the lacings relaxed, seemed too tight and constricting.
“Shh. Trust me. I can help you.” He nibbled her lower lip.
She was unsure what he meant until his hand eased the sleeve of her gown over her shoulder. His touch fueled the flames already licking her skin.
“Too hot,” she murmured.
“What’s too hot?” His lips made their way down her jawline toward the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of aftershocks.
“Me—your touch. I can’t breathe.”
“Relax.”
Easy for him to say. She wanted to scream, but instead fell back onto the mass of overstuffed goose-down pillows behind her. With the exception of the thumb on his right hand tracing the underside of her breast, he remained still. As his eyes met hers, the playfulness became a need she didn’t quite understand, but imagined, if he felt a small degree of what she did, he might ignite at any moment.
Gazing up at the ceiling, she concentrated on breathing and remembered what a tutor had once told her; when in bed with her earl, Miranda should focus on something—anything—until he’d finished. Think of the beauty of the countryside, the motherland, or practice the harpsichord in your head.
“What are you doing?”
She lifted her head. “Thinking of England.”
“Really?” he asked, appearing amused by her answer.
Nodding, she returned her attention to the ceiling. “My tutor said that when I was in bed with you, I should look at the ceiling and think of distractions. She must have known the fire would consume me otherwise.”
He climbed up over her, obscuring her view of the red canopy. “You are quite priceless. I think your tutor has offered me a challenge.”
“Pardon?” Miranda blinked repeatedly, wishing what he said didn’t sound as scary and utterly amazing.
He fondled her left breast and squeezed. “Whatever I do, I want you to turn your attention toward the ceiling.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Everything in my power to make you look away.”
“But—”
“Oh, I haven’t changed my mind about leaving your maidenhead intact for tonight. I relish the opportunity of claiming that in our marriage bed, but there are other things we can do without taking your virginity.”