Chapter Forty-four

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Rafe’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull. “You want to… pardon?” He cocked his head to the side. Surely he’d heard her incorrectly.

Daphne’s small hand went to her throat and she began tugging at the cravat at her neck. “You heard me.”

Rafe swallowed. Hard. Speaking of hard, everything in his body was going hard. Rock-hard. Including his cock. He stepped back and pushed against the wall behind him as if that could put more space between them. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted an annulment.”

Daphne finished unraveling the cravat. She pulled it from around her neck with one sharp movement and tossed it in the corner. “At the moment all I want is to spend the night with you.” Her voice was husky, hot. Her eyes were pools of liquid steel.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “How did you get here?”

“I have my ways. Does it matter?”

“Does Swifdon know you’re here?”

“No.” The one word shattered like a vase onto the floor.

Rafe couldn’t drag his gaze away from her. She was mesmerizing him. He searched his brain for a coherent thought. “I thought you wanted a title. I thought—”

Daphne pulled off her cap, and shook out her long, blond hair. It fell in waves over her shoulders. Rafe gulped.

“You thought wrong. I want you,” she said.

“Daphne, I—” His fingers raked through his hair again. Think. Think.

Daphne stalked toward him, her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “What’s the matter, Captain Cavendish? Am I making you nervous? I never thought I’d live to see the day.” Then she tugged at the buttons at her collar.

Rafe nearly leaped up the wall. “No. No. No. I can’t. Julian will rip out my intestines. He’ll finish what the French started. He’ll…”

But Rafe’s words trailed off as she pulled her shirt over her head. It followed the cravat into the corner. Rafe drew in a deep breath.

Her chest was wrapped in linen and she still wore her breeches. She shucked off her boots, one by one, and then began slowly unwinding the fabric from around her breasts.

“Don’t do this,” Rafe whispered. Close your eyes, you fool . But he couldn’t, not with the sight in front of him, the linen slowly peeling away from her creamy skin.

“Too late,” she said just as the linen fell away. She tossed the fabric into the pile with the rest and moved toward him. She stood merely a pace away from him.

Next, she began unhooking the fall of her breeches.

“You’re going to get me killed,” Rafe breathed. “Murdered.”

She nipped at her pink lips with her white teeth. “I don’t want to kill you. I want to make love to you. We don’t have to tell Julian anything.”

Rafe moved then. No more acting like a quivering boy. He took one decisive step forward and grabbed her hands. Her breasts nearly skimmed his chest. He clenched his jaw. “Don’t do this, Daphne.”

Her eyes were pools of mist gazing into his. “Why not?” She let her mouth hang open and he was fixated on her tongue that darted out to wet her lips.

Good question. He poked out his cheek with his tongue and tried to think about anything other than his rock-hard member. “Because I can’t resist you.”

“Good.” She pulled her hands away sharply and her breeches fell to her ankles. He swallowed again, knowing if he just looked down he would see her completely naked. Unholy torture.

“Rafe, you’re the only man I’ve ever wanted. Take me to bed.”

Oh God, she was naked. Completely nude. He forced himself to clench his eyes shut. Sweat beads popped along his brow. He had to be the reasonable one. Apparently, Daphne had lost all reason along with her clothing. “I’m leaving for France in the morning,” he pleaded.

He felt her nearness, her warmth. Her hands were on his shoulders—she must have been on tiptoes—just before her soft voice whispered in his ear. “I’m not asking you to stay.”

He licked his lips. She smelled so good. Like apples and roses and—

“Daphne, I… I want to, Lord knows I want to, but—”

“Then what’s the matter?” Her hands tugged his cravat away and then her warm lips were at the base of his throat. Jesus Christ . Rafe’s eyes remained tightly closed. If he opened them, if he saw her, saw what she was offering, there would no longer be a choice. No longer be a chance to do the right thing to send her away. “I could be killed. I might not come back,” he offered.

Her whisper was hot in his ear and her fingers slid enticingly into the hair at the nape of his neck. “All the more reason to have this one night together. Besides, we’re married, remember?” Her supple breasts pushed against his chest, all that separated them was the thin fabric of his shirt. Her nipples burned through it.

That was it. Rafe broke. He couldn’t resist her touch. He opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to scan her body. She was perfection, all creamy white skin and glorious blond hair. Her breasts were delicate and round, her waist tiny, her legs, while not long, were perfectly proportioned with the rest of her. She was any man’s dream. His dream. “I cannot make you any promises, Daphne,” he breathed.

Her lips barely skimmed his, driving him mad. “I don’t want promises. I just want one night with you.”