Chapter Three

I t was near dawn when he awoke. His shoulder ached, his neck would likely remain at an unnatural angle for some time to come. While a morning erection was not unusual, he'd never woken up harder in his life—with no sight of relief in the future, near or far. Making some attempt to adjust himself so that at the very least he wasn't poking and prodding her with his rebellious cock, he had to stifle a groan.

Whether it was the sound he'd made or the movement, she stirred in his arms and turned from her side to her back. This new position offered him a moment to study her, to truly take in everything about her. There was some light seeping in through the boarded up windows, and some still from the stove. It was enough. Even in the darkness he'd thought she must be impossibly beautiful. But in his wildest imaginings, he could not have envisioned a creature so perfect.

Even under the remaining grime deposited by the river, her skin was like porcelain—pale, smooth, unblemished. The color of her hair was lighter than he'd imagined. Not a coal black like her sister's, but a soft brown with hints of gold and red buried within it—strands which seemed to capture the light, or what there was of it, and amplify it.

Against his will, his gaze drifted to her lips. The cupid's bow shape of them was exaggerated by the lush plumpness of her lower lip. It turned out in a slight pout, even as she slept peacefully. Despite his best intentions, the thought of kissing those lips was inescapable. He couldn't put it from his mind, try as he might. And then her eyes opened. He was caught. Completely mesmerized by those emerald depths, he could not look away.

"You're staring," she said. But it wasn't accusatory or scathing. It was simply an acknowledgment of the fact.

"So are you," he replied. And it was true. Her gaze roamed him like a caress, and his body responded to it as if it had been an actual touch.

"You did it first."

His lips twitched with the hint of a rare smile. "I can't help it. You are a remarkably beautiful woman, Lady Ernsdale."

"Don't call me that. I detest that name."

Her obvious disgust at the moniker was a surprise to him. The man? No. He could easily enough understand why she would revile her husband. But the title was what most women aspired to. But then again, it wasn't difficult at all to see that she was quite different from anyone else he had ever known. "Then what would you have me call you?"

"Hettie... that's what Honoria has always called me. It's far preferable to either Henrietta or my husb—to his title."

Not just any "him," but her husband. She had one of those, a fact he could not afford to regret. Not only that, but the man was a peer. He was a worthless ass who didn't deserve to be called a man, much less a gentleman. But under the eyes of the law, she belonged to him. That was an inescapable truth.

He turned to roll away from her. "We should dress and get out of here as soon as possible." As he started to rise, he felt a hand on his arm. "Don't. Not just yet."

He glanced back at her. It would have been easy enough to dislodge that staying hand, to dismiss whatever it was she felt she needed to say to him in that moment. And yet, he could not make himself utter the words any more than he could remove her hand from his arm. "This is hardly the kind of opulence one should luxuriate in."

"It is," she said. "We are warm and dry. I don't have to be afraid."

Joss frowned. "Must you be afraid at your own home?"

"More so there than anywhere else," she admitted. "Ernsdale is—well, he is not a good man. Nor a kind one. He has a foul temper and is very quick to mete out his punishments. This... this very humble room is the first place I've felt truly safe in a long while. My husband would never dare to come after me here, not in such a place. And the men who abducted me have, I can only hope, given up by now."

It saddened him that she would want to stay in such a place, that it would be preferable to her to her comfortable and luxurious home in Mayfair. "Ernsdale is a right bastard, that's for certain. Always knew that about him. Never knew just how much of one he was, though."

Behind him, she sat up. "How do you know him?"

"I worked for Bow Street for many years. We've encountered one another from time to time." Usually outside gaming hells or brothels where his temper had made him a nuisance, or something worse.

He felt a whisper of a caress on his shoulder, the faint trailing of fingertips over the ugly scars that remained. "Is that how this happened? During your work for Bow Street?"

Joss glanced back at her. "Something like that... you're playing with fire, Lady—Hettie. Be careful you do not get burned."

"Mr. Ettinger—"

"Joss," he corrected. "If I'm going to use your name, at least here in private, you should use mine."

"Joss," she corrected. "Would you do something for me?"

"More than likely," he agreed. At this point, if she kept looking at him like that, he'd commit murder for her.

"Would you kiss me?"

He was so stunned by the request it took him a moment to even process it. But she saw his hesitation as reluctance and uttered one last compelling argument. "No one has kissed me in a very long time."

He could more easily have stopped his own heart from beating just by willing it to than to refuse her. Turning quickly, he pulled her against him. It was a mistake. The instant he felt her breasts crushed against his chest, his hands pressed to the silken skin of her back—it was like a match to tinder. The simmering tension and awareness that had been present almost from the first moment had been replaced by an out-of-control blaze.

When he touched her lips with his, a delicate brush, he felt the shiver that raced through her. Her breath rushed out, fanning over his own lips, and it was all he could do to keep the touch gentle, light. Especially since all he wanted to do was to take. To claim. Conquer. He wanted not just compliance but eagerness from her. He wanted her to be mindless with need for him. Because he was fast approaching the point of mindlessness himself... and he didn't want to fall into that abyss alone.

*

It had been ages since she'd been kissed, but it might as well have been the first time. Nothing that had come before could even compare. The two men who had kissed her hadn't even really been men yet. Just boys. Young swains who had trailed after her during her first and only season like foundling puppies. There was no comparison.

Heat surged through her. At every point of contact between their bodies, her skin tingled. The feeling of his firm chest and the light dusting of hair that covered it teased the tips of her breasts into hardened peaks. It was stunning to realize that she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel his hands on her body.

His mouth moved over hers slowly, hypnotically. Never rushing. He kissed her as if they had all the time in the world and as if there was nothing more important to him than learning every contour of her lips. When he licked gently at her lower lip, she let out a soft moan of pleasure. And that was his invitation. His tongue swept between her parted lips, sliding sensually against hers with a gentleness that belied his impressive strength. For a man who towered over her, who had the strength to crush her if he chose—he touched her as though she were delicate, fragile and precious. As if she were cherished by him.

Sliding her hand over his shoulder and into his hair, she held him to her, terrified that he would end the encounter, that sanity would intrude. But he had no intention of going anywhere, as evidenced by him laying her back down on the hard floor, cushioned by his strong arms. The weight of him on top of her was something she hadn't known she had needed, or even that she could need. But it felt glorious to have his body pressed against her head to toe, for every inch of her to be inflamed by that contact. She never wanted it to end.

The sensual dance of that kiss continued. It was impossibly intimate, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more. Every touch intensified the craving for him. Those caresses burned her like a brand.

As if he'd read her mind, his hand slipped from her back, skating over her ribs and around to the fullness of her breast. He cupped it with that large hand, his strong fingers stroking and kneading the tender flesh. Her back arched, lifting her breast more firmly into his hand. Then he broke the kiss, his lips trailing along her jawline and down the column of her throat. The little licks and nips at her collarbone and the hollow of her throat set her on fire. But that was nothing compared to the storm that swirled inside her when his lips closed over the taut bud of her nipple.

There was no stifling the cry of pleasure. She hadn't even known she was capable of feeling such things. Clinging to him, her hands moving over his back and down to his lean waist, then his firm buttocks, she mapped the hard planes of his body and committed them to memory. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her thigh, and she was shocked by how much she wanted to touch him there, to explore all the mysteries of his perfect masculine form.

His mouth left one furled nipple and moved to the other as his hand slid down her belly to the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. He slipped one finger inside her, just barely. Just enough to stroke a part of her that made her see stars. No one had ever touched her there. Even her husband. His fumbling attempts to consummate their marriage had ended in failure each time. The feeling of his soft, flaccid member pushing against her was nothing at all like what she was currently experiencing. They were worlds apart, in fact.

She wanted to know what desire truly was. To feel that sweeping passion that she'd read about in books and heard other ladies whisper about was something she had dreamed of experiencing. It was also something she had given up on entirely. So long as her husband lived, such things would never be in her reach. But he would not be her husband for very much longer, would he?

Shifting slightly, she parted her thighs for Joss, a blatant invitation for him to do what he wished—to show her all the wonders that could be had between them.