Unraveled (Turner #3)(42)

He let out a disbelieving puff of air. “You’re a virgin?”

She nodded.

He had a handful of her skirts in his hand. He let them fall. “I wasn’t expecting that. From a sheltered society debutante, perhaps. Or a manufacturer’s daughter, raised to middle-class pretensions. But from a woman who told me she was raised by actors? No.”

“You don’t believe me.”

He met her eyes. “There’d be little point in manufacturing such a story now.”

“Does it…does it change anything?”

“It changes a great deal.” He stepped back from her, and held out his hand.

A dark sort of horror filled her. “You…you’re one of those men who doesn’t debauch innocents, aren’t you? If you’d known, you would have never entered into this arrangement.” She swallowed hard. “For what it’s worth, I don’t consider myself very innocent.”

He watched her intently.

“Also,” she finished quietly, “I had rather looked forward to being debauched. By you.” She set her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers. “Let me explain what has changed: I want to have you very, very badly. But as this is your first time, I’ll have you very well instead. It would hardly be in my best interest to put you off the activity for any length of time.”

Her mouth went dry.

“Don’t look so worried. I’ll have you against a wall eventually.” Her whole body flushed, and he gave her a sly smile. “For now…” He gave her a look. “For now, we do this right.”

He pulled her hand, reeling her in until she was tangled up in his embrace. And then, without any warning, he hefted her in the air. He didn’t seem to strain under her weight. Instead he left the library and started up the stairs.

What would the maids say if they saw them? But there were no servants about—they’d disappeared belowstairs, leaving him with her.

He paused midway between the floors. “I didn’t worry you when I mentioned the wall, did I?”

“I’ve seen alleys enough near the Floating Harbour. I have some idea what can be done with a wall.” The thought sent desire spiraling through her. She was almost giddy with the feel of his hands on her.

But he simply shook his head. “If your point of reference is a glimpse you’ve caught of a business transaction conducted in an alley, I’d venture that you have no idea what I can do with a wall.”

Oh God. She almost wanted him to stop and show her. Instead she grinned up at him. “Are you boasting?”

He kicked open the door to the bedchamber. “I don’t boast. I merely state facts.” He walked her to her bed and tossed her on the gold coverlet, letting her fall in a puddle of her skirts. He slid behind her. She couldn’t see him there, could only feel his hands around her. One rested against her belly. His lips breathed heat against her spine; his other hand undid the hooks at the back of her neck. He slid the sleeves down her shoulders, and then peeled the gown to her waist. He kissed the side of her neck.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“For now?” His voice rasped. “Whatever you wish.” His hand slid up the fabric of her corset to cup the curve of her breast. The touch sent a stab of pleasure through her, and she gasped. His thumb circled, idly, and she made another noise.

“Enjoy that, do you?”

“Yes.”

But he took his hands away. She could feel him tracing the eyelets of her corset behind her. And then he undid the knot and her laces loosened. She took a deep breath, and he slid the corset away to thumb her ni**les through her shift. He held her from behind; she couldn’t see him at all. But the absence of sight only heightened her anticipation. She didn’t know where he might touch next, what he might do to her. She knew only that his arms were around her, that his hands thrummed her like some instrument. And like that instrument, he pulled breathy gasps from her. She could think of nothing but his touch, could want nothing but the fierceness of his desire. Her body felt soft all over—soft and ready. And damn him, he took nothing.

He moved away suddenly. Before she could protest, he’d pulled her upright, and eased her gown over her head. He undid her petticoats, and these joined her gown on the floor. She had on nothing but her chemise.

He stood. He kicked off his shoes, sent them to lie next to the heap of her gown. His coat followed, and then his waistcoat. He undid his cuffs, and then pulled his shirt over his head.

He looked slim in his clothing; when he was divested of those layers, she could see that it wasn’t scrawniness, but lean muscle. But she had no time to think of it. He undid his trousers and slid them off alongside his small clothes—revealing a nest of dark hair, and jutting from that, his hard erection.

She’d never seen one so close. He looked up, met her eyes. He must have seen her curiosity, because his eyes narrowed and he gave her a short, swift smile. “Indeed,” he said. He came to stand before her.

Miranda knew the mechanics of what was about to happen. She even had a good notion as to the naked male form. But knowledge could not compare to reality: the long, hard length of him, ending in a dark head, almost purple in color. Knowledge had not encompassed the feel of his skin, soft and hard at the same time. She set her hand against his thigh. The sparse black hair was coarse to the touch; muscle rippled beneath her palm.