“Of course not,” Camden huffed, looking affronted at her suggestion. “I was trying to make light of the situation.”
She rested her hands against his chest, casting him an imploring look. “And yet again you’re taking me far too seriously, for I as well was trying to lighten the situation. I do wish you would relax.”
He didn’t appreciate her reminders—she could tell by the irritated glance he gave her—but she didn’t much care. She was tired of discussing mundane topics and silly worries. She’d grown weary of tiptoeing around him for fear of upsetting the moody Hartwell. “Black Hart.” No wonder they called him such a horrid name.
No, no. He’s a good man. A passionate man who desires me.
She just wanted to be with Camden. With nothing else between them.
“Come with me.” She gathered his clothing and took his hand, dragging him out of the room, heading toward the empty, echoing corridor.
“Where are you dragging me off to?” he asked, his tone teasing.
She glanced over her shoulder and shot him another saucy look. “To my bedchamber, my lord. Where we’ll be ensured privacy and you can stay all night long. If you’d like,” she added. Oh, how she hoped he liked…
He stopped her in her tracks with one tug of his hand and she turned to look at him. “I want to make sure this is what you want, Daphne,” he said, his voice soft. “I don’t want to push myself upon you. Or make you feel as if you’re doing something you don’t want to do.”
She laughed. Oh, he was such a darling. “Perhaps I want you to force yourself on me.”
That statement shocked him. His cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled with interest. Lord help her, but if he unleashed upon her she’d revel in it. She might even beg for more.
And she wouldn’t regret it, not one bit. She had a feeling one night with Hartwell would be one she would want to repeat.
* * *
The mischievous widow was driving him mad with desire. Hartwell’s head spun as he pushed her against the wall and kissed her. Drank from her, thrust his tongue inside her warm, welcoming mouth. He groaned when she slid her little hands all over him, clutching him closer.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his mouth just before he kissed her again. “Please don’t stop.”
Her words urged him on, unleashed the animal within. He pressed his lower body to hers, his cock nudging against her skirts, and she moaned, lifting her hips. Indicating she wanted more.
So much more.
She was a passionate little thing. Her kisses were just as eager as his, her hands just as bold, the low whimpers coming from deep within her fueling the fire in his blood. She wanted him. She didn’t want him to stop.
He didn’t want to stop either.
Deciding to hell with it, he gathered her in his arms, picking her up. Their mouths were still connected and she circled her arms about his neck so she wouldn’t tumble from his embrace. She muttered nary a protest as he strode down the hall toward the stairs, one eye watching where he was going, concentrating on his steps as well as the woman in his arms.
Her sweet fragrance filled his head. Her soft hair brushed against his cheek and the sensuous, silky fabric of her gown rubbed against his arms. When was the last time he’d undressed a woman, made love to one?
From the first moment he’d spoken to the lovely Lady Pomeroy, it was as if she’d set her sights on him and never looked back. She was determined to have him.
He couldn’t help but be flattered.
“Where’s your bedchamber?” he asked after he tore his lips from hers.
She feathered his neck with delicate kisses. “Second door on the left.”
The hot gust of her breath against his flesh, the way she licked and nibbled him, he nearly tripped on his own boots. She giggled when he stumbled and he tossed her up in his arms, hauling her closer. She tightened her arms around his neck, thrusting her hands into his hair. Stroking and pulling until he closed his eyes at the drugging sensation.
Her simple touch lit a fire within him. The way she felt in his arms, her mouth against his skin, her fingers in his hair only caused the flames to leap and burn brighter. His entire body was enflamed.
Consumed.
Flicking the handle, he then kicked at the door, wincing when it crashed open. He strode into the room and knocked the door shut. Depositing her on the grand bed, he cast a glance about the room as he began to untuck his shirt.
She stood, her hands going for his hips, tugging the shirt from his trousers. “Let me help you,” she murmured, nibbling on her lower lip in concentration, batting at his hands. He dropped them to his side, amused with how focused she was on her task. She brushed her hands against his stomach, making the muscles quiver, and her lips curled in amusement.