A Scandalous Affair (The Merry Widows 3)

The minx.

She divested him of his shirt, her eyes widening as she drank in what she revealed. His chest puffed with pride as she studied him and stroked his bare, sensitive flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her wide eyes meeting his.

He kissed her once then withdrew and sat on the edge of the bed, removing his boots with unrestrained eagerness. She began working herself out of her gown with little sighs of irritation, not making much progress. A woman could rarely undress herself without the assistance of a lady’s maid.

This evening, he would take care of such intimacies. A duty he would most gladly take on.

Standing, he twirled his finger, indicating he wanted her to turn. She did as he bade, offering her back to him with deliberate slowness. He undid every single hook, of which there were many. Too damn many.

He growled with frustration and she giggled, tilting her head down. Her hair fell forward and he admired the creamy column of her neck, the stray little dark brown tendrils that curled there. He pushed the loosened top of her gown from her shoulders, the sleeves sliding down her arms until it fell at her waist, revealing her corset. Working on the laces next, he tugged and loosened the garment, muttering under his breath about what tortuous devices women’s clothing were.

Finally she was able to step out of her gown and he discarded the corset, leaving Daphne standing before him in only her thin, plain shift, stockings and shoes. Clasping her bare, cool shoulders, he turned her around so she faced him. Sucked in a harsh breath when he saw her.

Exquisite. It was the only word that pounded through his mind as he studied her. Her breasts were full, hard little nipples pressing agains

t the transparent fabric. He swore he saw a hint of pink and licked his lips in anticipation of feasting upon her flesh. “Take it off,” he murmured.

She lifted her arms and yanked the shift off, tossing it onto the floor, her breasts jiggling with the movement. He cupped them immediately, brushing his thumbs slowly across her nipples, back and forth. Hypnotized by the way the berry-colored nubs rose and hardened, he kneaded her abundant flesh with deliberate, sensuous strokes. She tilted her head to the side with a long sigh, closing her eyes as if she lost herself to his touch.

“Lie down,” he murmured, and her eyes flew open. She did as he asked with no question. Her entire body trembled as she quickly kicked off her slippers and lay back on the bed, her gaze locked with his. The utter trust he saw in their depths staggered him. They hardly knew each other, yet she looked at him as if he could do no wrong. As if he would never let harm come to her.

And she would be right. Just watching her lying there, waiting for him, a protective streak rippled through him. He would take care of her. He wanted to make all of her dreams come true.

He never wanted to disappoint her.

Chapter Eight

Camden fell on her like a starving man, his heavy weight sinking Daphne deeper into the mattress. She recalled a time long ago when her husband would take her, how she felt smothered and panicky. He’d realized quickly and lifted above her, always considerate. Always gentle.

How was she to know she craved the delicious way Hartwell pushed himself upon her? She reveled in the sensation of his body on top of hers. The heat of his smooth, muscled skin, the dark hair in the center of his chest brushing against her breasts, making her skin tingle.

He kissed her once, masterfully taking her mouth before he moved down. Dropping kisses on her neck, her chest, all over one breast, then the other. She tilted her chin and watched unabashedly. He was lit by the blaze of the fire, the single candle sitting on the bedside table. She could see everything, where once she’d only participated in such an act in the dark.

He bent his head over her chest as he lavished all of his attention on her breasts. He licked the underside of one, learning its shape with his tongue until finally, finally he circled her nipple. Once, slow and easy, and she whimpered. He noticed, glancing up so his darkened gaze met hers, and continued to stare as he carefully enveloped her nipple between his lips.

Oh, he was so deliciously bold. Completely unlike how he behaved in public, he was a strange contradiction, her wicked marquess.

He was also a masterful lover. He swirled his tongue about her nipple, his lips sucking, pulling on her sensitive flesh. She curled her hands around his head. Holding him close, she urged him on silently as he offered the same attention to her other breast. She grew wet between her legs, restless and edgy, and wondered idly if a woman could spend just by having her nipples sucked.

It was a most deliciously wicked thought.

Camden moved down her body, raining kisses on the gentle slope of her stomach, upon each hip bone. She quivered and shook beneath his touch, excitement and nerves making her eagerly anticipate his next move. He lifted above her, propping his elbows on either side of her hips, his face perilously close to the spot between her legs. Only her thin silk pantaloons prevented him from seeing her completely.

And he removed those with a quick efficiency that left her panting.

“Pretty.” He reached out and traced the top of her garter with a single finger. Pale cream lace and blue silk ribbon rimmed the top, and she watched in agonized fascination as he pulled the loop of the tied ribbon. It unfurled with a whispery sound, so feminine and delicate while clutched within his large, masculine fingers. “You are a most exquisite woman, my lady.”

Her heart swelled at his words and her throat clogged. She couldn’t speak, could only whimper when he slid her stocking first down one leg, then the other. Until she was completely and totally bare to his assessing gaze.

And assess her he did, his eyes sliding greedily over her unclothed form. He even licked his lips like some sort of feral animal, anticipating her taste. Her legs shook and she arched her hips, wanton in her indescribable desire for him.

Bending his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her belly, just below her navel. His lips lingered. He swiped his tongue across her skin, a gentle scrape that sent gooseflesh scattering all over her body. She blindly reached behind her, clutching at a plump pillow, desperate to anchor herself before she floated away on a cloud.

“I want to taste you,” he murmured as he delved his big hands between her legs and spread her thighs wide.

She gasped. Her husband had never looked upon her so intimately. How could Camden want to do such a thing?