“Of course. They’re the softest gloves I own.” Priscilla hugged her hands to her chest. “I wish I had twenty pairs in an assortment of colours.”
“The packaging did nothing to detract from their quality or beauty. If anything, I believe it made you cherish them all the more.”
Discovering the gem buried inside the odd box had stolen her breath. “The disappointing packaging made them appear all the more spectacular.”
“Precisely. I doubt cotton is any different. Of cours
e, once a person is used to seeing presents wrapped in brown paper it doesn’t hurt to throw in the odd piece of fancy tissue.”
A chuckle burst from Priscilla’s lips. “Then we must go shopping soon.” A sudden rap on the dressing room door startled them. “Quick. You may leave me, Anne.”
“But don’t you want me to brush out your hair, madam?”
“No. There’s no time.” She’d spent too long daydreaming. Anne almost stumbled over her own feet as Priscilla ushered the maid out into the hall. “Besides, the unwrapping of presents builds anticipation.”
Fearing Matthew might think the delay meant she had changed her mind, she closed the door and hurried to the dressing room. With trembling fingers, she brushed her hand down the cotton gown and then opened the connecting door.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” Matthew’s amused gaze travelled from her fancy coiffure down to her frumpy nightgown. “Do you need a little more time? Or is this intriguing contrast a means of piquing my interest?”
Priscilla patted her golden locks, remembered she was a diamond in a pond full of pebbles. “I thought you might like to remove the pins. I thought you might like to unravel the curls, thread your fingers through my hair.”
He raised a sinful brow of approval. “What, as one would unwrap a present?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
One look at his loose shirt hanging over his breeches, and the dusting of dark hair evident through the open neck, she knew she’d be ripping the wrapping off her gift.
“Then you do intend to step aside and let me in.”
Priscilla steeled herself, for her stomach was busy performing acrobatic flips. “I intend to grant you whatever your heart desires.” She turned and sauntered into her chamber, could feel his stare sliding over her back like a lover’s caress.
“I thought we could share a drink, play a few hands of cards.” Matthew came into the room, placed a crystal decanter and glass on the dressing table. The ruby-red liquid glistened in the muted light — dark and rich, just like his voice. “Or we could talk if you prefer.”
In accordance with the obvious plan to make her feel at ease, his voice was calm, controlled, that of a man skilled in bedroom repartee. She wanted to convey the same air of self-assurance. She wanted him to see her as an alluring woman, not a child to be cared for and coddled.
“You want to drink, talk and play cards?” Feigning the grace of a duchess, she drifted over to him and placed her palm on his chest. “If this is part of your plan to seduce me, then I can save us both some time. I don’t intend to offer an objection.”
The tip of his tongue traced the seam of his lips. “Then I don’t intend to wait a moment longer.”
Curling a hand around her nape, Matthew pulled her closer. Startled, she gasped, and he covered her mouth with an urgent kiss, devoured her with a hunger so opposed to his previously cool demeanour. Like a man dying of thirst, he clasped her face with both hands and drank long and deep. Just his taste — a raw masculine essence she found highly addictive — sent her head spinning.
Currents of desire swept through her body as their tongues touched, tangled. The muscles in her core pulsed. A sense of longing gripped her, and she clutched his shoulders, his guttural groan filling her mouth as he strove to delve deeper.
God, there was nothing she needed more than him.
Impatient to touch his bare skin, Priscilla grasped his fine lawn shirt, yanked it up to slide her hands under, but the blasted thing was too long.
“Here, allow me,” he said in a languid drawl as they broke for breath. “You’re a little greedy tonight.”
“Greedy!” She was ravenous. “Well, I have waited patiently for the best part of a week.”
“And whose fault is that? I recall rattling the door until it almost came off its hinges.”
“It wouldn’t do to make things too easy for you. In fact, I think you should put on a show for me.” She had to do something to even the odds, something to make the moment more memorable — to set it apart from all his other encounters.
“A show?” He brushed his lips tenderly against hers as he spoke. “So you want me to perform, my lady. Shall I juggle with a pair of ripe, juicy apples or teach you to swallow a sword?”
Oh, he was exceptional at this game.