Madness.

I am perfectly rational, perfectly honorable…and, apparently, perfectly mad.

“Is it?” His voice sounded drugged. Deranged. Whatever exotic substance was bubbling through his blood, it was potent as sin.

Olivia’s laugh tickled against his cheek, light as a zephyr. “Utter madness,” she whispered. And then kissed him full on the mouth.

The feel, the taste, the texture of her satin-soft lips on his snapped the last shred of sanity. His arms circled her waist and crushed her close, the rustle of lace petticoats entangling with the whisper of wool.

Her thighs touched his trouser front, her slow, swirling sway igniting a jolt of fire in his groin. He came to instant arousal, a groan rumbling deep in his throat.

“Miss Sloane—Olivia,” he rasped.

In answer, she hitched her hips hard against him. And rubbed herself slowly against his steeled shaft.

John gasped, and with a wordless growl, lifted her into his arms.

Bed. There was a small bedchamber just off the main sitting room. Half-staggering, half-spinning, he somehow managed to navigate the short corridor. One of his hands twined in her silky tresses—he heard the ping of falling pins mark their progress along the rough-planked floor. The other was doing things no honorable gentleman ought to be doing to a respectable lady.

“Oh, please…” said Olivia in a fluttery whisper.

He stopped short in the doorway, suddenly, thoroughly, achingly ashamed of himself.

“…don’t stop, Wrexham.”

“It would be wrong of me to take advantage of the situation,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I—”

“I ask you to rise above the petty prejudices and traditions of the past,” she intoned, quoting a passage from the speech they had just created. “It’s time to forge a new set of laws—a just set of laws—instead of letting ourselves be chained to the old way of thinking!”

Her eloquence was…erotic. The passionate words teased over his skin like a lover’s caress.

“Make our own rules?”

“Yes, why not?” An errant curl brushed against his cheek as Olivia shifted and the scent of her sent another rush of heat through his body.

Its thrum was fast drowning out the argument from the Voice of Honor in the back of his head.

“I don’t, as you know, feel bound by Society’s rigid rules,” she went on. “So…”

All thought of rules unraveled as Olivia pressed her palm against the top fastening of his shirt.

So, yes—to the Devil with rules! To the Devil with regulations and all the orderly thoughts that regimented his life.

“Then let us,” he rasped, “cast them to the wind.”

Chapter Seventeen

Olivia felt herself falling, falling, weightless and wondrous with the feel of his big, muscled body molding to hers. The bed shivered as their twined limbs thudded with an eager sigh atop the down coverlet. Fumbling, tugging, pulling—impatient hands sought ties and fastenings.

Yes. Yes. She arched upward, allowing John to strip off her gown.

Propelled by her palms, his trousers slithered down his thighs.

Her corset strings quickly yielded to his nimble fingers.

A boot thudded against the floor, then another.

“Yes. Yes.” The words broke free from her lips as he cupped her breasts. And then speech was impossible as his mouth captured hers in a deep, delving kiss.

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net