"Did ye mother never teach ye how dangerous it'd be in a room alone with a man?"
The side of her mouth lifted slightly, and her passion-filled eyes drifted closed for a moment. "I know what I want and it stands before me."
The knowledge in her expression acted like a goad. He slid his hand beneath the heavy skirts, searching for and quickly finding the slit in her drawers. He clenched his jaw against the groan of delight that seized him as he touched her there.
But she did not constrain herself. She fell against him with a low, womanly moan of pleasure.
There was such profound excitement in stroking a woman and knowing it was the first time she had ever experienced such pleasure. He did not know if he would have the strength to stop. Surely she would find this too overwhelming for her innocence, and tear herself away?
"Tell me to stop and I will," he demanded, his voice ragged.
Her chest heaved as she stared up at him. "Don't stop." Her voice cracked.
With a groan, he lowered his head and kissed her, his tongue dancing with hers. His whole body ached with the surges of pleasure rushing through it.
It made him recall what he had forgotten in the last few moments; that she was the daughter of a lord, and innocent, to boot. She was destined to marry a man with title and wealth. That man would expect his wife to be a virgin when he came to her on her wedding night. The society she lived in would crucify him for sullying one of their daughters, but the punishment they reserved for her would be far, far worse. They may not physically beat her, but this society had other, powerful ways of making a woman's life miserable and empty.
She licked her full lips, before meeting his gaze once more. God, he needed release. He trembled with it.
He lifted one of her dainty feet, took off her shoe, and tossed it aside. The other quickly joined it. His fingers encircled her ankles, drawing upward over the soft silk of her stockings, baring her skin to his gaze. Her long, slender legs were creamy white and as soft as silk against his fingers.
How he would love to undress her, to take the time to unveil every inch of her pale skin. But the music floating up from downstairs reminded him where they were and that the absence of a young titled woman would soon be noted.
Time was crowding him. Though his instincts were telling him to walk her to the door and escort her back downstairs, he could not end it that way. He wanted to leave a small fragment of himself with her-an indelible mark on her soul.
He knew what he had to do.
