"I do." She rose onto her elbows and tucked her legs beneath her. Rising onto her knees beside him, she slipped her arms around his waist.

His skin was smooth but taut, hairless but for the dark trail leading from his navel to the waistband of his black trousers.

Her breasts pressed against his side as she leaned into him, and the tight ball of heat within her flared at the contact. His arm snaked around her back, pressing her closer as she bent forward to explore him with her lips.

"There it is." She pressed her lips to the side of his chest. "That taste. Mm."

"Velvet?"

"Mmm."

His chest resonated as he chuckled. His hand slid up her back and into her hair, fumbling as he plucked away her pins.

She stroked his side, soaking up the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. She traced his navel and tickled the hairs trailing to his waistband, then traveled back up to the hard planes of his chest, circling the flat, small nipples.

She moved higher, completely focused on her exploration. He had a small scar at his waistline, a freckle on his left pectoral and one on his shoulder above it, and his nipples were small and round and a dusky pink, not as dark as her own.

He leaned against the back of the sofa, his hands combing through her hair as she explored him, his breaths deep and even. When he released the last pin, her hair tumbled to her waist.

"You have beautiful hair."

"You have a beautiful abdomen," she returned, bent over the narrow strip of hair trailing from his navel. She touched the scar. "What happened?"

"Ah, that." He sighed. "Accident with a fishhook. The wound itself was less serious than the infection that resulted from it."

She shuddered. "Thank God you recovered."

She traced his waistband, then brazenly moved her hand lower, over the bulge delineated by the snug woolen fabric.

He seemed to hold still, suspended, as she explored the ridge of his erection, fascinated by its size, length, and girth. A glimmer of fear prickled along nerves that had been quiescent since she'd decided to pursue this course.

How was it possible for such a massive organ to fit inside a woman? How was it possible to feel pleasure at such a thing?

It had been a long time, indeed. She could hardly remember how William had done it. At first, he'd been very passionate with her, but whenever he'd joined with her the room had been dark. Furthermore, this particular part of his anatomy had come in contact with hers in only one specific location.

Despite Becky's bemusement, her body experienced no such hesitation. It heated, ached, craved, silently begged him to connect with her in this most intimate way.

A part of her, the ever-analytical part, told her that these feelings were natural, the instinctual human response to physical attraction. This instinct worked in a reciprocal fashion-by his evident state of arousal, she knew he wanted her, which in turn, made her own desire soar.

He'd moved her hair aside and was unbuttoning her dress, spreading the seams apart as he worked, his fingertips moving down her spine. Cool air washed over her newly bared flesh, and she sighed.

"I want this off you," he said, tugging on the fabric covering her back. "I want to see you. All of you."

She cupped his solid length in her hand and looked at him from beneath her lashes. "In that case, it would only be fair for me to see you as well. All of you."

"You will, sweetheart." Again, that wicked smile. "I promise."

Becky swiped her hand up over him. Her fingers skimmed over the ridged muscles of his stomach, then higher to his chest. She traced his collarbones, then moved down his arm, fascinated by the bulges and cords of muscles that flexed underneath her hand.

She wished she were an artist. She would draw him. No-better to sculpt him, for it was his shape that took her breath away. His chiseled, sculpted body brought to mind a statue created by an Italian master and brought to life by the gods. Like Michelangelo's David. She'd never been to Florence, but she'd seen the likenesses in books.

Compared to Jack, though, David was a slender boy. Jack was taller, thicker, sturdier, stronger, and bigger from top to bottom, especially...

Heat crept across her cheeks as she returned her fascinated gaze to that part of him that so intrigued her.

"Stand," he commanded in a low voice.

Her gaze shot to him. If she stood, her dress would fall down, and she would be naked.

He never took his eyes from her face. Gently, he took a stray wisp of hair that had fallen over her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "You do want this, don't you?"

"I..." Her voice dwindled, and she lapsed into honesty. "It has been a very long time. And... I was married. What if...?"

What if she'd been right about matters of the flesh overlapping with matters of the heart? What if once she gave her body to him, she lost her heart as well?

Her shields would shatter. She would no longer be safe. She'd be as vulnerable as she'd been with William.

With a low noise that sounded like a cross between a growl and a moan of dismay, he yanked her tightly against him. Her breasts crushed against the smooth heat of his chest, and she sighed in bliss. The warmth and comfort of his bare skin pressed against hers was inexplicably pleasurable.

"I'd never willfully cause you harm, Becky. Never." His voice shook as he said it. The rawness of his tone bespoke his honesty. His body resonated with it, and she knew he told the truth.

She did trust him, as much as she could trust any soul. She truly hadn't allowed him to crawl under her skin-well, not too much. She'd already promised herself she wouldn't allow him-or anyone-to hurt her. If she kept up her guard, she could protect herself from pain.

"What if...?" Her voice trailed off again. There were so many "what ifs." What if he didn't find her up to his standards for a bedmate? What if it hurt? What if he were to get her with child?

She simply could not take this as lightly as Cecelia would. Such a joining held great significance. When she stripped off her clothes, she stripped away her only tangible shields. How could anyone take such a thing lightly?

She'd only known Jack for a few weeks. They weren't married. If Jack possessed any desire to wed her, he'd have gone to her brother rather than to surreptitious private late-night meetings at a hotel.

"No," he said quietly. "I won't hurt you. I will give you pleasure. No regrets."

"No regrets," she repeated softly. She slipped her arms around his waist until her right arm would straighten no further and laid her head on his shoulder. "I am not innocent, Jack, but then again, I suppose I am in some matters. Such encounters are very new to me. Before this night, the only man who had seen my bare chest was my husband. In the dark. I didn't quite understand it until now, but by removing my clothes, you render me vulnerable. I dislike being vulnerable... but..." She struggled for the right words. "In a primal, most frightening way, I wish to be vulnerable to you."

"It's all right." His fingers trailed down her back, to the place where her dress had fallen to her hips. She sank into his embrace, soothed by his touch. "I am not the kind of man who would take advantage of a lady and then spurn her. Whatever might happen between us, know that I will take every precaution to protect you, both in body and in spirit."

It was a pretty speech. Outwardly, she knew that, and she also knew that a man would say almost anything to entice a woman into bed. But the quiet vehemence in his voice did much to allay her fears.

"I want you, Becky. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to bed you."

She almost laughed. She had thought herself utterly debauched for thinking the exact same thing about him.

"But those feelings do not scratch the surface of all there is to this night. There is so much more."

It was true that she felt that way, but he was a man. What more could there be to him? She tilted her head to look at him quizzically. "Really?"

He smoothed a thumb over her lower lip, pressing gently. "You're beautiful, you must know that. You stand apart from the other ladies of the ton."

Her shoulders tightened. Talk of her looks always made her uncomfortable. She'd never truly felt a resident in her own skin. She often stared at herself in the looking glass and all she could see was a frightened, lonely woman, old beyond her years. A woman who'd made tragic, terrible mistakes, and nearly destroyed every person she'd ever loved in doing so.

"You don't like to be told of your beauty." It wasn't a question. He laughed softly, but there was bitterness in the sound. "Neither do I."

She remained silent.

"That's what it is, don't you see? I feel a connection to you that I never have with another person. I feel innately that there is something that binds us, something beyond carnal attraction."

His words placated her even as alarm bells screeched in her head. He was too serious. He was speaking of a more intimate connection than lust.

"Neither of us can know what the future will hold, but I have no intention of leaving you defenseless, no matter the circumstance."

She pressed a hand to his chest. "Noble Jack."

After a tense pause, he said in a low voice, "Never make the mistake of thinking me noble."

He made no sense. He went on about his honorable intentions-well, as honorable as intentions could be in such circumstances-and then said he wasn't noble. She narrowed her eyes. "Then you've been lying to me."

"No."

"You tell me how noble you are, in so many words, and then say to me that you don't possess the trait. How can that be?"

"Some things are simple. My desire to have you, and to please you while I have you. My desire to keep you safe from harm. Other aspects of me are more complicated and certainly less noble."

She nodded, and again awareness of her body pressed against his warm skin flooded through her. She sighed in contentment.

"You have taken me too far," he said quietly. "Every second I am not inside you my suffering increases."

"You don't look like you're suffering."

Reaching behind him, he grasped her hand and pressed it between them, pushing it down over the hard ridge of his erection. "You've teased me, ever since that first night we were alone. Now, it happens when I am with you, and when we are separated I can't stop thinking about you." He gave her a disgruntled look. "This tends to become highly uncomfortable for a man after a while."

Becky fought a grin. "I'd apologize if the wicked part of me weren't so wildly gratified to hear it."

His groan as she squeezed him was truly wretched, and Becky almost felt sorry for him.

"Come to bed with me," he said, his voice an arousing combination of entreaty and command.

She pressed her palm flat against the slight curve of his pectoral muscle and closed her eyes. "Yes. Take me to bed."

Jack rose, lifting her as if she were light as a feather. Her dress, still draped around her waist, bunched at her hips as he walked into the adjoining bedchamber, kicking the doors shut behind them as they entered the room.

The room was elegantly decorated. Art depicting landscapes of the Continent draped the walls. The carpet was lilac shot through with gold to match the similarly colored wallpaper. Candles burned from a pair of brass wall sconces, casting golden sparks of color through the room. The bed was the centerpiece. Tasseled golden ropes drew back velvet curtains of such a dark blue they appeared black, revealing an elegantly carved oak frame. A multitude of pillows in light purples, blacks, and golds covered the embroidered blue-black counterpane.

It was a room designed for illicit trysts. Becky tried not to think of Mr. Sheffield planning it thus, but she couldn't help it. A flush burned across her chest.

Jack pulled the counterpane and blanket down and laid her on the soft sheet, propping her head on one of the pillows. She gazed up at him as he hooked his fingers under the fabric of her dress, and she promptly forgot all about Mr. Sheffield.

"I don't want to tear it," he said when the material snagged over her bottom.

She lifted her hips, and the soft muslin slid over her pelvis, down her legs, and off her body, leaving her completely bare.

She focused on keeping her breaths even as his hands went to the falls of his trousers. She pressed her lips together and clutched the sheet beneath her in her fists as he kicked off his shoes and the wool slid down his narrow hips. Once he removed his trousers and stockings, he crawled onto the bed beside her.

He gathered her against him until they were pressed together from head to foot, face to face, his heavy erection nudging her thigh. "I'm going to take my time," he murmured, as if to himself. "It might kill me, but I will take my time." He cupped her cheeks in his palms. "Remember what I told you earlier."

"Remember...?" she asked faintly.

"I wouldn't hurt you for anything. Remember that."

"I... yes," she breathed. "I'll remember."

He kissed her tenderly, sipping at her lips as if she were ambrosia. She gripped his hard shoulders, her mind whirring, the aching need spreading through her body like a sweet poison.

Grazing over her skin, his hand left her cheek and traveled down her neck and chest to her breast, plumping and kneading, his fingertips scraping over her nipple, making her squirm and gasp into his mouth.

Moving his hand to the curve of her hip, he pulled her more firmly to him. Unable to help herself, she ground her body against him, needing him closer, wanting more.

"That's right," he murmured. His hand slipped lower, right to the center between her legs, and she nearly lurched off the bed.

"Too fast?"

"No," she whispered. "No."

His hand tightened over her mound, and she gasped. Lightning blazed through her, hot sparks of pleasure.

His fingers pressed deeper. Becky held on to Jack for dear life as he began a slow glide over her sensitive, slick skin. "Oh," she gasped, her body arcing toward him.

She kept her eyes open, fixed on his face, despite the urge to slam them shut. His gaze remained on her, steady and determined. "I want you to come for me."

She made an incoherent noise. She'd been close earlier when he'd lavished attention on her breasts. Now, she didn't know if she could. The sensations were too powerful. Almost overwhelming.

His gaze, so focused on her, so steady. His sex, growing ever harder against her thigh. She squirmed against it, seeking it as she sought his touch. Light from the candles danced across his broad shoulders, making them shine bronze.

He was so beautiful. And his eyes were dark with want, brimming with lust. His lips were parted with need, his breath releasing in harsh rasps that drowned out the sound of her own exhalations and filled the room with his desire.

Yet he didn't push her down and make her his. He worked her slowly, patiently, until she whimpered. Her fingernails scored his shoulders. Her body shuddered from head to toe. The feeling-oh, it was beautiful and wicked and so heady she thought she might burst. It was a glowing sun of pleasure expanding within her, sending exquisite flames licking through her veins.

"Oh," she whispered on a moan. "Oh."

His fingers tightened over her, the pressure increasing. He pressed on that sensitive area, and she squirmed away, gasping, "Too much."

She would crawl out of her skin if he continued. He didn't. He gentled his fingers, tracing circles around that too-sensitive spot. Still, he studied her, watched her closely.

He was learning her body, she realized. Learning what made her groan, what made her squirm. What made her come.

He slipped a finger inside her, and she sucked in her breath and pushed her forehead onto his shoulder. She trembled as he moved inside her, learned about her most secret places, her unspoken desires, the places that made her sob with a need for release.

"Come for me, sweetheart. Come when you're ready."

His fingers pumped deep within her. She thought she might be torn apart, or that she might scream, or yell at him to stop or go harder, faster, do something to free her, to release the tension that had built so tautly inside her that her skin prickled with the need for relief.