Leo growled a curse. “Not in a damned carriage. Not the first time.”
A sultry need spread through her when she considered that at some point in the future, he might very well take her in a carriage. Or she might take him. Anything could happen.
She felt giddy with power. Hers, and his. For she had discovered her own potential at Lord Overbury’s. She had revealed her deepest secrets to Leo: that her love of cartography had led to thievery. Yet he had not chastised her, nor expressed disgust at her actions. He admired her for all of that, and she learned to value herself.
Never before this night had men looked at her the way Leo had. And he wasn’t the only one with frank interest in his gaze. When she stopped concerning herself with how others saw her, suddenly there were men everywhere, even asking her to dance.
She drew a visceral, primitive thrill from watching Leo stalk across the chamber to claim her, taking her away from her dancing partner. Nothing refined or cultured in his behavior. He simply took what he wanted. And what he wanted was her.
He still did. And Lord save her, she wanted him.
At last the carriage rolled to a stop outside their home. Before the footman could come and open the door, Leo already had thrown it wide and had leapt down. He reached in for her. His hands spanned her waist, swinging her down onto the sidewalk. She had no awareness of the street, of the servants, of anything but him staring down at her.
“You aren’t afraid.”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
Animal need flared in his storm gray eyes, and his hands tightened around her waist. “To hell with waiting.”
He released his clasp of her middle, only to thread his fingers with hers, then took the steps with long-legged strides. Fortunately, Anne felt the same urgency, and kept pace. In a moment, they were inside and hurrying up the stairs leading to their bedchamber.
Leo pushed the door open. Only the fire was lit, and the room held a dark, flickering glamour, like stories of ancient fairy kingdoms beneath the hills. In those stories, young girls wandered into the kingdoms, lured by sinister, beautiful Fae princes to become ageless consorts. Their families in the mortal world mourned their disappearance, little knowing the truth behind the loss.
As Leo drew her deeper into the bedchamber, its red walls bathed in firelight, she felt herself one of those folktale girls beneath the hills, and could not mind that she would never again see the sun.
Meg appeared in the doorway.
“I don’t need you tonight.” Anne’s gaze never left Leo.
“But your gown—”
“I’ll see to it,” said Leo. He, too, did not look away, but stared at Anne with fire in his eyes as they stood by the foot of the bed. “Close the door.”
If Meg answered or did as she was bade, Anne never knew. She saw only Leo, heard only the harsh rasp of his breathing and the thick beat of her heart.
Leo stepped toward her. She met him halfway.
Anne wrapped her arms around his wide, hard shoulders, sank her fingers into his hair after tugging it free of its queue. His hands splayed across her back, pulling her tight against him. They were large, and rough, yet she felt both fragile and resilient beneath them. They each drew in a breath, taking air from each other, and their mouths met.
What had begun in the Overburys’ foyer served merely as prelude. The heat and need that had been building gradually over days, weeks, lifetimes finally ignited. Their lips shaped each other’s, testing, tasting. Exploratory and claiming. She felt his hunger, his demand, and it didn’t frighten her. Her own desire did not send her, shivering and protective, into herself. She drew on their mutual need, took sustenance from it.
His tongue slicked inside her mouth, and she stroked it with her own. His response came in his growl, and his hand moving down her back to pull her hips snug against his own. As snug as he could, given the mass of her skirts, panniers, and petticoats.
He broke the kiss with a snarl. “I need to feel you, damn it. See you.”
They both battled with her clothing, undoing the hooks beneath her stomacher, loosening ties, undoing tapes. Together, they peeled away rustling layers of silk, the gown pooling on the floor. She stepped out of her shed clothing, kicking off her heeled slippers, and stood before him in her underclothes.
Craving his touch once more, she moved toward him, but he gently held her back.
“Let me see you, Anne. Let me see my prize.”
Her face flamed with a combination of embarrassment and desire, yet she kept herself still and let him look his fill. He was all bestial hunger as he stared at her, his gaze roving over her with hot possession. She knew she could show herself like this to him—these past days had shaped a trust between them, and she gave herself to that trust.
The cotton of her chemise was thin as a sigh, her peach-hued nipples and dark golden curls between her legs plainly visible. Light as it was, the gauzy fabric still felt heavy against her skin. She saw in Leo’s ravenous gaze that she was beautiful, and it fed her power.
She stepped closer, and his hands came up, roaming over her body, stroking along her shoulders, down her arms, tracing patterns between her breasts and the curve of her belly. His touch filled her with sharpening crests of need. When he cupped her breasts and teased her nipples into harder points, awareness coalesced into an exquisite ache.
Wanting more, she rose up on her toes and kissed him, open-mouthed. They groaned at the sensation. He took and he gave, and as her hands gripped his shoulders, the trembling she felt was not merely her own, but his. This, too, strengthened her, and she pressed closer, rubbing her thighs and the tips of her breasts against him.
Hotter air touched her as he gathered up and discarded her chemise.
She was utterly exposed. Instinctive modesty made her turn away, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No, no.” He gently turned her to face him. “This is me. This is what we’ve made between us.”
His gaze burned hot, yet beneath shone tenderness and acceptance.
Drawing a breath, she let her arms lower to her sides. Allowing him to see her.
He recognized what this meant, and as he looked his fill, she saw both his sensual hunger and his pleasure in her trust. Yet he did not simply look. He stepped toward her, and then his broad hands were everywhere, caressing her naked skin. Her back. The curve of her buttocks. Her breasts. Her skin became unbearably sensitive, yet the flood of sensation was too good, too wondrous, and she couldn’t find words to make him stop. She didn’t want him to stop.
She moved to untie her garters and roll down her stockings.
“Leave them.” His fingers trailed over the ribbons and silk, then higher, to the bare flesh of her thighs. “Soft here. So damned soft. And here”—his fingers glided higher, and she tensed in anticipation—“softer still.”
Her arms wrapped around him. She held herself in readiness, dizzy with the feel of his still-clothed body against her own naked skin, the tremors of need that wracked them both.
Then his fingers found her. Her most intimate place. She cried out in pleasure, the sudden and yet inevitable beauty of it. He stroked her, spreading wetness, learning her secrets.
“Ah, Leo.” She writhed against him.
“Have you done this, Anne?” His voice was hoarse, demanding. “Have you touched yourself? Made yourself come?”
With anyone else, the questions would have embarrassed her, yet she knew this man, her husband, and to hear him speak thus and answer in kind felt precisely right.
“Yes.” She gasped into his mouth. “Yet it was never like this.”
He groaned. “Spread your legs. Give me more.”
This was to be a night of discovery. She had often wondered how it must feel to stand on the deck of a ship and see an unknown coastline approach, never before encountered. The fear and excitement of new territory. Part of her wanted to stay within the confines of safety, her narrow world. But here was a chance to be the explorer she had longed to be. Summoning her courage, she whispered, “Let me touch you, too.”