The fact was that Devon St. John inspired fear and more; he was also directly responsible for every last twinge of lust, desire, and unmitigated longing that had wracked her nights ever since she’d met him. And it was time she stopped fighting it and accepted the simple fact that she wanted him.

Slowly, she released the ends of the scarf and tugged her arm free, first one, and then the other. He rocked back on his heels, disappointment flickering across his face.

She unwound the scarf scraps from her wrists and collected them in a ball. Devon stood, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Kat, I—”

She pointed to one side.

His gaze followed her finger, his eyes widening when he realized she was pointing directly at the bed.

She handed him the scarf scraps. “You can tie me up there, if you’d like. I think it might be more comfortable for us both.”

Devon blinked bemusedly at the scarf ties, a gradual dawning crossing his face. “Kat, are you certain—”

“More, please,” she said again, only this time she stood and walked to the bed, not waiting to see if he would follow.

She stopped by the bed and reached up to undo the single tie that held on the pale green night rail, hesitating just a second when it dawned on her that for the first time in she didn’t know how many years, a man was going to see her naked. And not just any man, but Devon St. John, one of London’s most sought after, most feted bachelors.

He was used to having the most delicate and dainty women of the ton undress before him every day, if what Murien hinted was true.

Kat’s lips quivered suddenly. She wished she hadn’t grown so fond of pastries these last few years. But who could have foreseen that a beautiful, incredibly handsome man would even now be waiting for her to undress, his eyes dark with passion.

Life was a mystery. And so, too, was Devon St. John. She only hoped that he would not cease to be attracted to her once he saw her for what she was—too tall, too large, too awkward, too loud, and too…undainty.

The horrid thoughts froze her fingers over the ties.

Just as she was preparing to force her fingers into behaving, a pair of warm hands closed over hers. Devon’s voice sounded in her ear. “You’re going to maul this lovely gown. That, my sweet, is my job.”

The humor lacing his voice made her relax somewhat. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to undressing on demand.”

He quickly undid the tie, but made no move to step away, his body warm against her back, his hands slowly sliding up and over her shoulders. “There. Now you are untied.”