She set a thrush next to a cat. The bird toppled over, and he waited while she carefully righted it. “I need to tell you something. Besides the fairy tale.” Her face was half turned away, and he could see the glistening trail of a tear on her cheek.

A kind man—an honorable man—would leave her alone. He would pretend he didn’t see the tears and would turn away. He would not trespass upon her fears and desires. But long ago Harry had lost what little honor he’d ever had.

And he had never been kind.

He touched her hair with a fingertip, feeling the soft strands. “What do you need to tell me?”

She turned to face him, and her eyes were bright in the firelight, uncertain and hopeful and as alluring as Eve herself. “I know now what I want from you.”

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Harry stood so near, his breath caressed her face. “And what is it you want from me, my lady?”

George’s heart beat in her throat. This was so much harder than she’d imagined back in her room at Woldsly. She felt like she was laying her soul before him. “I want you.”

He bent closer, and she thought she felt his tongue touch her ear. “Me?”

She gasped. This was what drove her on, despite her embarrassment, despite her fear: desire for this man.

“Yes. I . . . I want you to kiss me like you did before. I want to see you naked. I want to be naked for you. I want . . .”

But her thoughts scattered because this time she was sure of it—he was tracing the rim of her ear with his tongue. And while the idea of such a caress might seem rather odd, in reality it was divine. She shivered.

Harry’s chuckle puffed against her wet ear. “You want many things, my lady.”

“Mmm.” George swallowed as another thought occurred to her. “And I want you to stop calling me my lady.”

“But you order me about so masterfully.” His teeth closed on her earlobe.

George had to press her knees together to contain her own excitement. “E-even so—”

“Maybe I should call you George, as your sister does.” He trailed a line of kisses up to her temple.

She frowned as she tried to concentrate on his words. It wasn’t very easy. “Well—”

“Although I’m afraid I don’t see you in the same way as your sister. George is such a mannish name.” His hand wandered to her breast. “And I don’t find you mannish at all.” One thumb brushed her nipple.

She almost stopped breathing.

He circled the tip through the fabric of her dress. Oh, dear Lord. She didn’t know it was possible to feel so much from such a little touch.

“I could call you Georgina, but it’s long.” He watched his hand, his eyes dark.

What?