“Not like that,” she whispered, almost as if she were saying it to herself.

His body, which had begun to calm, started to fire up again.

“Well,” she said, still looking rather stunned herself, “I suppose you have to marry me now.”

At any other moment, from any other woman…hell, after any other kiss, he would have descended into instant irritation. But something about Amelia’s tone, and everything about her face, which still carried a rather fetchingly dubious expression, brought about the exact opposite reaction, and he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded. But didn’t demand, really, because she was still too befuddled to manage anything shrill.

“I have no idea,” he said quite honestly. “Here, turn around, I’ll do you up.”

Her hand flew to the back of her neck, and from her gasp he wondered if she’d even realized he had undone two of her buttons. She tried to refasten them herself, and he rather enjoyed watching the attempt, but after about ten seconds of frantic fumbling, he took pity on her and gently brushed her fingers aside.

“Allow me,” he murmured.

As if she had any other choice.

His hands worked slowly, even though every rational corner of his brain knew that a quick frock closure was in order. But he was mesmerized by that small patch of skin, peachy smooth and his alone. Faint blond tendrils slid down her nape, and when his breath touched her, her skin seemed to shiver.

He leaned down. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her.

And she moaned again.

“We had better return,” he said roughly, stepping back. Then he realized he’d never done the last button of her frock. He swore under his breath, because it couldn’t possibly be a good idea to touch her again, but he couldn’t very well send her back to the house like that, so back to the buttons he went, moving with considerably more diligence this time.

“There you are,” he muttered.

She turned, eyeing him warily. It made him feel like a despoiler of innocents.

And oddly, he didn’t mind. He held out his arm. “Shall I escort you back?”

She nodded, and he had the strangest, most intense need in that moment—

To know what she was thinking.

Funny, that. He’d never cared to know what anyone had thought before.

But he didn’t ask. Because he didn’t do such things. And really, what was the need? They’d marry eventually, so it didn’t matter what either of them thought, did it?