The desperation in his eyes fired her blood—past a simmer, straight to a boil that made her shift on the bed, pink rising in her cheeks, her hands reaching for him.

He moved back and pulled off his wrapper. She caught a flash of hard male body, a slice of golden skin, and then his mouth crashed down on hers and his body lowered with hardly more grace.

His weight made a sob rise in her throat. There was something so comforting about being surrounded by warm strength. The feeling of a man’s body on top of hers was marvelous.

He began kissing the side of her neck, so she turned her head and ran her hands over powerful shoulders.

She felt untethered, as if she were held to the bed only by the weight of his body. How could she have forgotten the delicious feeling of skin roughed by hair, hard-muscled thighs, and hard other things? Hugo rolled against her and her arms tightened as her belly clenched. A puff of air escaped her lips.

“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” he murmured.

“I like it,” she said. She almost stopped there, but this man wasn’t her husband—and she didn’t want another husband. With a lover, she could be absolutely honest. So she kept going. “I like the way our knees knocked together, and the fact your arse is extremely muscled.”

His grin was pure mischief, a man’s wicked fun, not a boy’s.

She let her fingers dance over his bottom, making him shiver. “I would never have mentioned that word to Peter.”

“Could we forget the word ‘Peter’ and keep ‘arse’ instead?” He pulled back, coming up on his knees so she could see his face. He was older than Peter had been, with traces of laughter around his eyes.

“You don’t fancy comparisons?” She reached up and traced the amused arch of his lip.

“Not allowed in polite society,” he stated, with all the calm authority of a duke.

“Are there any other rules I should know about extramarital congress?”

“No thinking. Thinking is as bad as mentioning former spouses.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Ophelia said. “I think all the time.” A little panic slid down her spine. She pictured the way she and Peter had made love. They were invariably courteous and kind with each other. Of course they had been thinking during the act.

She had constantly thought about what Peter would like her to do next. She had the strong feeling he had done the same. That’s why their marital life had been so successful.

But just as that panic rose, it dissipated. She wasn’t marrying the duke. What they did in bed this evening wouldn’t set a pattern for future years to come.