She blinked at him, hurt burning down her spine as fiercely as desire had, and so she saw the moment that he realized what he’d just said and added, “No. Oh, shite, no. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Um,” Ophelia said, suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that her legs were bound around him as if she—

She unwound herself and put her feet back on the bed. “I’m not usually . . .”

“Oh, God, Phee.” There was a rasp in his voice that she liked. “Please don’t take offense. I’m an idiot.”

He had stopped moving, and she had stopped moving, so now they lay together awkwardly, and Ophelia, for one, felt frozen.

She cleared her throat. “I apologize for the profanity.”

“Fuck that,” he said, breaking the obscene still life they’d created by thrusting again.

Desperate herself, Ophelia responded with a squeak and a swallowed word.

“Give me your hands.”

Bemused, she brought her arms down to the bed and bent her elbows so that their fingers could entwine. Then Hugo started kissing her so deeply that even if she had thought of words, there was no air to speak them. His body took on a rhythm that made passion quake down her legs and press tighter against him.

“Here,” he said, when she’d almost lost control of herself, but not quite. He uncurled his right hand, reached back, and pulled her knee up. Her pelvis tilted and she helplessly let out a broken sound.

“Put your legs around me,” he growled into her mouth.

She did, and it changed the angle so that she was breathless, suddenly mad, shaking all over. She managed to keep her mouth shut, though, until he suddenly stopped and put his lips on hers.

“Please, Phee.”

“Please, what?”

Their hands had fallen apart and she was clinging to him again.

“Talk to me,” he growled. “Please talk to me.”

She was sweaty and shaking. She wanted to come more than she had . . . well, forever. Instead of talking she kissed him and let her hips talk, but then he began moving faster, and her head fell back.

Tension was building and building and she wasn’t sure when she started talking again, but she registered the joyous glint in his eyes. Then they were both gasping for air, trembling violently, and she was pushing against him with all the strength in her body.

And then the world exploded around them with a fiery intensity that she, for one, had never experienced.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered a while later.

“There’s my duchess,” he whispered back. “My last, wonderful, beloved, profane duchess.”

“Duchesses probably don’t curse.”

“Mine does.” He licked her cheekbone. “Sweats too. I’m so lucky, so damned lucky.”