Or even better, in nothing at all.

How long had it been since his pulse had pounded so eagerly? How long since his blood had felt afire with want? She was lovely indeed, but she was first and foremost Gemma, his Gemma, the woman who made his soul awaken again, who made his heart long again, who made his body flame again.

Yes, he wanted her. He could not stand there and deny the pulse pounding in his throat, or the bulge in his trousers. He wanted her wrapped in his arms, her bare skin pressed to his. He wanted all of her, her body, her lips, her hair, her touch.

He didn't think he'd live through the night without them. And he wanted to. For the first time in so long, he wanted a tomorrow. He wanted a hundred thousand tomorrows, if he could spend them in Gemma's arms.

He watched her bite her bottom lip. Her eyes were cast down, the faded quilt clutched high. She was thinking so hard he could almost hear the whirring of tiny golden gears from where he waited. What was she thinking? Was it about him? What would she decide?

Finally she looked up and when her scorching gaze met his, the breath left his body.

"Mr. Lysander Worthington, of the London Worthingtons," she said slowly, "Do you think that sofa is wide enough for two?"

WAS THIS MADNESS? THEN she was mad and she didn't care.

He was a stranger from the city, a misfit in the Dales. He would leave soon in his fine carriage, with his grand friends, and she must stay.

He was a lost and unsteady soul, quite possibly with only the barest armature of reason bolstering the structure of his mind.

He was also beautiful and alone and he understood her in ways she did not even understand herself.

She dropped the quilt to the floor and never taking her gaze from his dark one, stepped forward into his arms.

CHAPTER 24

Chapter 24

MATTERS PROGRESSED VERY QUICKLY from there. All Gemma's pent-up desire erupted from somewhere just beneath her belly and she couldn't imagine how she'd held it in for so long!

He was tall and strong and so entirely focused on kissing her that the intensity sent shivers through her even as she burned for him. He had both hands around her face, holding her mouth still for his ravishment.

Gemma couldn't strip off the pretty little cap sleeves fast enough. Years of practice doing for herself came in handy as she freed the closure of the gown to the small of her back.

She didn't give a damn about her wrist or the gown or anything but the empty, pulsing ache within her. She needed his hardness deep inside her, filling her, completing her.

She'd been empty for so long.