His growl was long and low, a rumbling in his chest that vibrated against her breasts. He swept her up in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber where the massive bed awaited them.

He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted her—all of her, every aspect of her. His name on her lips was an aphrodisiac he’d never experienced. Others had spoken his name, but no other utterance had sounded as breathless, as sweet. A benediction.

He’d wanted her to desire him. How was he to have known his desire for her would eclipse any longing he’d ever experienced? She was a witch, a vixen, a lady knocking on the door to his heart. He was so tempted to answer, to invite her in, but he understood that what was happening between them was not grounded in reality—it was part and parcel of the fantasy world he’d created. She was not a duchess of the realm and he was not the bastard son of an earl. Within these walls, they were not at opposite ends of the social hierarchy. Within his private chambers, they were all that existed and soon they would be supplanted by pleasure.

While he was anxious to see her completely nude, he took his time divesting her of her clothing, making the removal of each item as sensual as possible. He was succeeding if the glaze in her eyes was any indication. He skimmed his fingers slowly over every inch of skin revealed. When her breasts were freed, he felt as though they were old friends returning to visit. He cupped them in his palms, plumped them up, offered them to his mouth for feasting. He kissed, licked, suckled, first one and then the other.

Moaning softly, she wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and dropped her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. God, how could he resist that? So he nibbled and nipped, relishing the way her fingers tightened their hold.

Then he returned to the task at hand, shoving her loosened gown and petticoats down over her hips so she could step out of them. Quickly he rid her of the remainder of her undergarments, leaving her stockings for last. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he rolled the delicate silk past her knee, down her calf, over her ankle, teasing her flesh with featherlike strokes of his fingertips as he went. Her hands folded over his shoulders as he eased the stocking over her heel, her arch, her toes. He rubbed her foot, lifted it for a kiss, before giving his attention to the other stocking. When it had joined the first, he lifted his gaze to her, taking in the wonderful, slender, long length of her. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”