She didn’t know what to say to that, to know he’d gone into the game with the express purpose of doing as she commanded. There was a kindness to him, an unselfishness she’d not entirely expected. “I’m glad to have been a surprise.”

“You are definitely that, sweetheart.”

The endearment seemed to be more heartfelt, which gave her pause. She was here for a bedding, not an emotional entanglement. Best to get the game over with and move on to business. She lined up her final shot, took it, knew both exhilaration for winning and disappointment the game was at an end. She turned to find him merely studying her, simply waiting.

As difficult as it was, she managed to hold his gaze. “Final question: Do you want me?”

“More than I crave air.” He pushed himself away from the wall, walked to the table until only the narrow expanse of green separated them, placed his palms flat on it, and leaned toward her. “You won the game. What is my lady’s pleasure?”

“Exactly that. Pleasure me until I forget I’m a widow.”

Chapter 7

It pleased him beyond measure that she hadn’t asked him to bed her, although he suspected she thought her words were merely another version of the same thing. But he wanted to teach her differently, wanted to show her there was more to it than the rutting.

In his youth, he’d been content with the quick in and out. Then an older woman had shown him the joy to be found in taking one’s time. He wanted to gift his duchess with that elation, as he was fairly certain she’d never had it. Not all men were well versed in the art of fucking. Many had an aversion to sins of the flesh, but the need for surcease drove them to it and they wanted to be done as quickly as possible, as though sinning for a short time might be overlooked while a lengthier transgression was certain to send one to the eternal flames of perdition. But if a man was destined to go to hell anyway, which children born of shame were, he might as well make the most of the journey.

He took his time walking around the table, watching as the rise and fall of her bosom increased in tempo as he neared, how her breaths became more shallow, her blinks less frequent. Taking the cue from her, he placed his fingers where hers had been, noted the slight dampness there, couldn’t decide if the sign of her nervousness pleased or bothered him. He certainly didn’t want her to be fearful of what was to come. He was tempted to throw it across the room like a large dart, but the clatter would destroy the mood he was striving to create.