She saw the fight that glinted in his eyes; it was a battle that he, a man who was honorable, fought with himself. And determined to conquer that feeling he carried and steal this moment for the both of them, Myrtle touched her lips to his.

He remained still, unparticipating as she moved her mouth over his, and then a low, tortured groan escaped him.

Val deepened the kiss, deepened their embrace. This time, as she parted her lips for him, there was a raging intensity to it, one that made her quiver as heat pooled in her belly, and lower, in that place between her legs.

She should be ashamed or horrified. Or she suspected a proper lady was expected to feel those sentiments.

For Myrtle, there was no regret; there was nothing more than a wanting that redoubled with his every kiss.

Val shifted his attention, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth as he kissed a path lower to the curve of her cheek and down to her chin, and lower still.

Myrtle bit her lip and angled her neck intuitively, knowing where his quest went. He nipped lightly at that flesh, suckling, and she moaned.

“Your skin is like satin,” he praised, his voice hoarser than she’d ever heard it. And then he shifted, placing his lips against her collarbone and moving onward in his quest.

He paused, and holding her eyes with his, he lowered the straps of her nightshift, and then ever so gently, tenderly, he kissed her shoulder.

Myrtle’s eyes slid shut.

It was an innocuous part of her person.

Or that was what she’d believed.

She’d never seen her shoulder as a part of her body to inspire desire or capable of making her feel . . . everything she now felt.

She’d been so very wrong.

Her breath hitched as he continued to place the softest kisses upon that flesh, and it was as though she were a goddess whom he sought to properly revere. The ache between her legs grew unbearable, and she shifted in a bid to alleviate that sharp burning there.

Her efforts, however, were in vain.

“Val,” she whispered, pleading with him all over again.

He swept his arms under her, catching her to him, and carried her to the bed.

That lone bed she’d yearned to share with him.

In all those yearnings she’d had when she’d spied the furniture moments—a lifetime?—ago, she’d never dared allow herself this dream, the one now coming true.

Val laid her down and then came over her, framing her in his arms, shielding her from the cold.

He stopped, his dark eyes moving over her face. “You are certain . . . ?”

Myrtle stretched up and kissed him again.

She’d have this moment with him, without an expectation of anything more. And when this night was over, she’d protect him, too.