Bronwyn could barely breathe from the raw desire choking her when he bent over the edge of the bed, thick, bare forearms holding up his big frame and bracketing her in place. Clad in a midnight-blue waistcoat, a diamond stickpin winking from the folds of his cravat, tawny hair falling into his brow and cheeks, and eyes glinting with lust, he looked like a dissolute hedonist. Even his cheekbones were in firelit shadow, giving him an otherworldly look. A fairy-tale prince come to snatch her away from the world of mortals. Heavens, when had she become so fanciful?

“No, but you’re careful with me, and you want to make sure I am here in full possession of all my wits and not coerced in any way.”

Because he was a gentleman. A duke who had offered to wed her but for all the wrong reasons. Bronwyn didn’t want him to resent her for it one day, and he would.

“And?” he asked.

“To be clear, you’re what I want.” Her hot stare clashed with his, as she eased out a breath from her tightening throat. “I want you to pleasure me so well that I all can see and feel is you. Make me yours, Valentine.”

The growl that broke from his chest was so primal that all the hairs on her body stood on end. All of her nerve endings, every pulse point in her body, throbbed to violent life. Oh, she had no doubt this man would ruin her for any other man. Already her body craved his and only his. With a pained grunt, he tore off his waistcoat, buttons flying in his haste, and yanked off his cravat until he stood there in plain shirtsleeves.

The Duke of Thornbury was the most beautiful man she had ever beheld.

The most sinful. His shroud of ice had melted, leaving behind only fire and passion.

Bronwyn wanted to combust.

Holding his gaze, she reached up to the pins in her hair and removed them, letting her hair tumble loose, and climbed further back onto the bed. With one lazy hand, she walked her fingers down her bodice, slowing over the mounds of her breasts in a languid caress that had his jaw clenching before drawing up her skirts to bare her black knit silk hose.

He stared, mesmerized, nostrils flaring.

“Like what you see?” she whispered, suddenly unsure. Each of their past couplings had been hard and fast…with no slow seduction and heady perusals. The feel of those hungry eyes on her was as powerful as the stroke of his fingertips over her heated skin. One look and he could send her aching body to the precipice of release.

“I love what I see.”

She parted trembling thighs. “Then undress me, Your Grace.”