Her heart stuttered against her rib cage, and Sarani tamped down the emotion. She had known from the start that this was a pretense, and she’d tried to keep her heart guarded as well as she could. But this was Rhystan. In truth, she’d given her heart to him five years ago and she’d never gotten it back. Her body, in comparison, was inconsequential. Secondary.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, watching her. “Do you wish to return to Huntley House?”

He would do that, no questions asked, she knew.

“No, quite the contrary.” She let her gaze wander over his face, from his disheveled hair to his glittering steel-blue eyes and that wicked masculine mouth that had pleasured her so skillfully. Her breath caught on a wave of molten desire and she let it show. Boldly, Sarani licked her lips, letting her stare drop. He’d discarded his boots and waistcoat, and the sight of him in shirtsleeves, untucked from his trousers and all rumpled with desire, did delicious things to her insides. “What I wish for is for you to take off the rest of those clothes.”

His full lips parted. “Do you now?”

Sarani unfastened the ties of her cloak, seeing his eyes darken as the light in the bedroom revealed what the dim lamp in the carriage had not. The design of the night rail was truly outrageous. It wasn’t anything she would ever choose for herself but had been included in the order for the full wardrobe she’d placed with a celebrated local modiste. Panels of sheer silk and organza, edged with lace, were held together with scraps of ivory ribbon. The thing was scandalous, barely covering her intimate parts.

And by barely covering, she meant not at all.

Rhystan stared, his throat working, hands arrested over the knot of his necktie. Sarani didn’t dare glance down, knowing she would see the tops of her pale-brown nipples peeking through the lace. Fighting the heat that shot up her neck and into her cheeks, she jutted her chin. If she didn’t faint from apprehension, soon he would see her in much less.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life.”

The duke prowled toward her, the cravat dangling from one finger and falling carelessly to the floor. His shirt went next, over his head, joining its fallen comrade. Sarani gulped. Great goddess of fertility, he was pure, sinful, masculine perfection. He was a man who led by example, which meant he pulled his weight with his crew, hauling cargo and hoisting sails.

The result of hard outdoor labor was what she saw now. Acres of bronzed muscles spanned his broad chest, covered in a light patch of brownish-gold hair that arrowed down his hard stomach…where more stacked muscles vied for attention.