With staggering steps, they made it to the bedroom. She knelt before him as he sat on the edge of the bed and helped him remove his wet boots. He made quick work of his breeches and lay back, gloriously naked, and Georgie couldn’t contain a breathless laugh of triumph. Hers.

She put her knee on the bed and prowled up his body, and for a while he was content to let her explore. She trailed her hand down, over the marvelous bumps and ridges of his chest and abdomen, down to the intriguing line of hair that started at his belly button and speared, like a wicked arrow, straight to his thoroughly aroused shaft.

Georgie swallowed, suddenly overcome by nerves. She hadn’t seen this part of him the last time.

His eyes glowed. “Touch me.”

She’d wanted to do this ever since she’d felt him through his breeches in the submarine. Gently, she wrapped her hand around him and gasped as he pulsed under her palm. He was shockingly warm, his skin soft with a layer of rigid muscle beneath. She stroked experimentally, and he groaned and arched up into her hand. “Do you like this?” she teased.

“Yes!”

“I love this sleepy, sulky look you get,” she said. “It must be whenever you’re thinking of this. It makes me all hot and muddled.”

She bent and put her mouth on him. He hissed a breath between his teeth, as he’d done when she’d touched his wound with the brandy, but feminine instinct told her this was in pleasure, not pain. She flicked her tongue. Her senses reeled at the incredible feel of him, his taste. He filled her senses. There was only him, only delight.

“That’s enough,” Benedict groaned. “No doubt a courtly swain would let you have your wicked way with him all night, but a scoundrel like myself can only take so much.” In a lightning move, he reversed their positions so she lay beneath him on the bed. He sent her an insolent pirate’s leer, once again her beloved prisoner from Newgate. “Now, I have you in my clutches, Mrs. Wylde.” He curled her hair around his fist and dragged it to his nose. “I know you, wife. I know your scent. The way you move. You’re mine.”

Georgie shivered.

“Let’s see how much torture you can stand.” He stroked her, from her throat, down the center of her body between her breasts, and back up. “I love your body’s reaction to me. Your skin flushes, your nipples tighten to little peaks.” He brushed his fingers over them to underscore his point, and Georgie gasped at the sensation. Jolts of lightning shot through her. He chuckled. “Your breath is coming in pants, Mrs. Wylde. Should I infer that you like this?”