“Why didn’t you tell me?” She pushed at his coat and he shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. She yanked his cravat free, tugged open his shirt and let her hands roam over his chest. And he fairly lost his senses at the feel of her hands on his bare skin.

“You didn’t ask.” He grabbed the edges of her gown and ripped it open, buttons flying, exposing her breasts to his view. He cupped one breast and bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth.

“Oh, God, Gray!” Her nails dug into his skin and her back arched. “I . . . I . . . I assumed . . .”

He sucked and teased until her nipple was a hard knot beneath his onslaught. He shifted his attention to her other breast and continued until she was limp in his arms and his trousers tightened.

“Gray . . .” She drew a steadying breath and pushed weakly against him. “This isn’t . . .”

“What?” He held his breath.

She shook her head and took a step away. She struggled to catch her breath. “This isn’t fair.”

He stared at her. With her gown ripped open and her breathing labored, he’d never seen a more erotic sight. “If I recall correctly, you said you weren’t especially concerned with fair.”

“I’m not usually.” She glanced down at her ruined gown. “These are not usual circumstances.” She moved close, grabbed his shirt in both hands and ripped it open; then she smiled up at him. “There. That’s much better.”

He gasped in feigned horror. “You ruined my shirt.”

She shrugged. “You ruined my gown.”

“But this is a very nice shirt.”

“You can afford it. Beryl says you’re obscenely wealthy.”

He grinned. “Indeed, I am.”

“Did you think it would matter to me?”

“Ah, we are back to that fortune hunter nonsense.” He pulled away and stared into her eyes. Marriage for position and wealth was what was expected of Camille and her sisters or, indeed, any young woman in their position. Now that he knew her father was still alive, it made even more sense. The precarious nature of Lady Briston’s finances through the years was obviously why she had been determined to see her daughters marry well. And who could blame her? “No, but it did matter to me.”

“You are still a foolish man then.” She hooked her fingers in the waist of his trousers and tugged. “I would suggest, if you don’t want these to meet the same fate as your shirt, you discard them.” She reached up and tugged at his lower lip with her teeth; his breath caught.

She smiled in a most inviting and completely wicked manner and sauntered toward the bed, allowing her ripped gown to slide off her shoulders and onto the floor behind her. Good Lord. He swallowed hard.