Disrobed and Dishonored Read Free Page B

off.
    ‘You are a very strange highwayman.’ She supposed she should remove her petticoats. Was there an etiquette to this lovemaking? Sarah stood there in chemise and stockings watching the play of muscle on Jonathan’s back as he tugged. It was important to be able to describe the intimate appearance of her lover if she was to convince Mrs. Catchpole, her chaperone, of her ruin, she thought, finding strength in the reminder of why she was doing this.
    ‘I have had a sad life,’ Jonathan explained, glancing up and catching her staring.
    ‘No doubt.’ He was, thank goodness, retaining his breeches. The amount of bare man on display was already rather more overpowering than she had bargained on. For some reason she had thought this would all take place in the dark.
    ‘Now, I have been wanting, for the past hour, to kiss you again.’
    It was interesting, Sarah thought, striving for rational thought, how different a kiss was when there were so few clothes in the way. His arms around her seemed to caress her skin, she could smell his warmth and the intriguing male scent of sweat and plain soap and something citrusy and horse and leather, and he tasted of wine and man. And his mouth on hers was not smiling any longer.
    Rationality slid away to be replaced by a need Sarah did not know she had. She was shocked by the intimacy of his tongue in her mouth, inciting hers to touch and invade in its turn and surprised to discover that without having any idea what she should be doing, she was twining into his embrace and pressing herself against the outrageously hard ridge that lay against her stomach.
    She gave a gasp, startled and embarrassed and not a little fearful until Jonathan’s hands came down to cup her buttocks, lifting her against himself, rocking her into the hardness until she moaned, the fear subtly becoming another kind of trembling altogether. ‘Oh yes, sweetheart,’ he murmured against her neck. ‘Oh yes.’
    She was on the bed, Sarah realized, as her chemise was lifted over her head, and then there they were, her against the pillows wearing nothing but her stockings and Jonathan leaning against the bedpost breathing hard and looking as though he was counting.
    ‘Oh!’ One arm across her breasts and one hand flat at the junction of her thighs were not a great deal of covering, not when he was still in his breeches. He was watching her and she should be dying of shame—and part of her was and part of her was trembling with the need for him to hold her again. ‘Aren’t you going to take those off?’ she blurted, suddenly anxious to have this over and done with.
    He did, dropping them to the floor and making no attempt to cover himself. ‘Oh,’ Sarah said again. Her gaze skidded away, up his body, and met the masked green eyes. Now, his body naked, the mask seemed sinister and she swallowed, hard.
    Something must have shown on her face, for he raised one hand to the black silk, hesitated, and pulled it off. ‘Better?’ She nodded, studying his face intently, fearful of finding something there that the mask had hidden, but the green eyes were clear and frank and his expression serious. Removing the mask made him look younger.
    ‘Good,’ he said, his mouth curving up into a slow smile. ‘Are you all right?’
    She managed another nod as he came and lay down next to her, pulling her against him. ‘Stockings?’
    ‘I like the stockings.’ His voice, coming as it did from the valley between her breasts, was somewhat muffled.
    ‘Oh.’ She stroked his hair, then found the curl of his ear and played with that with one hand while the other pressed him to her breast and she became aware that she was whimpering softly and his lips and teeth had found a nipple and were tormenting it until she thought she would scream.
    Then he released her and propped himself up on one elbow, smiling down. ‘Is this what you had in mind?’
    ‘Mind?’ Sarah blinked at him. ‘I don’t think I have one.’
    ‘Oh well,