Unveiled (Turner, #1)

“‘Second,’” she started, and then stopped. The amused light in her eyes faltered. She glanced over at him, suddenly wary. “‘Second,’” she said, “‘profligacy in such relations causes harm to the families who must endure such infidelity, and to the children who result from the union.’”

He had forgotten that she was illegitimate. But was that something she could overlook? Her life would have been very different, had matters been otherwise. He wanted to say something to her, to remind her how little such things mattered to him. But she set her chin stubbornly, bent her head and read on.

“‘And third—and most important to a chaste, practical gentleman—’” Her eyes scanned ahead once more, but this time she burst out laughing.

“What? What is it?”

She didn’t respond for a few seconds, but her shoulders shook with mirth. When she finally spoke, she could barely force the words out. “‘Third, as the ladies have clearly mastered the female art of chastity, our masculine inability to control our urges rather weakens our claims to be the stronger sex.’” She looked up at Ash. “He’s not serious. Truly?”

Of course Mark wasn’t. It was a subtle joke, precisely the sort of sly, tongue-in-cheek suggestion his brother might drop. But a more serious-minded audience might take his words to be pure truth.

Ash shook his head. “That alone will get him banned.”

“I’ve lost count of the number of times your brother has made me laugh. Chastity is far more amusing than I had anticipated.”

“Chastity,” Ash said dryly, “is far more arousing than I had anticipated.”

Margaret flushed. She sat primly on the velvet sofa, and at his words, she rearranged her ankles underneath her. “I do believe we are straying into the improper,” she said.

“Oh, no,” he contradicted. “We aren’t straying. I had hoped we had embarked on a deliberate voyage.”

Her slipper fell off her foot once more. She didn’t even seem to notice; instead, she felt about for it on the ground with her foot, her toe pointed, revealing her ankle beneath the edge of her gown. And suddenly he could think of nothing but sliding his hands up the sinuous curve of her calf.

“A voyage?” she asked, her voice shaky. “But…but we can have no mutual destination.”

Clearly she’d not realized they’d left the docks behind days before. “It’s not about where we go, but how we arrive.” Slowly. At great length, savoring every last inch of her skin.

She bit her lip, perhaps balancing her sense of propriety with her desire. And then she leaned forwards, canting towards him. As she did so, the bodice of her gown shifted. The lamplight caught the curves of her bosom. The strangled noise he heard must have issued from his own throat.

“When you do that, I can see.” He made a gesture in the direction of her cleavage. “At least, I can see more.”

She drew a deep breath. Her hand raised one inch, as if to block his view, but then she let her arm fall to her thigh. And then—oh, God—she leaned another inch towards him. She crooked one finger at him, and he found himself standing, drifting towards her. She licked her lips, and then she whispered, “Come here and kiss me.”

He was transfixed: by the lamplit swell of her breasts, barely visible above her neckline, by the damnably enticing rose of her lips, by the clarity of her eyes, untouched by her usual grief. She smiled at him—an expression both shy and brazen, a smile as old as woman herself.

“You should always be like this,” he said roughly.

“Forward?”

“Sure of yourself. Powerful. Unshadowed.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure of myself, Ash. I’m just…just…”

“You’re sure of me.”

Her head jerked up. She looked at him in surprise, and then, slowly, she nodded. “Yes. Because you’ll understand the spirit in which this is offered. You’ll know what it means to me.”

“And what will it mean?” His breath caught, hurting him. “What will I mean to you?”

She looked into his eyes. “Oh, you told me that the first day I met you. Do you not recall what this is about? ‘A little defiance,’ you said. That’s what I want from you. A little defiance. I want to know what it should be like. What I should have had, when I lost…lost it all.”

Defiance. He swallowed. It wasn’t enough for him—not anymore. He wanted to be more than her defiance. He wanted to be her strength, her amusement. He wanted to be her lover. He wanted to be her every wicked desire and her safe haven, all at once.

But if what she wanted at the moment was defiance… Well, he could give her that, too. Until she was ready for everything else.

He reached out and took her hands in his, pulling her to her feet. Her fingers trembled in his. He didn’t want to know what memories plagued her. He just wanted her to forget them. She reached up on her toes and leaned into him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her fingers intertwining with his.