Before she could stop herself from imagining his previous lovers, jealousy seared through her.
His expression shifted suddenly, the fire giving way to ice.
“Write up a list of everything you need from your home.” His tone was clipped, impersonal. “Tomorrow you’ll be moved into Hemlock Hall.”
“What?” Camilla pulled her robe more tightly around herself, caught off guard.
“My staff will collect your things tonight.”
Living under the same roof as this impossible man was most decidedly a terrible idea.
“I cannot live with you before we’re married. People will talk.”
“Not if you’ve been gifted your own private bridal wing by your protective fiancé. I want you with me from now on, lest anyone else try to harm you.”
“Have I been?” she asked. “Gifted my own wing?”
His smile reemerged, turning positively feline. Bunny herself seemed to perk up from where she’d settled in a corner.
“Disappointed you won’t be sharing my bed for our little ruse, pet?”
She was, rather.
Camilla also knew he was needling her with the endearment to distract her.
“You think very highly of yourself.”
“I’m exceptionally talented at reading emotions. You desire me physically.”
Cocksure. Arrogant. Damnably correct.
She lifted a shoulder as if it were common knowledge and she was unperturbed. “Well, you cannot keep your hungry gaze off me, either, my lord. Each time you look at me I think you’re removing an item of clothing and trying to decide what to do next.”
“Is that what you think, Miss Antonius? That I somehow lack know-how?”
Camilla sensed they were entering dangerous territory again.
She’d been fighting loneliness for the last two years. If she permitted herself this one indulgence, allowed him to make her forget her solitude… maybe the ache would disappear for another few years. They were already pretending to be betrothed.
Why not let that excuse set her free? She could give in to her desires for one night.
“I’m quite positive you’re a proficient deviant when you wish to be.”
Synton’s sparkling gaze filled with challenge. His expression said Camilla was right.
“Tell me, Miss Antonius, are you ever a deviant?”
Camilla had been, that once. Had craved the touch of another ever since.
He mistook her silence. His tone softened to a purr. “Would you like to be?”
He waited, watching. Whatever he saw in her expression made him stalk closer. Like he’d understood she was silently daring him to act on his longings as well.
“Just for tonight,” he said, gaze locked onto hers, setting new rules. Ones that intrigued Camilla, despite herself. “Our secret.”
Camilla’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to agree.
“Take off your robe. Hand me the sash.”
Camilla glanced around the bedchamber, thinking of her friend who was sleeping soundly two doors down.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, hand rising to rest on the sash, the cool silk a balm against the sudden warmth in the room.
God, did she want to let the soft material pool at her feet.
Synton uncannily read her thoughts again.
“Doing things one shouldn’t is often so freeing.”
He prowled a few steps closer, the charge between them growing more intense. Camilla felt like she was standing in the middle of a field, watching lightning strikes grow closer. She tugged to loosen her sash, just a bit.
“When was the last time you were a little wicked, Camilla?”
“What, exactly, are you proposing?” she asked.
“Only a kiss,” he said, with a slight, teasing smile.
The way he said it, his voice a low growl of temptation… Camilla had never felt such heady anticipation. Her palms tingled, her breathing turned shallow. Her heart thundered in her chest. Excitement warred with desire, and admittedly, slight nervousness.
She wet her lips.
Synton stopped before her, gazing into her face. Noticing the gesture, his lips curled devilishly. “Hand me the sash, Camilla. Now.”
She did. Sliding it from around her waist, she dropped the ribbon of silk into his open palm. As she shifted, her robe fell slightly apart, exposing her lace nightgown.
Synton admired her silhouette, then motioned for her to stand and turn around.
She did as he’d silently commanded, already hating the fact that her heart raced harder, thrilled for whatever he’d demand next.
Synton gently placed the sash around her head, covering her eyes, then pulled it taut and tied it. The long ribbon tickled her back, falling between her shoulder blades.
She was blindfolded.
With one hand on her shoulder, he slowly spun her to face him. She craved the reassurance of his emerald eyes but could only feel the soft wind of his breath against her mouth.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
All her senses had heightened—from somewhere deep in the house she heard the soft chiming of a clock. Closer still she heard the slight rasp of Synton’s breath, the rustle of his own shirt before he slipped a hand beneath her robe. His touch glided effortlessly over her nightgown as he circled her waist and drew her nearer to him.
“Good.”
His body was warmer than she’d imagined, his scent intoxicating this close by. She tilted her face up, lips parting in anticipation.
If he was only going to kiss her, she wished to enjoy every second of it.
“We can do much better than good, darling.”
His mouth skimmed her neck, her collarbone, grazing lazily from one side to the other before drifting lower, past her locket to the lace above her breasts. She’d expected him to kiss his way upward again, finally pressing his mouth to hers.
But she soon realized that Synton was a man who enjoyed playing.
Camilla felt the air stir around her as he moved, closing his mouth over the peak of her breast, where it pressed against the soft fabric of her nightgown. The unexpected heat and wet of his mouth sent a shock of pleasure through her as his teeth grazed over her again.
A moan slipped past her lips as Synton’s erotic kiss soaked through her nightgown, causing a different sort of wetness to form between her legs.
He held her steady, his big hands gripping her waist, nestled just above the curve of her bottom. His tongue began stroking softly, drawing as much pleasure from her body as he could.
He moved to her other breast, licking and sucking over the thin material until she could no longer think straight.
Too soon, she felt him straighten, her damp nightgown now clinging to her.
“My lord…”
He let out a low sound of amusement, and she could have sworn he whispered he was anything but before he walked her backward until her thighs brushed against the edge of the bed.
“Sit.”
Camilla did, her body tingling and eager for his next kiss.