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to his biceps, the muscles hard as iron beneath her touch. She tipped her chin up, her spine lengthening, reaching for him. Her pulse pounded through her veins. She felt his arm wrap around her waist. Just before her lips brushed his, he ducked his head. Then warm lips pressed against her neck. The lightest of touches. The lightest of kisses.
    The short, rapid puffs of his breaths singed her skin, the hint of beard the gentlest of scrapes. The soft strands of his hair tickled her ear. A flush of heat washed over her. Gooseflesh pricked her skin. Breath catching, she rocked on her feet, swaying into him, her eyes drifting closed. A small part of her mind marveled at the intensity of her response to him. Just his lips gliding over the delicate skin of her neck made every nerve in her body hum with a need for more.
    A sigh of longing fluttered past her lips. She arched her neck, granting him greater access. His lips slowly whispered up over her jaw, across her cheek. And finally found hers.
    His kiss was light, reverent, a soft slow meld of skin against skin that she never wanted to end. At the flick of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she eagerly opened to him, needing more. His hot tongue found hers, twined decadently with hers, and she lost herself in him. Gave herself over to the pure need and longing in his kiss.
    She somehow kept the moan of protest from shaking her throat when his lips left hers. He pulled her that last remaining distance toward him, until she was pressed full against him, until she could feel his heart slamming against his chest.
    For she didn’t know how long, he simply held her. Her cheek resting against his chest, his powerful body folded around her, their hands still entwined.
    Then he pressed his lips to the top of her head and took a step back, his arm unwinding from around her waist. His lashes swept down, a harsh wince flickering across his face, tightening his lips into a straight line. But when he opened his eyes an instant later, that desperation was gone. The need was still there, lurking in the olive green depths, but the stark, painful desperation had vanished.
    And it struck her. He had needed this evening as badly as she.
    His grip on her hand loosened. It took all of her willpower to relinquish her hold on him as his long fingers slipped from hers.
    Without another word, he tipped his head to her. In a daze, she reached out to press against the wall. The well-oiled latch made nary a sound as it released, the hidden door swinging open. And he turned on his heel and disappeared down the darkened corridor, leaving her standing there in her elegant little sitting room, her hand, still warmed from his grasp, clenched at her side.

Three
    JAMES tied his cravat in a simple knot and went into his dressing room. After donning a cream waistcoat, he grabbed his nut brown coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Most gentlemen employed the services of a valet, but he was of the firm belief that dressing oneself was not all that difficult of a task. He had managed it as a lad and could continue to do so as an adult. The size of his bank account had thankfully not stripped that knowledge from him.
    Doing up the buttons of his coat, he went back to his bedchamber. He tugged on the edge of his sleeve, righting it beneath his coat, and looked to the window beside the bed he had recently vacated. The navy drapes were drawn back, revealing a never-ending swath of gray that hung low in the sky. The weak, hazy daylight gave little indication of the time of day. But that the sun even showed itself reminded him he had risen far past his usual hour.
    He had never had need of a servant or a valet to wake him. Even his sleeping mind wished to limit the hours in his bed. But he had slept better last night than he had . . . ever. With that kiss playing itself in his mind, he had laid his head on his pillow, not to stir again for hours.
    He had spent countless nights in his bed with only his hand for