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shivered at that simple, undeniable proof of her arousal. He rolled that nub between his fingers, and she let out a shuddering sigh, pushing against him.
    Somehow, over the years, she’d grown comfortable with her own body, with her own pleasure. He wasn’t going to think about how that had happened. It was all the better for him. For
them
.
    For now, he kissed her. Lust built between them, sure and steady, stoked by touch after steady touch. Her hips pressed against his. The curve of her waist fitted into his palm. She belonged there, her legs between his, her arms around him. He wanted it all—the gasp she let out, the tilt of her chin.
    God. This should have been his—all his—these past years.
    He pulled away from her, but only so that he could reach around to undo her gown. It was held together in back with little hooks and eyes.
    “You do that awfully well,” she murmured.
    “Hmm?”
    “Undoing the back of my gown without looking at what you’re seeing.”
    “Do you suppose I was celibate all these years?”
    She shook her head.
    He’d only been celibate this last year, once he’d heard her husband had died. “I’ve done this before. Often enough that I’ve learned how to take a woman apart.”
    Her eyes shivered shut. “Oh, you could do that back then, too.”
    “I was referring to your clothing. I didn’t get to do that. Just your stockings, that one time.”
    “Mmm.” The last little clasp gave way, and he slid her gown down her shoulders. Her corset was fastened in the back; he undid the laces, and pulled it out of the way. “There we are.” Her chemise clung to her skin, outlining full, sweet breasts. He could see the dark hint of her nipples through the sheer cloth.
    He’d never seen her naked. They’d kissed—and more—but they’d stayed on the frustrating side of chaste. Her doing, really; he’d certainly made no great efforts on that front. For all her talk of being a mad Barrett, she’d always been the practical one.
    The most he’d managed to see was her legs, and once—on that memorable occasion when he’d removed a stocking—her thighs. Now he wanted everything. Not just her sex, slick and waiting for him, but her breasts, her buttocks, the dimple of her navel, the curve of her spine. He wanted to taste her all over.
    And then, as if she knew how best to torment him, she pulled her shift over her head, and let it fall atop the rest of her clothing. His mouth dried. Her nipples were erect; he leaned forward and traced a finger lightly in a circle around one.
    She was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. His hand cupped her hip, exploring the curve of her body. The triangle of dark, coarse hair between her legs begged to be touched. Tasted. By dint of pure will, he managed to hold himself back.
    “This is some kind of diabolical plan on your part,” he said. “To drive me mad with lust, and then walk away, leaving me in dire pain.”
    “Wouldn’t that be perfect?” she responded with a smile. Her eyes shivered shut as he played his fingers up her ribs. “You’ve said that you’ll seduce me and stomp on my heart. Instead, I bring you to the point of begging. Then I walk away, declaring myself the victor.”
    His heart almost stopped beating. “Are you going to do that?”
    She looked up to the ceiling. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said, with an air of unconcern that was rather belied by the flush in her cheeks. “That would be an excellent dastardly plan for me. But it’s all too easy to thwart. You could drive me so mad with desire that I forget to deny you.”
    His mouth dried at the image that conjured up. Ginny, spread before him, begging for his touch…
    “That would be clever of me,” he managed to get out.
    “It would be sneaky and underhanded,” she said. “No, Simon, I’m sure of it now. You have only one chance to rob me of my plan to foil your dastardly revenge.” Her skin was pink and flushed, and her breath had grown quick.
    “Quite