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Something flashed through his expression, but before she could tell what it was, his mouth was back to hers, the hank of rope pulled from her grasp. He pulled her to her feet then quickly turned her, making quick work of the buttons of her gown. She’d dressed simply, was still wearing casual morning attire, having not had time to change while sitting at Diana’s bedside.

This was a blessing, she decided, a nervous giggle threatening to rise from her throat. She bit it back, fearing it would cause her husband to take it as a signal to stop. And she didn’t want him to stop, not when she’d just been thinking how convenient it was that her clothes could be dispensed with so quickly.

Tooquickly, she realized when she heard asnickof sound, and her corset suddenly snagged. On instinct, she clasped the garment to her chest, looking over her shoulder at her husband, mouth agape.

“Did you justcutmy stays?” she demanded.

If his unrepentant grin didn’t answer her question, the pocketknife he was tossing onto a nearby table would have done so.

“I shall buy you new,” he said without apology. “Now drop the bloody thing; there’s a good girl.”

She didn’t know if she was more shocked by the disregard for her wardrobe, the swearing, or the phrasegood girl. Whatever the cause, her body responded without question, and her ruined corset fell to her feet.

When Benedict’s gaze traveled over her body, scarcely concealed by her thin chemise, she felt her nipples harden in response, making his view even more scandalous.

“Don’t rip this,” she warned, the caution somewhat undermined by the tremble of desire in her tone. “It’s my favorite.” It was, too—perfectly worn and comfortable.

Benedict’s eyebrows raised in a clear challenge.

“Best take it off quickly, then,” he said lazily.

Nowhergaze travelled him. “You’re still fully dressed!” she protested.

“I bet it would be fun to rip,” he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

She gasped again, wishing the noise was more affronted than eager. But her hands came to the tie at her neckline, loosening it until the chemise could slip free.

And then she was bare before him except for her stockings. The incongruousness—of his clothing and her nudity, of her bareness except for her simple stockings—made her feel evenmore exposed. The feeling from the day prior, the one that said she had too much space at her back, threatened to swoop in again.

But Benedict responded before it could, pausing only to tug once, violently at his cravat.

Then he stepped forward, grasped both of her wrists in his, and used his grip to guide her back to the bed. She sat and then, at his urging, laid back, the fine wool of his jacket an obvious rasp against the sensitive skin of her breasts and stomach. He kept pressing her hands up and over her head until they were crossed at the headboard and his weight was, once more, laid out upon her.

It was not even a conscious decision the way she squirmed against him. Benedict briefly let his head drop, his mouth pressed against her temple as he murmured a long, low litany of swears. When he gathered himself enough to look up again, his expression was stern.

“Good Lord, Emily, donotdo that,” he ordered. “I have plans for you and won’t let you undo them.”

Emily felt certain she would have found his high-handedness irksome if her bones hadn’t turned to liquid at the wordplans. Instead of a protest, it was a whimper that left her mouth.

He didn’t lift his weight from her as he reached for the rope and used it to secure her wrists, lashing them first together then to the head of the bed.

“How does that feel?” he asked, running a finger beneath the rope. His movements were straightforward and competent, and they set Emily aflame.

“Oh,” she said absently. She felt oddly comfortable, given the strangeness of her highly exposed position. “Good.”

“Good,” he murmured back. He pushed back, so he was kneeling upright, his weight on the mattress between Emily’s spread legs. She didn’t even recall spreading them.

Then he began cursing again.

“Fuck, Emily, do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

The old insecurities, Emily found, were so very quiet at this moment. Bound like this, laid out before him, she had no choice but to accept whatever praise he saw fit to bestow upon her. In fact, there was only one thing she wished to change about her present circumstance.

“You’re still dressed,” she observed again. This time it was not an accusation. This time, there was a definitive whine to her voice.

Benedict’s smile was indulgent.

“Does this displease you, My Lady?” he crooned, his voice a caress. “I am ever at your service.”