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Instead he contented himself with another kiss, watching the bumps lift on her skin when he breathed across it. His fingers deftly finished up the last of the buttons—really, his valet would be impressed—then pushed apart the blue silk to reveal the corset beneath.

This wasn’t the simple skirt and shirtwaist she’d been wearing at the printing office; this was the receiving gown of a duchess.

He wasn’t certain any longer which he preferred.

Her breaths were coming faster, and he realized she was as affected by their nearness as he was. When he dragged his fingertips down her spine, she shivered once more, and he grinned.

Who the fook would have thought he—the Duke of Effinghell!—would be seducing his own wife?

But that was absolutely what he was doing.

The question: would she accept it? Accept him?

With another shiver, she stepped away—nay, more like threw herself away from him. And Alistair suddenly doubted. He had little experience with women; perhaps this hadn’t been the right moment…?

Ye complete arsehole of course this wasnae the right moment. She just learned her brother died a traitor! And ye paw her like some single-minded bastard!

He was no better than those men in Spitalfields.

Swallowing, Alistair stepped back, wondering if he could hide his cockstand before she turned—

Too late.

Clutching her gown to her front, Olivia stopped several paces from him and turned. Her expression was hesitant, and he decided he hated that. Olivia wasn’t hesitant. Not his Olivia. She was bold, and daring, and that look on that face was just…wrong.

“Alistair?”

He curled his hands into fists at his side, determined not to reach for her. Determined not to scare her, not to push himself on her. He wasn’t a monster.

“I know you just returned home, and I know you’ve had a trying day…”

She was going to ask him to leave. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, prepared to keep his expression blank as he bid her goodnight and fled to his own chamber to frig his hand yet again.

And then she stepped toward him.

“But, if you don’t mind terribly much…”

She dropped her gown.

Without petticoats—she really must have donned it in a hurry—the blue silk pooled around her feet, leaving her standing there in naught but her corset.

Well. In chemise and bloomers and stockings and slippers.

It’s no’ as if she’s naked.

She might as well be, though, given his body’s reaction to her.

“I’d like a hug.”

Fook, aye.

Alistair moved without realizing, his arms already around her before she’d kicked her way out of the gown. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, her arms snaked around his back…

And there was no way she didn’t feel his cock, rudely probing her belly.

The longer they stood like this, the more incessant the probing became.

Like a pea under a dozen mattresses, or something.