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But all of him.

She was his wife. She deserved that, at least.

He took a deep breath and nodded.

Chapter 16

Olivia realized she was holding her breath as Alistair shrugged out of his jacket. He stepped out of her arms, but she appreciated the chance to watch him.

Hugging her middle, she sank into one of the large upholstered chairs by the hearth, eyes following his movements as he carefully draped first jacket, then waistcoat over the back of a chair.

Belatedly, she realized she’d left the lovely blue gown—the delicate one her maid had helped her into when she’d changed after her return from the newspaper office—crumpled on the floor. Should she pick it up, or would her maid cluck her tongue at her for doing “servant’s work”?

Olivia could admit she still hadn’t settled into this whole “duchessing” thing.

Alistair kicked off his shoes, then turned to her and continued unbuttoning his shirt. A room separated them, and she wondered if he felt as if he was on display.

As his shirt skimmed over his shoulders, her gaze went to the scars on his chest.

She’d seen them once before, but of course he didn’t know that.

Here, in the lamplight, they didn’t seem as ominous as they had in the shadows.

Swallowing, she pushed herself to her feet, holding herself tightly to keep from reaching for him.

But then he was in front of her, wearing only his trousers, and she didn’t want to stop touching him.

“You were in an accident?”

Olivia hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but she was remembering what Amelia and Amanda had told her the day he’d run off to Scotland; the day after her disastrous first foray into Society.

He hesitated only briefly, then nodded.

It wasn’t until her fingertips trailed into her line of sight that she realized she was touching him; tracing the scars. “Your sisters told me a carriage accident killed your father and…and injured you. They hadn’t expected you to live, much less walk again.”

Another hesitation, another nod. Did he not want to share this with her? Or was it that he had more to say, and couldn’t?

He was so much taller than her that she didn’t have to bend when she pressed her lips to the nastiest scar, the one that still shone, the one at the base of his throat. The one he always kept covered.

Except for now.

Now, he was giving her all of himself.

When her lips moved to another of his scars, she saw Alistair shudder. His fingers wrapped through the hair at the back of her head and he tugged, spilling hairpins as he brought her lips to his once more.

Her nipples strained against her corset, aching to feel his bare chest, as his tongue played havoc with her senses.

As his mouth plundered hers, his iron grip holding her steady, his other hand wasn’t idle. His touch ran down her arm causing her to shiver, then dragged across the front of her corset to cup one breast.

Olivia felt…protected. Cherished.

Suddenly desperate to feel his hands on her skin again, she fumbled with her corset hooks, squeezing both sides together until they loosened with an audible pop. When it fell open, and her breast all but fell into his palm, they both sighed with relief.

He released his hold on her hair—perhaps satisfied she’d continued to kiss him without the encouragement—and moved to cup both her breasts. When he did, he groaned deep in his chest and the sound startled her, the same way it had an hour ago, when they’d sat beside one another listening to Thorne.

Perhaps Alistair noticed her surprise, or perhaps he was too distracted by her breasts, because he was the one to pull away from the kiss. He didn’t straighten though, but rather backed up, pulling her with him until his knees hit the large chair Olivia had been seated in a moment ago.

He sat down, hard, and pulled her to stand between his knees.