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H e called her precious. He looked at her like she was the most beautiful star in the sky.

What woman could resist that? Not her. And so she let herself experience it.

She felt his hands on her dress, pulling open the buttons.

She let him kiss her with such need that her own heart responded.

So fast. So hungry. Both of them, and yet he seemed to know what he was doing while she fell into the storm he created in her.

He unbuttoned her dress completely, and she helped him pull it off.

She hadn’t bothered with stays and so all that remained was her shift as he peeled her gown down.

He cupped her breast through the thin fabric, thumbing her nipple while she felt her excitement surge and recede.

She rushed for his mouth in a frenzy of desire.

Then when the passion became too much, she pulled back to take in great gulps of air.

The excitement simmered instead of boiled, and she had the awareness to push off his evening jacket and stroke the solid planes of his chest.

She rubbed her nail across the nub of his nipple and was pleased to hear a rumble deep inside his chest.

“You like that?” she asked.

“Yes.”

A simple answer was all he offered because he was busy trailing his teeth along her jaw.

And when she lifted up her chin, he nibbled down the side of her neck.

Such feelings he stirred in her! She didn’t think her shoulder could be that sensitive, but she felt his breath upon her skin and wondered how she had ever lived without experiencing this before.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said.

“What?”

He ripped her shift in half. She jolted in surprise at the sound, but when the cool air hit her skin, she arched in delight at the feeling.

And then he caught her nipple in his mouth, and she was lost to the stroke of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth.

Perhaps that was what she loved the most. She never knew what he would do next.

There was no rhythm to his strokes, no pattern to anticipate.

If she settled into one, he changed it. That kept her attention, increased her passion, and let her experience so much more.

She tried to touch him, but the storm was too much for her. She could only grip his shoulders, and then, as he kissed down her belly, she ran her fingers through his hair. The brush of his curls felt sensual against her skin. And then he kissed into her curls.

She tensed, remembering what he had done in the tack room. That had been wonderful, but surely he meant for something else tonight.

“Your Grace?” she gasped.

He held her hips down with his hands, spread large across her belly.

“Ras,” he corrected.

“What are you doing, Ras?” she asked.

He flashed her a wicked grin. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

He scrambled up to his knees, grinning at her like a boy with a treat.

His evening jacket was gone, and she saw the breadth of his chest illuminated by the moonlight as he settled between her thighs.

It was an undignified position for her, but he appeared to love it.

She was spread out naked before him, and he stretched forward to rub his palms across her ribs and breasts.

“I didn’t get to enjoy this as much as I wanted to earlier. Believe me, Kynthea, I’m going to enjoy this as much as you do.”

She didn’t think that was possible, and so she would have said except that she had no breath.

He was fondling her breasts and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back in pleasure.

Then he gave them one last pinch before sliding his hands down to her hips.

Looping his arms beneath her legs, he raised her up.

Her eyes flew open. Lord, he was stronger than she’d thought. And while his eyes danced with delight, he set his mouth to her most private parts.

His tongue was clever, surprising her with the very randomness of his exploration. Long strokes, penetrating thrusts, teasing flutters—he did them all, and she wanted to laugh at the playfulness of it. Instead, she was overcome by the sensations.

Her body was tightening, each tease of his tongue making her belly quiver. Her legs tightened, and she couldn’t keep herself quiet. She had the wherewithal to put a pillow over her face, but the sounds she made were only a distant echo of the turbulence within her.

He was unrelenting as he kept her body on the edge of the cliff without pushing her over. And she was in heaven. She’d never acted with such abandon, never felt more wonder in her body. She’d… never…

Never ever.

She never wanted it to end.

He increased his pace, and there was nothing to do but ride the dance of his tongue. Her belly rolled, all unbearably tight. Like a spring coiling to the very edge of possibility and then…

Flight. She didn’t so much leap off the cliff into her quickening as let him throw her into the air. How glorious it was! So much more now that she understood what this was. She didn’t know if each one would be like this, and she didn’t care.

She soared.

And when she came back, he was stroking her belly, kissing the underside of her breast, petting her arms and her shoulders. He seemed to need to touch her, and she loved the way he caressed her.

Until he left her side. She felt the bed react to his movements and hated the suddenly cool air around her. She turned to see where he went and was warmed to see what he did.

First, he stripped out of the last of his clothes.

She saw the corded thickness of his thighs and calves.

He was a man who exercised, that was for sure.

His buttocks were trim, his torso broad and strong.

And his organ thrust thick and proud to her hungry sight.

She remembered touching it earlier in the day, and her hands coiled with the desire to do so again.

But it didn’t look like she would get the chance.

He grabbed the envelope with the French letter in it.

He happened to be in profile as he slid it on, and she watched with fascination at the movement of his body.

His hands looked big and sure. His back curved as he worked, but that only emphasized his height since even bent over, he appeared tall.

His legs were spread, but from the side she saw the ripple of his muscles as he balanced.

And then—tease that he was—he turned to grin at her.

He’d known she was looking and now straightened to his full height and faced her.

He looked magnificent.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said as he stepped forward. “I swear we will fit together like a hand in a glove.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said as she pushed up onto her elbow. “I’m just wondering how a man shaped like a Greek God has come to want me.”

His expression fell and his eyes grew sad. “You underestimate yourself,” he said gently.

No, she didn’t. She knew her value by society’s standards. But perhaps that was the point. He judged her by his own standard, and because of that, her heart swelled.

He came close, settling onto the bed as he touched her face. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and everything I value in a woman. Why don’t you see that?”

He was sincere. She could see it in his expression and feel it in his caress, and yet part of her refused to believe. “You have heard what people say about me. And now…” She gestured to the bed. “Now, I am a fallen woman.”

“Fallen to me.”

“Either way. There are poor women everywhere who are lovely and intelligent. They are abused constantly.”

“Who abused you?”

“No one.”

“Someone had to. Someone taught you long before we met that you have little value.” He frowned. “Was it the vicar after your parents died?”

“Him? No. The depths of his depravity surprised me, but not his lack of character.”

“Then who?”

She had no answer except perhaps the worst possible one.

“My mother taught me to be aware of such things. She pointed to poorer children and expressed dismay that such bright children would have a hard life. She stopped me from playing with children of modest means, afraid of the diseases they might carry. She looked at the aristocracy with awe, never criticized their actions and always found something to praise.”

“She taught you society’s values. When did you learn differently?”

She shrugged. “My father never much agreed with her. He judged people solely on their ability to discuss anything logically.” She pitched her voice to match her father’s.

“A discerning mind is the only hope for England. Logic! Reason! Anything else is just frippery.” She smiled.

“And he hated frippery.” Then her smile faded. “If only he’d hated gambling as much.”

Damned idiot man. “So why do you judge yourself by your mother’s standards and not your father’s?”

He asked such difficult questions! “I suppose because no one saw reason. They only saw that I was orphaned without a penny to my name.”

He touched her face. “I see you differently.”

He did. And at that moment, she saw herself. It was there, in the way he touched her with reverence, slowly and carefully, but in a way designed to maximize her delight. He continued in that vein when he kissed her. His lips, his tongue, even his breath seemed to impress his esteem into her body.

And she drank it in like a woman lost in a desert. He nourished her soul, and she loved him for it.

She still wasn’t comfortable with that word. Love . But she couldn’t deny it. Her feelings for him had deepened every moment they were together. Even when she’d been angry with him, he had returned with a sincere apology. What man—let alone a duke—did that?

Only him.

And only he pressed kisses into her skin as if he was worshipping the body of a goddess. It was so easy for her to open to him. So easy to adore him for the way he treated her. So easy to love him.

When he tongued her breasts to their peak, she rose to meet him again.

When he spread her legs and set his cock between her folds, she gripped his shoulders and begged him, “Please. Please yes.”

He worked himself into her slowly. She felt the thickness of him, so very present, so very large. But she was wet and empty. He would fill her there as he filled her heart with love.

She arched into his gentle thrust, then gasped when he withdrew.

Tempo. Rhythm.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

He thrust.

Her maidenhead must have broken. No other had ever been so deep within her.

If so, she barely felt it. It was uncomfortable, to be sure.

He was so very large. But when he lay embedded within her, she could think of nothing more than that she had him now.

A tiny piece of Erasmus Oliver Arthur Stace, Duke of Harle, would always be with her.

“Are you all right?”

“I am wonderful. You?”

“You are more than wonderful. And I…I cannot hold back much longer.”

He was holding back? Why? “Give me everything, Ras.”

He grinned. “As you wish.” His hips began to move, and his cock slid in and out.

Her knees rose as she gripped him, and the impact of his thrusts increased the beat of her heart.

He pushed up off her without breaking the steady rhythm of his thrust. And his expression remained fierce as he looked at her.

Her body moved with each impact. She coiled her hands around his arms, gripping him tight.

She arched her back so she could feel him go deeper, harder.

Her belly coiled, a familiar feeling now.

But it was magnified by the way he moved inside her.

He felt part of her climb. And as his tempo increased, she timed herself to him.

Faster. Deeper.

She would have cried out if she had breath. Instead, she squeezed everything tight. Her hands, her legs, and deep within her.

He groaned as she did and went faster still.

More.

Yes.

Now.

Bliss.