The Historical Collection 2018: The Duchess Deal / From Duke Till Dawn / His Sinful Touch / His Wicked Charm

He clapped his hands, sending a booming sound through the room. That resulted in nothing but making him feel incredibly stupid.

He squeezed his eyes closed until stars exploded behind his eyelids, counted to three, and then opened them. Stupider still.

He thought of the most unappealing things his imagination could conjure:

Shards of fire propelled with bullet-force, colliding with his face.

Vomiting himself dry while quitting opium.

Pus. Not even the mildly repulsive yellow sort. Green, oozing, malodorous pus.

That helped for a few minutes, but apparently his brain didn’t want to dwell on those memories anymore—not when his mind could so easily reach for her.

Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma.

Ye gods.

He sat up in bed. Tomorrow he’d burn twists of sage and wave the smoke through the house. He was clearly hexed. Bewitched.

The door to his bedchamber creaked open.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s only me.” Emma entered the room, holding a candelabra with three glowing tapers.

Ash rubbed his eyes. “Why, pray tell, are you in my bedchamber?”

“Because you’re not in mine.” She set the candles on a chest of drawers, directly across from the foot of the bed. “And because I owe you something, in the spirit of fairness.”

She was dressed in only a thin night rail, and her dark hair was woven into a loose plait, tied with a bit of muslin at the end.

As he watched, rapt and disbelieving, her hands went to the buttons of her shift.

Glory above, she began to undo them. One by one by one. As she worked them open, the two sides fell apart, revealing a slice of pale flesh that widened as it dipped from her neck, to the valley between her breasts, to her navel.

When all the buttons were undone, he heard her draw a shaky breath. Then she slid her arms free of the shift, one and then the other, before letting the entire garment drop to the floor.

Jesu Maria.

“I have a confession to make,” she said.

“God, I hope it’s a long one.”

“Breeches isn’t my pet. Or he wasn’t, until the morning of our wedding day. I plucked him off the street. Given the nature of our arrangement, I needed something warm and cuddly to bring with me. Some creature I might be able to care for. Love.” Her lips curved into a slight, rueful smile. “The little beast didn’t even have a name until you asked me for one.”

Ash had no idea why she was standing there naked, talking about the cat, but he’d be damned if he was going to complain about it.

By all means, do go on.

He drew to a sitting position, the better to see her. All of her. He let his gaze linger on the delectable orbs of her breasts, then the gentle curve of her waist where it flared to her hips. Those tempting handfuls of femininity he’d gripped with fervor in the dark.

And then his gaze traveled to its logical destination . . . the dark triangle between her legs. All those sweet, secret places he now knew so well with his lips and tongue.

He could taste her from here.

“Of all the names that could have come to me,” she said. “Buttons. Boots. Even Pocket would have been better. But no. I had to blurt out Breeches. Do you want to know why?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to give a damn right now.” He’d moved on to memorizing every contour of her thighs.

“Because that’s where I’d been looking at the moment, you see. At breeches. More accurately, your breeches. Admiring how you . . .” She cleared her throat. “. . . filled them.”

He lifted his head. Now he gave a damn.

“Admiring,” he echoed in disbelief.

“Yes. Perhaps even lusting.”

That settled it. None of this was real. He was dreaming.

Lord, let me never wake.

“I am wildly attracted to you. Physically attracted to you. I have been from the first. And yes, I’ve done a great deal of staring.” She stepped free of her pooled chemise. “I want you with a keen, carnal passion. I won’t pretend otherwise, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Not anymore.”

He swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Good.” She moved toward him.

Ash leapt to his feet and held her off with an extended arm. “You’ve made your point. Quite vividly. Now you may return to your bed.”

“Return to my bed? Without us even . . .” She waved her hand to fill the gap in her sentence. “Why?”

“Because the only activities I can imagine at the moment involve complete and utter depravity. And you”—he waved his hand in imitation—“cannot bring yourself to speak the tamest of them.”

“We don’t have to do much speaking, do we?”

Very well, he could demonstrate.

Wrapping his good arm around her waist, he lifted her against him. He pushed his hard, aching cock against her belly, rubbing her nakedness through the barrier of his trousers. “Do you feel that?”

Her gasp was more of a squeak. “Yes.”

“I have a bad side, Emma. One that has nothing to do with my scars. You’ve no idea what I’d like to do to you. Push you against a wall. Drive my cock into your sweet, wet heat. Tup you senseless. Raw. So hard that you wouldn’t walk for days. And that’s only to start.”

Heat sparked and crackled between them. Her nipples hardened, pressing against his chest like spear points.

“Was that speech meant to put me off?” Her voice was breathless. “Because if so, I must tell you it backfired.”

Damn it. Of course it had. He should have never expected anything else.

Everything in his life backfired.