“Well, yes,” Georgie said. But now she was concerned. It was only for one more week, but Nicholas needed this room. “Surely Mrs. McGreevey would understand.”

Nicholas groaned. “Why are we talking about Mrs. McGreevey?”

“Because I don’t want you thrown out of your rooms.”

“I won’t be,” he said, “because we’re going to be so very, very quiet.”

Georgie sucked in her breath. His voice was hot and seductive, and she felt herself melting into his embrace.

“Can you do it?” he murmured. He squeezed her thigh in a way they’d both learned she loved, his thumb skating dangerously close to her womanhood.

“Do what?”

“Keep quiet.”

“No,” she said frankly.

“Pity.” His fingers went still. “I’ll have to stop.”

She grabbed his hand. “Don’t you dare.”

“But you’re so noisy.” He shook his head with mock resignation. “What am I to do?”

Georgie laid a bold hand on his member. Over his clothes, but he’d get the idea. “What am I to do?”

“Minx,” he growled.

She squeezed. “Can you be quiet?”

He quirked a brow. “I can if you can.”

She’d never been able to raise a single brow, so she did a silly almost-wink. “Well, I can if you can.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and Georgie thought it a wonder she did not burst into flame. Or laughter. Then he stood.

“What are you doing?” she asked, scooting into a sitting position.

“I”—his hands went to his cravat—“am very quietly taking off my clothing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he echoed. “That’s all you have to say?”

She licked her lips. “I am quite pleased with your decision.”

He finished untying the linen and whipped it off. “You are pleased with my decision,” he restated.

“Quite pleased,” she corrected.

He smiled. Devilishly. “Do you know what would please me?”

“I have my suspicions,” she murmured.

His hands went to the buttons on his shirt. There were only three, but he needed them undone so that he could pull the garment over his head. Maybe Georgie should have been tending to her own clothing, but watching him strip with such slow deliberateness might have been the most arousing thing she’d ever seen.

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His eyes locked onto hers, and Georgie knew what he wanted. She brought her fingers to the bodice of her dress, to the silk fichu that filled the neckline of her gown.

Slowly, she tugged it free.

“I’ve become brazen,” she whispered.

He nodded, his eyes flaring with desire before he pulled his shirt up and over his head.

“I can’t do all the buttons,” she said. She twisted, giving him just enough of her back so that she could still peer over her shoulder.

“A most impractical frock,” he murmured. He sat next to her and began to work the buttons, one by one.

“I’ve always had help,” she whispered.

He kissed the patch of her skin bared by the top few buttons. “I am ever your servant, Mrs. Rokesby.”

Georgie shivered, wondering how his voice somehow enticed her just as much as his touch. He was always such a gentleman, but when they were in the privacy of their marriage bed he said the naughtiest things …

He didn’t just do things to her, he spoke of them with hot, needy words. He told her what he wanted, and when she wanted something, he made her say it too.

Somehow that was even more shocking. Tell me what you want, he’d say, and it was so hard to bring herself to do so. She wanted him to take charge, to take the decisions from her control, but he would not let her.

You have to say it, he’d say.

She’d shake her head, too embarrassed, but he would not allow her to get away with that. Is this what you want, he’d ask, touching her breasts. Then his hand would slip between her legs. Is this?

Even now, as they were trying to be so quiet, he whispered sinful words in her ear.

“I want to taste you.”

She shivered. She knew what he meant.

“I’m not even going to take your dress off. I’m just going to crawl under your skirts, and lick you until you explode.”

He started kissing his way down her body, taking his delicious time on her breasts. Then, he looked up, and good heavens, somehow that felt even more erotic—his eyes locked and burning on hers.

It was like she was the only woman in the universe. The only woman he’d ever see. The only woman he’d ever want.

“Well,” he said, his voice husky with promise. “What do you say to that?”

She nodded. She wanted him so much.

His fingers crept beneath her skirt, but only just. “Not good enough, my darling.”

“I want it,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked, and in one quick movement, he was back over her, face-to-face. “You want what?” he pressed. “Tell me.”

Her body felt electric. She didn’t understand how speaking her desire could make her so desperate for him, but it did.

“I want you to taste me.”

His eyes held hers for a long second, and then with an animalistic growl, he practically dove down her body, spreading her legs to his seeking mouth.

She almost screamed. She actually clamped one of her hands over her mouth.

He looked up with a cocky grin.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

He gave a throaty chuckle and went back to work, torturing her in the most exquisite way possible.

He had done this before, and she still could not believe she had let him. No, that wasn’t true. She believed it. She would probably let him do anything to her.

She just couldn’t believe she had liked it so much. His mouth … there. It was so intimate. And then when he was done … when she was done … he always kissed her again.

And she tasted herself.

It was wicked, and it was carnal, and she loved it.

But he’d moved away from her sex and was now taking his sweet time, raining soft kisses on the inside of her thigh, never quite going back to where she wanted him. Where she needed him.

With a restless groan she parted her legs more widely, but all he did was chuckle against her.

“So impatient,” he murmured.

“I need you.”

“I know.” He sounded very pleased.

She arched her back, thrusting her hips forward. “Now, Nicholas.”

He nipped her, his teeth softly abrading her skin, so close to where she wanted him. “Soon, Georgiana,” he said.

“Please,” she begged. She didn’t know how he knew how to make her want him so desperately, but she didn’t care. She just—

“Oh!”

“Shhhh.” His hand came up to cover her mouth. “We must be quiet.”

But his tongue was stroking her at her very core, making lazy circles on the spot she’d learned was the most sensitive.

“Nicholas, I—”

He shushed her again, slipping a finger into her mouth, then groaned, when she started to suck it.

“My God, Georgie,” he groaned against her. She could not imagine that he was feeling as much pleasure as she was, but there was something about sucking on his finger that made her feel so excessively wanton, so hungry for more.