The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I—”

His hand covered hers. “Don’t apologize.”

“But—”

“Don’t . . .”

She looked up.

He tried to smile. “. . . apologize.”

Together they managed the buttons, and Richard was soon pulling his shirt over his head.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a man before. Not like this.”

“I should hope not,” he tried to joke, but then her fingers came to rest on his chest, and it felt as if his breath were being sucked from his body. “What you do to me,” he gasped, and he came back down to cover her, hoping she had not noticed that he had not removed his breeches.

He could not. He’d stepped far too close to the fire as it was. Somewhere in the feverish recesses of his mind he knew that if he removed this last barrier, he would not survive it.

He would take her. Make her his in truth.

And that he could not do.

Not yet.

But nor could he leave her. She was temptation itself, lying beneath him, but that wasn’t what kept him rooted to the spot.

He could not take what he so desperately desired, but he could give it to her.

She deserved that.

And something inside him said that maybe, just maybe, her pleasure would be almost as good as his own.

He rolled to his side, pulling her with him as he captured her mouth in another burning kiss. Her hands were in his hair, then on his back, and as he kissed his way down her neck, he felt her pulse beating beneath her skin. She was so aroused, maybe even as much as he was. She might be a virgin, but by God he was going to give her pleasure.

His hands dipped lower, gently parting her legs before resting over her mound. She stiffened, but he was patient, and after a moment of gently stroking she relaxed enough for him to dip into her folds.

“Shhhh,” he crooned, bringing his face back to hers. “Let me do this for you.”

She gave a jerky nod, even though he was fairly certain she had no idea what “this” was. It was humbling, the trust she’d placed in him, and he forced from his mind all the reasons he did not deserve it.

He showered her face with gentle kisses as his fingers worked their magic at her core. She felt so good, all warm and wet and womanly. He was nearly to bursting, but he ignored it, kissing her deeply before whispering, “Does this feel good?”

She nodded again, her eyes almost bewildered with desire.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and he made his way down her body, pausing at each breast before descending even farther.

“Richard?” Her voice was panicky, barely more than breath.

“Trust me,” he murmured, the words sinking into the soft skin of her belly.

Her hands grasped the bedsheets beside her, but she did not halt his sensual progress.

He kissed her then, right at the very heart of her, softly making love with his lips and tongue. His hands spread over her thighs, holding them in place, holding her open for his erotic invasion.

She began to squirm beneath him, and he kissed her harder, sliding a finger inside and groaning with desire as he felt her muscles draw him in. He had to pause for a moment just to take a steadying breath. When he kissed her again, she strained against him, her hips coming off the bed with the force of her need.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said, and he had no idea if she heard him. He pushed her legs farther apart, and he kissed and sucked and tickled until she cried out his name and shattered beneath him.

And still he drank of her, holding himself to her until she came back down to earth.

“Richard,” she gasped, her hand frantically batting against the bed. “Richard . . .”

He slid himself up along her body, hovering above her so that he could gaze upon her passion-glazed face.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered.

He gave her a lazy smile. “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes, but . . .” She blinked rapidly, clearly at a loss for words.

He settled beside her, kissing her ear. “Was it enjoyable?”

Her chest rose and fell several times before she answered, “It was, but you—”

“I found it very enjoyable,” he cut in. And he did, even if he was now frustrated as hell.

“But you . . . you . . .” She touched the waist of his breeches. He did not know if her passion had left her beyond words or if she was simply too embarrassed to speak of their intimacies.

“Shhhh.” He put a finger to her lips. He didn’t want to talk about it.

He didn’t even want to think about it.

He held her until she fell asleep. And then he slipped from the bed and staggered back to his own room.

He could not fall asleep in her bed. He did not trust himself to awaken in her arms.

Chapter Sixteen

IRIS AWAKENED A bit before supper, just as she always did—slowly and with apathetic eyelids. She felt marvelously languorous, her limbs heavy with sleep and something more . . . something sensual and lovely. She found herself rubbing her feet against the sheets, wondering if they had ever felt so silky. The air was sweet, like fresh flowers and something else, something earthy and lush. She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling as she rolled onto her side and burrowed her face into her pillow. She did not think she had ever slept so well. She felt—

Her eyes snapped open.

Richard.

She glanced about the room, her head twitching back and forth. Where was he?

Clutching the sheet to her naked body, Iris sat up, turning her attention to the other side of the bed. What time was it? When had he left?