A dark, wicked grin flashed. “An excellent point.”

“There is a servants’ stairwell that leads straight to my room,” she whispered. “The hinges on the doors are beautifully quiet. I oiled them myself.”

He chuckled. “’Twould be a pity to let such diligence go to waste. By all means, my lady, lead on.”

They crept up the stairs—avoiding the third from the top—and into Callie’s bedchamber. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the air thickened immediately. Callie was instantly nervous. The siren from earlier was gone, and she was consumed with awareness.

Here she was, in the room where she’d slept for her entire life, with Ralston, who overpowered the space, his strength and maleness so incongruous within the dainty little room. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly together, and wondered if she would ever be used to him so close in such an intimate place. Surely not.

And then he was touching her—lifting her chin and taking her mouth and pulling her against him in the most complete of ways—and thought was lost.

His hands made quick work of the long line of buttons on her gown. She felt the fabric loosen and the cool air brush against her flushed skin, and she knew that he was staying and that this night would be the most important of her life—the night she accepted Ralston’s suit, the night she professed her love, the first night of the rest of their life together. And she could not deny the remarkable rightness in his being there, his hands and mouth on her as he removed her dress to reveal—

“Oh, my. Empress.”

His words pulled her from her thoughts. His gaze was locked upon her, taking in the beautiful silk lingerie, the delicate fabric that clung to her curves, hinting temptingly at what it hid. He reminded her of a wolf—hungry and eager to snare its prey—and her breath caught as his eyes met hers, desire rife within them.

She blushed. “Madame Hebert told me I needed them.”

His eyes darkened to a rich, midnight blue. “Madame Hebert was right.” He toyed with a little satin ribbon at the edge of her chemise. “How do they make you feel?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as a wave of embarrassment coursed through her. He turned her around, setting his hands to the laces of her stays, his words hot and soft against her ear. “How does it feel to be draped in warm silk?”

She said the first thing that came to her mind. “I feel feminine.”

His hands spread across her hips. “What else?”

She was breathing more heavily than usual, anticipation making her voice breathy with excitement. “I feel…lovely.”

He rewarded her words with a soft kiss on her neck. “Good. Because you are exquisite. And…?”

The word hovered between them as her corset came undone, falling to the floor unheeded. Her eyes opened at the freedom and she noticed that he had turned her to face the mirror in the room. She was unable to stop herself from watching as his hands splayed across her torso and pulled her back against him firmly. They stole upward to cup her br**sts, testing their weight, and she gasped, both at the heady combination of his warm skin branding her through the silk and his hands stark against the pale blue of her chemise. She was riveted by their reflection, feeling at once shy and sensual and wondering if she should turn away.

And then she realized that he was watching her—reading the play of emotions across her face in the dim reflection. And his voice was dark and wicked at her ear. “Do they make you feel wanton?”

“Yes,” she confessed. “They make me feel…” She paused, searching for the word. “They make me feel alive.”

He made a small sound of approval deep in his throat. “They make me feel alive as well.” And then he was lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the bed and she was naked and the silk was forgotten, replaced by his wonderful heat and mouth and hands.

He kissed across her collarbone and she smiled as he lingered over the faint scar on her arm, where his foil had cut her during their fencing lesson. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, lovely,” he whispered, worshipping the pink line with his lips and tongue.

Her head rolled back and forth on the pillow as his hands stroked down her body, stealing her strength. She opened her eyes and let all her desire show. “Never apologize for that afternoon. I wouldn’t change a moment of it.” She took his face in her hand and pulled him up for a searing kiss.

After several long minutes, he began to kiss down her body, and her hands fell to his shoulders to stay him. She whispered, “Wait.”

His blue gaze captured hers, hot and arresting, and he placed a warm kiss on her soft, rounded belly. “What is it, lovely?”

“I want to touch you this time.”

His teeth flashed, white in the dim light. “If I remember correctly, you touched me last time, and I couldn’t bear it for long.”

“I wonder if you’d be willing to try it again?”

One dark eyebrow rose as he considered the question. There was a pause, before he grinned and stretched out next to her on his back, hands stacked under his head, naked and unabashed. “I’m yours for the taking, Empress.”

I’m yours. The words echoed in her mind, sending a thrill though her. He was hers. This was the first in a long line of nights when she would be able to touch him, to feel his marvelous heat. He was hers. A smile played across her lips at the very thought.

“You look like the cat that got the cream.”

“I rather feel like the cat that got the cream,” she said, marveling at his body, the strength of his corded muscles, the dark, soft hair that dusted his chest, narrowing to a thin line that led to…oh, my. It was the first time she’d been able to see him in his entirety. He was long and hard and large enough that she marveled at the truth that they actually fit together.