She sighed into his mouth and he caught the beautiful sound, pulling her against him. Her lips, soft and sweet and warm, parted in perfection, and he could not stop himself from claiming her with tongue and teeth, nipping along her full bottom lip before chasing the bite with a long, slow lick that made her groan with anticipation. Or perhaps it was he who groaned.

She had him on fire. He gathered her closer and deepened the kiss, changing the pressure. He delved deeper, stroked more firmly.

And she met him at every single stroke, finally using her own teeth to tease and tempt and punish, and he groaned, grasping one long thigh in his hand and lifting it, spreading her open and pressing into the soft core where he so desperately wanted to be. He rocked against her, giving both of them a small, unbearable taste of what they might have if it were a different night.

Of what they would have when it was a different night.

The thought tore him away from her, and he ached at the way she clung to him, as though she’d forgotten for a moment who she was and where they were and why they couldn’t have each other… this… now.

He was the same way, leaning back in, taking her lips once more, firmly, thoroughly, without hesitation.

He released her thigh and her lips at the same time, pressing his forehead to hers as they both caught their breath. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper only for her. “I will show you everything. But not tonight. You’ve had too much to drink for me to give you all I intend for you to take.”

Her retort was instant. “I haven’t had too much to drink.”

She wanted him. He could feel it in the pulse beneath his fingertips, in the breath against his neck, in the fingers that clung to his coat. “Yes, you have.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He turned her so that she could see his face, handsome and serious. “It matters a great deal. You see, I intend for every bit of ecstasy, everything you’ve never felt before, everything you will ache to have again.” He took a step toward her, his words wrapping around them both like sin. “I intend for it all to be because of me.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

He stopped her before she could speak. “Me alone. Without question, Georgiana.”

She closed her eyes at the name, capturing his hand with hers, tightly, as though she needed to steady herself. “You don’t want Georgiana. You want Anna. She’s the one who knows about passion.”

“I know exactly who I want,” he said, leaning forward, dipping his head to the place where her neck met her shoulder, where she smelled of vanilla and Georgiana. The scent was intoxicating and dangerous. And hers alone. He continued, letting his tongue lick along the spot. “I want Georgiana.”

She turned to him and kissed him, as though the words were unexpected and desperately desired. He caught her against him and gave her a full, sweeping kiss before a thought whispered through him, and he pulled back, meeting her gaze.

“Caroline’s father…”

She looked away, suddenly, remarkably looking like the girl she’d once been. “It’s rather an inopportune time to discuss him, don’t you think?”

“I don’t, actually,” he said. “Now is the perfect time to tell you that he was a fool.”

“Why?” she asked.

It wasn’t a search for a compliment. There was no artifice in the question. So there was no artifice in his answer. “Because if I had a chance to have you in my bed every night, I would take it. Without question.”

He regretted the words almost immediately – the meaning in them. The power they gave her over him. But then she leaned into him, as though the words had pulled her to him. He caught her, the feel of her too welcome to resist.

When she spoke, she was all seductress. “You have a chance for it tonight, and you are not taking it.”

The words had the desired effect, desire pooling deep in him. “That is because I am a gentleman.”

Her lips made a perfect moue. “A pity. I was promised a scoundrel.”

He kissed her once, quickly. “Tomorrow night, you get one.” He spoke low and quiet at her lips before pulling away. Any more, and he would be desperate to have her. He had promised Temple he would take her home. “We must go.”

“I don’t wish to go,” she said, and the honesty in the words was more tempting than he could have imagined. “I wish to stay here. With you.”

“In the gardens of Beaufetheringstone House?”

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “Anywhere that the light doesn’t come through.”

He paused. “You have a problem with light?”

“I have a problem with things that do not thrive in the dark. I am not comfortable with them.”

He understood the words and the sentiment behind them, more than he was willing to admit. In fact, the way they resonated so unsettled him that he was suddenly quite desperate to get her home and away from him, before her liquid honesty inspired his own – drink or no. He took her hand. “We cannot stay here. I have things to do.” She ignored him for a long moment, looking down at their hands, clasped together. Finally, he said, “Georgiana.”

She looked up. “I wish we were not wearing gloves.”

The thought of their hands, skin to skin, tempted him beyond reason. “I am very glad we are wearing them, or I might not be able to resist you.”

She smiled. “You know just what to say to women. You might be a scoundrel after all.”

He met her smile with his own. “I told you I was.”