Scandal And The Duchess
do,
she wanted to answer, but again, her words choked off.
    Steven undid more buttons, then pulled her placket apart.
    The top of Rose’s bodice opened, revealing her breasts swelling over her corset. Rose thought her heart would be leaping out of her chest, but no, everything was whole and smooth, as it should be.
    Steven’s gaze raked down her, his glance admiring. “I knew you’d be a beauty.”
    Rose swallowed, and Steven traced the swallow with his fingertips to her breasts. His touch was caressing, smoothing, but left streaks of fire in its wake.
    Just as Rose thought she’d never breathe again, Steven took his fingers away, leaned down, and pressed his lips to where his touch had been.
    Rose’s chest lifted with a sudden intake of air. Steven’s mouth was hot, wicked, teasing. She dragged in another breath as he pressed kisses to her exposed skin.
    She stretched her legs, her feet flexing of their own accord, while Steven kissed between her breasts, licked, played. He moved his hands down her back to her hips, cupping her there.
    Rose was shameless, and she didn’t care. The world already thought her a fallen woman—what did she have to lose?
    “Rosie,” Steven whispered, his Scots accent thick. “Ye taste like heaven. What are ye doing to me?”
    His words burned against her skin. Rose felt a sharp pull on her flesh, the bite of Steven’s teeth.
    He was suckling her, she realized, taking the soft skin of her breast into his mouth. The small pain set her ablaze. Rose hadn’t known her body could flush with such need, her nipples tightening until they ached. She was surrounded by Steven’s warmth, strength, scent.
    She wound her arms around him, holding him while he licked, kissed, suckled. His arousal pressed to the join of her legs, wanting undisguised.
    Steven raised his head, his mouth wet, his short hair mussed. He brushed one finger over the mark he’d made on her breast. “You’re mine now, Rosie. I’ve claimed you.”
    Why did that statement make her all the more excited? “Yes,” she managed.
    “You are the loveliest lass I’ve ever had the fortune to meet.”
    Rose clung to every word. “Yes,” she whispered again.
    Steven chuckled, his breath warming her. “They don’t deserve you.
I
don’t deserve you. But I promise you my fidelity, lass. My everything.”
    Rose had no idea what he was talking about, but hearing him say it in his growling Scots was enough.
    Steven hands were on her hips once more, his mouth again opening hers. Rose daringly ran her fingers down his back, finding the tightness of his buttocks through the wool of his kilt. She tentatively caressed his hard, tight hip.
    Steven broke the kiss and gave her a swift smile. “Rosie, lass, you’re dancing with the devil.”
    “I am?”
    “Doesn’t matter though, does it?” Steven brushed another kiss to her mouth. She was pressed so tightly against him that his shirt and waistcoat warmed her bare skin. “I’m going to marry you, after all.”
    Rose returned his smile. “Yes, I forgot we were betrothed.”
    “Forgot, did you?” Something hot flickered in his eyes. “Then I’ll have to remind ye.”
    The next kiss showed Rose he’d been holding himself back until now. His mouth burned, his hands were strong, his body hard under her touch. The fact that she was able to hold this virile, amazing, athletic man took her breath away.
    Something moved under her buttocks, but it had nothing to do with Steven. She shifted her weight and something well and truly pinched her.
    Rose gasped, breaking the kiss, sliding forward into Steven’s arms. Steven, surprised, caught her, then he started to laugh.
    “Look at that, Rosie,” he said, his gaze drawn to the cabinet behind her. “I think we’ve discovered the first secret compartment opened by ardor.”
    ***
    As Rose turned to look, Steven struggled to catch his breath. He never thought he’d damn a piece of furniture, but he was damning this one. His need shouted at

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