Chapter 62

Lucien couldn't stop himself. Her hands fisted in his hair and her silken mouth welcomed his tongue with a reckless intensity he'd never experienced from any woman before. He'd had countless lovers and mistresses, but none had so completely abandoned their control as Horatia did. She did not lose herself. She was still Horatia, from the soft brown waves of her chestnut hair to the tips of her blue slippers. But when she kissed him, she threw caution, morals and hesitancy to the wind in a way that had him desperate to possess her.

He'd always prided himself on his own self-control. Of course, lately he seemed to have little of it and Horatia had been testing what remained to its limit. He wanted to sink so deep into her that he'd never leave, wanted to lose himself in her eyes and drown in the symphony of her breathless cries. He'd thought of nothing else the entire carriage ride to Kent. Each time a curl of her hair was jostled by the bumpy road, he'd watched with envy as it caressed