He slipped a finger inside her, and her entire body clenched with a pleasurable spasm. "So tight," he murmured against her thigh. "So hot and wet."

Hot, yes… she felt so hot. As if her skin were stretched too tight and consumed with fire. He stroked her with maddening leisure, each caress melting away her inhibitions, dissolving her modesty until she writhed against his hand, impatient for more. He slipped another finger inside her, pumping slowly, drawing a long, ragged moan from her throat.

She felt his other hand at her waist, then his fingers slipped from her body, dragging a soft "No" of protest from her. When she felt him tug at her drawers, she lifted her hips and he slid them down her legs.

His avid gaze riveted on her exposed sex, yet rather than experiencing any of the shyness she might have expected, her entire body tensed in an agony of anticipation, awaiting his touch. Instead, however, he plucked the rose from her lap.

"I've dreamed about doing this to you," he said softly, slowly trailing the velvety petals up her inner thigh.

She sucked in a quick breath at the tremor that shimmered through her. "You have? When?"

"Last night." He brushed the flower along the cleft of her sex, and she forgot how to breathe. "And the night before. And the night before that." Another light sweep over her swollen folds. "And numerous nights before that."

He looked up from his wicked ministrations and pinned her with his heated gaze. Then he placed the rose on the settee. "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like for me to touch you like this?" he whispered, slipping a finger deep inside her.

A sigh rushed past her lips, and her eyes slid closed. Dear God, surely he didn't expect her to answer questions when he was making her feel like… this? As if her insides had turned to a flow of warm honey. As if she were about to simultaneously melt and shatter.

"I've wondered," he said, teasing her most sensitive nub of flesh in a manner that shot liquid fire to her core. "More times than I can count. And still you're more beautiful than I ever imagined."

His fingers once against glided over her folds, inside her, teasing her toward the rapidly approaching climax building at the base of her spine. He pressed his lips to her knee, then kissed his way up her inner thighs, insinuating his shoulders farther between her legs, splaying them wider. And then time seemed to stop as his tongue glided over her aroused sex.

For several seconds her body tensed, but then her initial shocked reaction evaporated into a low groan of helpless pleasure. She forced her eyes open. The sight of his dark head buried between her legs, the sensation of his lips and tongue and fingers caressing her folds, was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced. The musky scent of her arousal rose in the warm air, mingling with the fragrant flowers. She slumped lower on the settee, and with what sounded like a growl of approval, he lifted her thighs, setting them over his shoulders.

Lost in sensation, she closed her eyes and reveled in the magical torment his mouth and fingers wrought on her, each teasing lick, every relentless stroke touching her deeper, pushing her closer to the brink. When she soared over the edge, a sharp cry escaped her. Her back arched and her fingers bunched in the muslin of her ruched up gown as an intense climax throbbed through her. When the spasms subsided into mere quivers, she collapsed, breathless, limp, and utterly sated.

She felt him trailing light kisses along her inner thigh, and managed to drag her heavy eyelids open halfway. His eyes burned like a pair of flames. Gazes locked, he slowly lowered her boneless legs from his shoulders. Then he moved closer, leaning over her, until only inches separated their faces.

"Say my name," he demanded in a rough, husky rasp.

She licked her lips and struggled to find her voice. "Lord Surbrooke."

He shook his head and skimmed one palm up her leg, slipping it beneath her to curve over her bare bottom. He pulled her closer, until the hard ridge of his erection that strained against his breeches nestled against her sex. "Daniel."

The feel of him pressed against her so intimately momentarily robbed her of speech. After swallowing, she whispered, "Daniel."

A bit of the tension in his face abated, and with a low groan he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips parted, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. He tasted of brandy and of her, an utterly foreign combination that intoxicated her. The inner fire he'd stoked and just sated roared back to life, demanding more. Her fingers sifted through his thick hair, urging him closer. He flexed his hips, pressing his erection tighter against her, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to rip open his breeches and thrust all that lovely, hard flesh into her hungry body.

Instead, however, he lifted his head. Confused, she opened her eyes and found him regarding her with that same intense expression.

She blinked several times, then reality returned with a thump. She glanced down the length of her body, taking in the gown bunched up around her waist, the pale skin of her abdomen, the light brown curls at the juncture of her widely spread thighs. His hips nestled tightly against her.

Surely she should be appalled at her wanton behavior, at the liberties she'd allowed him. Liberties her husband had never taken. Or even attempted. Yet instead of appalled, she felt more alive than she had in years. As if she'd emerged from a dark, lonely cave into a sunshine-filled meadow bursting with color and life.

The proper, sedate lady she'd been her entire adult life insisted she tell him this interlude was a mistake. One that could not be repeated. But rather than mistake, the only word she wanted to say was…

Again.

She could lie to herself, but the irrefutable truth was that she wanted more of the passion they'd just shared. Her mind acknowledged her guilt and tried to list all the reasons she shouldn't allow this to go any further, but she shoved all that aside and listened to her reawakened body, which refused to be silenced. She was attracted to this man. Wanted him-in a purely physical sense. So long as her heart remained uninvolved and they were discreet, there was no reason to deny herself this pleasure. He'd said he didn't want her heart, and had no intention of offering his own. They would share their bodies and nothing more. Just as the Anonymous Lady had done in Memoirs.

"The dogs are barking," he said quietly, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "Which means Samuel has returned."

A fissure of panic rushed through her and she struggled to sit up, but he shook his head and gently pressed her back down. "We have a few moments. Barkley will see to things, and neither he nor Samuel will come in here."

"How do you know?"

"No one is allowed access to this room except me and Walter, my groundskeeper." The pad of his thumb brushed over her bottom lip and he frowned, as if puzzled. "I've never brought anyone here before."

He sounded surprised to have admitted that last bit, and certainly she was surprised to hear it. "Why not? It's such a beautiful room."

"It's private. My… sanctuary. I told you I don't like to share." His gaze roamed her face and he looked… troubled? "Except, it seems, with you."

His expression cleared and he leaned forward to nuzzle the sensitive skin behind her ear with his warm lips.

"My God… you are so beautiful," he whispered, his words ending on a groan. His teeth lightly grazed her earlobe, shooting a barrage of tingles down her neck. "My extremely lovely, very dear, greatly talented, highly amusing, extraordinarily intelligent, possessor of the most kissable lips I've ever seen as well as an excellent memory, and who tastes like flowers… everywhere, Lady Wingate." He lifted his head and a whiff of amusement entered his eyes. "Do you think we might perhaps be on a first name basis now?"

A heated blush suffused her entire body. "I suppose… Daniel."

His smile flashed. "Thank you… Carolyn."

The way he said her name, softly, slowly, as if savoring its taste upon his tongue, shivered a dark thrill of delight through her.

With obvious reluctance, he slid his hand from beneath her bottom then reached for her drawers. The ease with which he helped her don her discarded clothing proved he was as adept at dressing a woman as he was at undressing one. And he'd certainly proven he knew what to do once he had her disrobed. She wasn't entirely certain her liquefied knees would ever fully recover.

After he'd slipped her shoes back on her feet, he rose and extended his hand to help her rise. Her gaze riveted on the front of his breeches, which were directly on her eye level. The snug material clearly outlined his thick erection.

Perhaps it was the privacy afforded by this cozy, flower-scented room, illuminated only by silvery skeins of moonlight, that made her daring… as daring as she'd felt while wearing Galatea's mask. Or perhaps it was the way he'd made her feel… so lush and womanly and shockingly free. But whatever the reason, as she allowed him to help her arise, she boldly dragged her free hand up his muscled thigh and cupped his arousal. He sucked in a quick breath and his eyes seemed to glaze over.

"You pleasured me, yet asked for-and received-nothing in return," she murmured, experiencing a deep surge of feminine satisfaction when he rolled his hips, seeking more of her touch.

"I hardly received nothing. Indeed the pleasure was all mine."

She cocked a brow and shot a significant look downward. "This…" She lightly stroked him through his breeches. "… indicates otherwise."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, trapping her hand between them. "If you're suggesting you're in my debt-"