“There are many pleasures I could allow you,” she said, caution in her tone, “few that I will.”

“So I’m to earn your favors?” He merely smiled. “Then, allow me this: The heat and our rambling are threatening the integrity of your coiffure. Let me brush your hair.”

“Brush my…?” Anna blinked and gave him a puzzled look.

“I used to brush Her Grace’s hair when I was small, then my sisters’. I’ve taken a turn or two with Rose, but she demands a certain dispatch only her step-papa and mama seem to have perfected.”

“You want to brush my hair,” Anna said, as if to herself. “That is an unusual request.”

“But not too unusual. It requires no removal of clothing nor touching of the hands nor lascivious glances.”

“All right,” Anna said, more perplexed than alarmed, but then, she was in the company of a man who scheduled his passions. She fished inside the hamper and withdrew her reticule, producing a small bone-handled brush.

“Pretty little thing,” the earl remarked, thumbing the bristles. “Now”—he sat up—“sit you here.” He thumped the blanket beside him, and Anna scooted, only to find that the earl had shifted so she sat between his bent knees.

“Is this decent?” she murmured.

“Have another glass of wine,” the earl suggested. “It will feel frustratingly decent.”

They fell silent, and Anna felt the earl’s fingers easing through her hair to find her hairpins. He slid them free carefully and began piling them to one side. When the bun at the nape of Anna’s neck was loosened, he let her thick plait tumble down her back.

“I like this part,” he said. “When you free up a braid, and a single shiny rope becomes skeins and curls and riots of silky, soft hair. How do you keep it so fragrant?”

She felt him lean in for a sniff, and her heart nearly skipped a beat.

“I make a shampoo scented with roses.” And ye gods, it had been a struggle to utter that single coherent sentence. His hands were lacing through her unbound hair to massage her scalp and the back of her neck. His touch was perfect—deliberate, knowing, and competent without using too much strength. He trailed her hair down her back, leaving little trickles of pleasure to skitter along her spine, and then she felt him gathering the mass of it, to move it to one side.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, his words breathed near her ear. “I’m going to forbid you to wear those hideous caps of yours when we return to Town.”

His thumb brushed along her nape, and then something softer, followed by a puff of breath.

God, yes, Anna thought, letting her chin drop forward. Westhaven scooted closer, the better to kiss her neck, and Anna tilted her head, the better to allow it.

“Ah, Anna,” he whispered before pressing his lips to her cheek and letting them drift to her throat. His mouth was open on her skin, as if he’d consume her or sink his teeth into her flesh. Then he paused and scooped her against his chest, dropping one knee and angling her legs across his thigh.

Anna blinked up at him, her back supported by his one upraised knee.

“None of that,” he scolded. “I can see you preparing to think, Anna Seaton, and this is not a moment for thinking.”

Before she could blink again, his mouth came down on hers in a voluptuously ravenous kiss. His tongue was in her mouth, plundering and demanding and promising. Oh, God, the things his kiss was promising.

His hand slipped down her arm to close around her fingers where they lay limp in her lap. He brought up her hand and put it around his neck, giving her a place to hold on as he gathered her more closely against him. His scent was all around her, and Anna felt heat, not the sweltering summer’s heat but something clean and fiery and new singing through her veins. With it came desire—desire for him and desire for closeness with him. She clung and kissed him back, imitating the thrust and drag of his tongue with her own.

And then his lips were gone, leaving his forehead pressed to hers, his breath fanning against her cheek.

“God, Anna.” He took a slow inhale then breathed out. “Almighty, everlasting God.”

“What?” She felt suddenly unsure, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

“Lie back,” he said, easing her to her back and stretching out on his side beside her. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. “I just need to catch my breath.”

But he didn’t catch his breath, instead he frowned down at her, as if trying to puzzle out some frustrating mystery.

“Anna.” His frown deepened. “I want to make love with you.”

“Isn’t that what that was, lovemaking?”

“Let me be blunt: I want to fornicate with you. Urgently.”

“Urgently,” Anna repeated, still perplexed.

“Here.” He took her hand in his and rolled to his back, putting her palm over his very evident erection. “I want you.”

She didn’t pull away as she should have but gently shaped him along his length.

“This does not feel very comfortable,” she said, knowing exactly what was beneath her fingers. She should be repulsed, but with him, she was fascinated.

“If you keep that up,” the earl cautioned, “the urgency will only become greater.”

She did keep it up but rolled to her side to peer at his face.

“And then what?” Anna asked, wanting badly to undo his breeches, knowing she could never manage it.

“I am not a rapist,” the earl said, closing his eyes. “But I will want badly to spend. Very badly.” Anna passed a long, thoughtful moment, stroking at him lazily. His hips began to undulate minutely as she mentally rooted around and tried to find the reasons why she should get up and walk straight into the nice, cold stream.

“What does that mean?” Anna said, using her nails to scratch along the rigid length of him through the fabric.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He closed his eyes then pushed her hands away. She thought he was going plunge into the stream, or at least get up and stomp away, but instead, he undid the fall of his breeches and shoved them down over his hips then hiked up his shirt to his ribs.

“Please, love.” He took her hand and wrapped it around his erection. “Just bring me off and have done with it.”

To her shock, his hand was moving hers, stroking it along this very odd part of him, while Anna watched, shamelessly inspecting something she hadn’t seen by the light of day at this range ever before. His skin was soft, smooth, and slightly pink, particularly around the head of his penis. The actual length of him, though, was surprisingly thick, rigid, and hot.

“Like that,” he rasped. “Jesus, yes, just like that.”

His hips moved in counterpoint to the way she was stroking him, and his fingers closed more tightly around hers. This had to be hurting him, she thought distractedly, as his back was arched, his jaw clenched, and the muscles of his neck taut.

“God, Anna, don’t stop,” he warned just when she would have said something. “That feels too good… Jesus Christ.” His breath soughed out on a long, groaning sigh as a milky liquid spurted rhythmically over their fingers and onto the bare flesh of his stomach.

His hand went still over hers, but he kept their fingers laced.

“Dear, sweet, merciful God.” He sighed, opening his eyes. “I did not plan for this to happen, Anna. Have we a napkin to hand?”

Dumbly, she handed him one, her eyes fixed on his softening penis.

“Can I let go now?”

“You may,” he replied, frowning at her. He swiped at himself with the napkin and then tossed it aside.

“Does it hurt?” Anna nodded at him, and he regarded her carefully.

“You haven’t done this before.”

“I didn’t know one could,” she said, not taking her eyes off his groin. “Or two could. It looked uncomfortable for you.”

“Arousal has an element of discomfort to it, until satisfied, and then it is pleasurable beyond description.” He did not move to tuck himself up, and she did not stop looking.

“One would not necessarily reach that conclusion, watching you,” Anna said. “But you are not… aroused now?”

“No.” His smile was sweet, pleased. “If you keep looking at me like that, I will be again soon.”

“May I touch you?”

“Just be gentle, but indulge your curiosity however you please.”

Anna didn’t want to ask any more questions, feeling she’d revealed quite enough ignorance to a man who was utterly blasé about something so odd she could barely comprehend it.

So she let her fingers ask the questions, traveling along the softening length of him, lifting him this way and that, manipulating his foreskin and exploring his testicles, all with a frown of deepest puzzlement on her face, while he obligingly kept his eyes closed and gave every appearance of a man dozing off.

“You are…”—she waved a hand over his genitals—“becoming unrelaxed again.”

He opened his eyes and smiled. “You are a treasure. Let me hold you.”

When Anna hesitated, he tugged her down to his side, tucking her under his arm, her head on his shoulder. He lifted his hips to tug up his breeches but left the falls open and himself half exposed.

“If I touched you again,” Anna asked, “would you do that a second time?”

“With you? At least three times, eventually. A man does need some time to recover, though. Anna…?”

“Hmm?” Her hand was resting over his cock, but just that, not moving him nor attempting any further exploration.

“Thank you.” The earl’s eyes drifted shut. “There’s a great deal more to be said, of course, and soon, but for now, thank you.”

Anna didn’t know what to say to that, for she felt like thanking him, too. She had shared something with him, something wicked and dear and dangerous, and yet it was as he’d said. Her clothes were on and her physical virtue uncompromised. He had given her knowledge, of his body and of him, but he had not demanded comparable knowledge of her.