Page 90 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

“I should be a very poor gentleman if I permitted you to undertake so troublesome a task without offering my assistance.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, George.”

“I assure you, my concern is entirely for your safety.” He sank to one knee before her and glanced up at her lovely face. “Now, if you would be so kind as to hold my shoulder.”

She rested her hand upon him while he gathered the hem of her gown high enough to unfasten her boots. He removed them carefully, setting each upon the grass, then turned his attention to her stockings. As he gathered the fine silk above her ankle and began to roll it slowly down her calf, he heard the little hitch in her breathing and felt an answering heat stir beneath his skin. He looked up to find her watching him, her lips softly parted, her cheeks flushed, and her brown eyes darkened by a knowledge of precisely how dangerous the smallest touch might become between them.

It was a remarkable thing that this woman, who had slipped through his window and dared him to behave his worst, could undo him merely by letting her hand rest upon his shoulder. He had touched her with far greater intimacy at Aphrodite, and the memory did nothing to lessen his hunger. Nevertheless, he continued with a deliberation that was as much for his own protection as hers, drawing the silk past her ankle until it slipped free of her foot. When his fingertips grazed the tender arch of her instep, her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against his coat.

“George,” she murmured, amusement mingling with warning, “I am beginning to suspect that removing my stockings is not entirely necessary.”

He smiled as he took her other foot into his hand. “On the contrary, Cori, I have never been more devoted to the practical requirements of climbing a tree.”

Her answering laughter warmed him more effectively than his neglected brandy could have done. He eased the second stocking down, lingering only a moment at the delicate curve of her ankle before releasing her, and rose with considerable reluctance. Barefoot, with her cheeks still flushed and that delightfully knowing smile upon her lips, she looked like a woodland nymph.

Bloody hell.

It might well kill him, but he would do everything in his power to keep his hands off her. A rogue or rake would seize such an opportunity for seduction without a second thought, but George was damned determined to show her the depth of his desire without making the slightest attempt to seduce her.

CHAPTER 21

George placed her boots and stockings beside the decanter. “In a show of solidarity, I shall remove my boots and stockings as well.”

She smiled as he did so, and a few moments later, he took her hand and led her toward the trunk. The lowest branch stood several feet above the ground, but the ancient oak offered plenty of footholds, and he knew every one of them.

“Shall we see whether you remember how to climb, Cori?”

She gave him an indignant look. “I assure you, I was a most accomplished climber in my youth. I once reached the top of an oak that even my brothers were afraid to attempt.”

“Then I shall endeavor not to disgrace myself in your company.”

Before he could suggest where she might begin, Cordelia found a hollow in the bark, braced her bare foot against it, and reached for a sturdy projection above her head. George stepped behind her and settled his hands around her waist.

“Allow me to make myself useful.”

“I should hope so. A gentleman ought to earn his keep.”

He laughed and lifted her, acutely conscious of the softness of her waist beneath his palms and the brush of her hips against his chest. She caught the branch, drew herself onto it with surprising strength, and found her balance with such ease that he could only admire her graceful movements.

“Well, are you coming,” she called down, her brown eyes sparkling, “or must I continue without you?”

“You have been concealing a remarkable talent.”

“I did warn you.”

He climbed after her, delighted to see her perched on the broad limb, her cheeks flushed and her smile radiant. She ran her palm over the rough bark and confessed that she had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be among the branches. Before he could offer guidance, she assessed the next foothold and began climbing again, moving with a confidence born of childhood adventures. He followed, thoroughly impressed by her judgment of the distance and the confident way she adjusted her position before drawing herself upward.

“Do you know, I had rather expected to be the one demonstrating my prowess this evening,” he remarked.

“And instead you find yourself struggling to keep pace with a lady,” she replied, laughing.

“A most humbling experience, I assure you.”

The next stretch proved more difficult; the branches set farther apart, and Cordelia paused to consider her route. George moved behind her, settling his hands upon her waist when she admitted she might require assistance. He drew her gently against him to steady her, and the little sound she made as his palms slid over the generous curve of her hips sent desire coursing through him.

Her head turned, bringing her cheek perilously close to his mouth. He caught the delicate fragrance of her skin mingled with the scent of leaves and sun-warmed bark, and for a moment he imagined turning her in his arms, kissing her until she clung to him, then carrying her back to his bedchamber, where he might finally indulge the hunger she had awakened in him. He wanted her naked beneath him, her lovely breasts filling his hands, her soft thighs parting to welcome him as he buried himself in her welcoming heat.

Bloody hell.