Pierce heard himself groan, capturing Daphne’s hands to bring them around his neck, deepening the kiss until she opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, whimpering as it stroked hers.
“Daphne.” He said her name reverently, lifting her small, delicate frame up and into him until there was nothing between them but the hindering layers of their clothes.
Even those could not hide the hardening contours of Pierce’s body.
Daphne tensed, tearing her mouth away and staring bewilderedly at Pierce.
He relaxed his grip, but didn’t release her. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I told you, you’re safe. I just—” He swallowed convulsively, his vulnerability as unique and frightening as it was unsurprising.
As if sensing his raw emotions, Daphne lay her hand tenderly on his jaw. “I’m not afraid. Not really. I’ve just never felt such—done such—”
“There’s a powerful pull between us,” Pierce r
eplied soberly. “I feel it. And so do you.”
“I don’t deny it.” She lowered her eyes to his coat.
“Have you ever been kissed, Daphne?”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she hesitated for so long that Pierce began to seethe, planning the demise of any other man who’d tasted her lips.
“No,” she admitted at last, her voice tiny. “Not kissed.”
She was remembering last night with the Tin Cup Bandit. Pierce knew it, just as surely as he knew he wanted to wipe that memory from her mind, replace it with burning memories of him. Only him.
“Not kissed? What does that mean? What intimacies have you shared with a man?”
“None.” Daphne started at the fervor of his tone. Misunderstanding its cause, she gave him a look of heartbreaking apology. “I suppose I’m even more naive than you imagined.”
“You’re perfect,” Pierce informed her fiercely, livid at himself for inciting her self-doubt. He lowered her feet to the ground, his hands tightly gripping her waist. “What you’re hearing is not disapproval. It’s jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” She gave him a quizzical look. “Why?”
“I don’t want anyone’s arms around you but mine.”
Daphne blinked. “Surely you’re joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“Because you’re handsome, wealthy, charming, and very accomplished—er, experienced.” Her cheeks flamed. “You must have dozens of women eager for your attentions.”
Pierce’s chuckle vibrated through her. “Only dozens?”
“Are there more?”
“Daphne.” He caressed the soft material of her gown. “I really don’t give a damn about other women. As for your description of my assets—” His smile grew wicked. “Thank you. I think. Now let me return the compliment, with the exception of the last item you mentioned. You’re enchanting and sensitive and beautiful in every way, some of which are more important than the mere physical.”
“So are you,” she blurted out. “I’ll never forget the way you rescued me at Newmarket. I was so absorbed in watching those desperate, hungry people, the bitter futility I could see on their faces, that I never heard Father’s introduction. Thank you.”
So that was what had preoccupied her at Newmarket. Compassion for the poor.
Tenderness unfurled inside Pierce like warm wisps of smoke. “I don’t want thanks, Daphne. I want you.” He saw panic invade her eyes, and read her thoughts easily. “I’m not afraid of your father.”
“I know you’re not. My guess is he’s afraid of you.”
Pierce’s brows lifted in surprised admiration. “Add astute to your list of attributes.”
“Why, Pierce? Why is he afraid of you?”