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  The relief was readily apparent in Gabriella’s violet eyes as she stepped back, releasing his finger’s impression upon her lip, while asking incredulously, “Why?”

  Drummond stole a moment’s hesitation by padding further into the room, then sidestepped her query entirely by asking, “Do you play chess, madame?”

  Gabriella’s delicate features showed surprise, mild reproof, and then perplexity, before she finally answered, “It has been many years, my lord, however, I did play chess with my father when I was young.”

  “Excellent,” Drummond answered, watching Gabriella’s awareness dawning to realize just where they stood and what she could only assume that meant would be happening soon.

  “I would challenge you to a game, my lord,” she declared suddenly, a little too suddenly he thought, suppressing a smile.

  “Challenge begets a wager, madame. Is that what you are suggesting?” he asked bemused.

  “Well, I ...” Gabriella’s voice faltered, then regained its footing, while her gaze skittered for a moment. “Of course,” she finished, nearly in a squeak.

  “Being a gentleman, I would have to give you a lead, denoting your rustiness over the game,” he paused. “A rook and a pawn, I should think would be sufficient.”

  “How honorable,” Gabriella muttered, appearing for all the world as if no matter how high the advantage was, she had no hope of winning.

  “What shall we wager . . . hm?” he asked, as he eyed the white and black chess pieces already set in the beginning position, on a low table in front of the fireplace.

  “I really have nothing to wager, my lord.”

  “Drummond, madame, I shall have to insist that you call me Drummond.” Drummond picked up the smooth-marbled queen, running his thumb over the sculptured outline. “And, I would not say that you have nothing.” He paused, lifting his gaze to Gabriella’s. “Your diamond earrings perhaps?”

  “Oh no, I ...” Gabriella’s slender hand flew to her earlobe where she fingered one of the diamond ear bobs.

  Drummond chuckled warmly, looking once again at the queen. “I am pleased to see that you like them so well that you have no desire to part with them, madame.”

  “We could wager a deed. If you insist,” Gabriella suggested suddenly.

  “A deed?” Drummond questioned, with prompt and heightened awareness.

  “I could perhaps mend your shirts or, um, cook you a meal. Oh no, possibly not that as you already have an excellent cook. No, I could ...”

  “A meal,” Drummond interrupted, being that she surprised him. Women of Gabriella’s station in life did not normally lower themselves to such benign labor.

  “Why yes, a meal, my lor-, um, Drummond, something you favor perhaps?”

  Gabriella appeared so earnest, Drummond reflected, and in his surprise he had gotten captured carrying their game in a much different direction than he intended. Ah well, there was no hope but to regroup. “A meal . . . perhaps. However, what would I give you?” he asked, setting the chess piece down.

  “Above all else, I should like your vow that you will not spank me again.” Gabriella’s cheeks turned pink as Drummond watched her struggle to hold his steady gaze, whilst he fought down a pesky smile of admiration.

  “All that for a meal?” he inquired as he began to walk toward her purposefully. “Perhaps for a meal and anything that I might desire for dessert, madame.”

  If possible, Gabriella’s delicate features turned pinker and she appeared about to bolt, however, she stood her ground as he stopped very near to her. “I believe that is too vague,” she replied bravely, tilting her face up to him.

  “Even for such a boon as never being spanked by me again?” Drummond asked with a wicked soft infliction.

  “Yes . . . you could ask for the world for dessert,” Gabriella replied with a graceful sweep of her hand.

  “Your loins.” Drummond abruptly stated. “Dessert would be tasting your loins.”

  Gabriella faltered a step backward, apparently in shock, with her hands clasped to her agitated bosom and her cheeks turning scarlet . . .

  And, Drummond unhurriedly began to unbutton his shirt. “The wager is set, madame.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Drummond heard Gabriella stutter, clearly flustered as she asked, “W-What are you doing?”

  Drummond hid his smile and continued to untie his cravat, then began to shrug out of his evening jacket. “Undressing,” he drawled innocently.

  “But why?” she asked in a bare whisper.

  “You may remain dressed for now, madame. In fact, I would prefer it.” Drummond tossed his jacket aside and began working on the ruby studs in his cuffs. “I would not have you claim that I took unfair advantage of our game. However, I prefer, residing ‘au natural’ in my bed chambers.”

  “Should I retrieve your robe?” she asked, breathless.

  “I do not wear one,” he replied, watching Gabriella’s lovely gaze transfix on the expanse of chest that he was baring.

  “You don’t?” she whispered, looking comically mortified, yet curious at the same moment.

  “Never,” he stated succinctly as he walked bare-chested to the bed where he sat and began to take off his shoes.

  “But, I have never seen-,” she responded in a broken whisper.

  Drummond barely caught Gabriella’s soft spoken words as he glanced up at her then down to pull off his last shoe and stocking. That was the point, he mused, however he still found it surprising that after twenty-five years of marriage, Gabriella had never seen her husband in the nude. Of course it should not surprise him, his own wife had been abashed at the same notion, not that it had stopped him, at least the first several dozen times. However, eventually, his guilt over his wife’s agitation had proved superior, because in the end he had barely lifted his robe to tup his wife.

  What did it do to a man’s ego to be so reviled? A man was not that much dissimilar to a woman in wanting his appearance to be attractive to her. In fact, he would wager that it was in most men’s natures to strut their wares, as it were.

  Drummond stood then, audaciously placing his fingers on the inner button loops of his calf length evening trousers with his posture, hopefully the chiseled look upon his face, daring Gabriella to choose to use her boon now. He fully realized her dilemma of course, and without any hint of compassion. Should she use the boon now, to prevent his nudity or later forbid the sexual union? If only he were a compassionate man, he would tell her that he had no intentions of . . .

  “D-Drummond, you are so very handsome,” Gabriella suddenly stammered and thereby shocked him as he watched her hand reach forward tentatively, in a seeming unconscious gesture. “B-Beautiful,” she said in an awed whisper. “I have never seen a man without his shirt on before. I-I am not sure that I know what to do — to say to you, as you say such intimate things to me. B-Beautiful must be a wholly inadequate word to describe a man.” Gabriella visibly faltered, holding her hand to her breast with her breathing labored as if she were wound in the beginnings of a passionate coupling, while her gaze liberally devoured the expression of his bare arms, chest, and stomach. “Power . . . strength. It is just, I ...”

  Drummond turned his back to Gabriella abruptly, haphazardly trying rather desperately to collect himself. He had expected a literal wall from Gabriella. A barricade of maidenly modesty, indignation, embarrassment, and truthfully, stubbornness, but not this-this . . . It must be complete and painful honesty.

  “Drummond, I have upset you. I should not have spoken.”

  “No. It is not that.” Drummond turned too quick to see that Gabriella had moved so quietly that his clamorous thoughts had not captured it, and now she stood with her hand hovering near his upper chest. She yearned to touch him so badly that he could see the need of it shimmering in her violet eyes, however she was shy and confused, so near to toppling backward into the place that she just flowered from so recent . . . so unexpected. What an enormous capitulation this must be for her,
what an enormous chance. He could not think clearly in this moment, but instinct would hold him. His instinct and profound hopefulness.

  Drummond clasped Gabriella’s hand placing her slender fingers flat on the taut meat of his upper chest, watching her luscious cupid lips form a perfect O as her gaze dipped timorously beneath her inky black eyelashes. He was spellbound and still incredulous, yet not so far off his footing that his maleness did not react with instinct to her femininity as he moved her hand inexorably down his chest, feeling the light scratching of her long fingernails. Her palm was cool and soft to the heat of his skin and her lowered gaze seemed to be mesmerized, following her hand’s motion, propelled by his.

  “You are so strong,” she whispered. “Shaped so perfectly . . . male.”

  His physical build overturned her, Drummond realized in wonder. He felt the excitement of her other hand coming to his waist, pressing hesitantly until she must feel its entire lean structure.

  “Take my trousers down,” he commanded huskily making Gabriella’s delicate hands tremor on his flesh.

  “I ...” She was breathless and still would not turn her gaze up to him.

  “I must insist, madame,” he ordered in a low tenor feeling as though he could be regaining himself a bit. “You want to,” he cajoled lightly, when she still hesitated.

  Chapter Twelve

  Oh yes, I want to, Gabriella thought. If the rest of Drummond were anymore divine than his top portion, she was sure she would swoon! She had never felt like this before. She had never craved a thing as deeply as was her wish to view more of Drummond’s completely nude body. The craving was overriding her inherent modesty. The feel of him was crashing through her useless puritanical resolve, until she admitted to herself the need to let go. To be free to...

  Boldly, she took hold of the top of Drummond’s pants and began to pull them downward. They stuck!

  “There are buttons, kitten,” Drummond murmured near her ear as his strong fingers clasp hers and he showed her where they were. Her fingers brushed against a mysterious bulge of maleness underneath, while she nervously conquered each new button loop. The black satin material of his evening pants drooped open more with each released button as her knuckles skimmed a crown of knobbed hardness, then a rigid length. She could see his small cloth was not adequate to hide the striking beast that he carried beneath.

  Drummond guided her hands to take off his pants, stepping each foot out, however left her with his brief small cloth and her hands hovering near. His hips were lean. His bare thighs were slopes of unyielding muscle and there was black and silver hair mixed in a thin patch below his navel.

  Gabriella licked her lips anxiously. Dare she, her mind whispered? Dare she free herself? Give into her desire and this heightened curiosity that were inflaming her from head to toe.

  “Carpe diem,” Gabriella whispered suddenly, and then she tugged Drummond’s small cloth downward gallantly.

  What sprang free was fearless, a flesh-shod poker of iron muscle! Gabriella could remember feeling such as this between her thighs, entering her hurriedly in the pitched darkness of her bed chambers. However, her blinded imagination could not have predicted the reality of a man’s naked-. What should she call it?

  “Cock,” Drummond murmured in a husky whispering.

  Gabriella realized in surprise that she must have spoken her thoughts out loud.

  “Tarse or member,” Drummond continued to say as he shifted his body and began to turn away. “A groin or phallus. However, you shall call mine, cock.”

  Gabriella received a poignant view of the twin muscular hams of Drummond’s buttocks as he strode with rippling grace toward the fireplace, saying quite calmly, she thought.

  “And now for our chess game, madame.”

  Chess, Gabriella wanted to exclaim, how could she think of chess when she had a beautifully naked man presented before her and a passion pearl wedged provocatively between her thighs . . . stroking her innermost sanctuary to distraction? As a diversionary tactic, she smoothed down her silk skirts. Unnecessarily, trying to expand the moment to quiet her fluttering heart while Drummond sat, rather calmly, she thought in a padded wing chair before the chess game. His silver head came up, his gaze unreadable.

  “White or black, madame, I shall allow you the first move.”

  All Gabriella could think was that if Drummond could appear so calm, then she must strive for nonchalance also. He was so much worldlier than she was and she had no wish to be unsophisticated to his cosmopolitan. Perhaps, couples resided nude quite often, traversing their entire homes au natural . . . after they had given the servants a day off, of course. She had been sheltered in the country most of her life as her husband had preferred it, so she really did not know the brazenness of the ton, per say. This could very well be typical! With this ludicrous reasoning bolstering her, Gabriella sailed forward, finding it extremely prudent early on to gaze no lower than Drummond’s male nipples. And even those coppery-colored circlets with their taut nubs played havoc with her senses.

  “Wine, madame?”

  “W-Wine,” Gabriella stuttered back at him, having not been paying the least attention to anything but Drummond’s sinewy male calves, sprinkled with dark hair. Noting that even these were muscular! “Yes, please,” she finally thought to answer. Some dozen glasses, please!

  The flex and draw of Drummond’s muscular biceps immediately held Gabriella’s gaze prisoner as he held forth a crystal glass of burgundy-shaded wine, which she caught precariously in her nerveless fingers. Then, she watched him unwind into the chair like a languid panther as her gaze drew downward to the edge of her wine glass. Only to capture in her sight the exciting views of Drummond’s poised cock!

  The game, of course, was forgone . . . she would lose, and it was done quickly because of her mental dishabille. She could not say what she moved or where. It had to be little better than playing with a child, however, Drummond never complained. He appeared so natural, so relaxed that little by little, and with no small help from three glasses of wine, Gabriella relaxed somewhat also. In fact, to her dismay, she began to giggle when he checked her.

  “Too much wine, kitten?” Drummond chuckled as he took her nearly empty fourth glass of wine and set it aside. “But I have won the prize,” he finished with a sensuous smile.

  “My loins!” Gabriella exclaimed with an unladylike snort, rubbing her palms over the edges of the armrest. “To taste!”

  Gabriella grinned a bit lopsided, feeling somehow as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off her shoulders, leaving her floating and delightfully unbalanced. She was twirling free. “I did not know people did such as taste each other.” She twirled the long red nail of her first finger on the armrest. “Naive,” she grumbled in a whisper. Then an entirely new thought occurred, lifting her mouth in another smile, as she asked, “Do they both taste, Drummond?”

  Drummond’s return gaze to her was comical, making her giggle again. He looked stern, yet perplexed, and at the same time as though he were trying not to be amused, which barely lifted the corners of his sensuous mouth.

  “You are drunk, madame,” he said sternly as he stood leaving her with an unrestricted view of a splendid piece of male anatomy. Certainly, Gabriella felt contrite over Drummond’s commanding sternness, as she chuckled and exclaimed, “You have a beautiful cock, Drummond-! Oh,” she squealed a second later, when Drummond unexpectedly lifted her up into his powerful arms.

  “To bed,” he muttered, while she clasped her hands to his muscle-packed shoulders and rubbed the tip of her nose, and then her mouth along his bristly jaw.

  “You never answer me, Drummond,” Gabriella pouted, feeling the swing of his powerful body as he carried her. “Two entire questions and not a peep from-.”

  “Men,” he interrupted. “Do not peep, madame.”

  Gabriella very industriously ran one of her long red fingernails around his ear, the masculine one with the twinkling ruby in its virile lobe. It must have tickled becaus
e he shook his head as if swishing away a fly. “And yes,” he continued succinctly, “Both men and women taste, lick, suckle, and enjoy each other’s loin’s with their mouths.”

  Gabriella found herself sitting on Drummond’s lap as he sat upon the bed. She snuggled closer to his wonderfully bare chest while her satin-covered bottom squirmed over the hard rigid of that loin he had just spoken about so poignantly.

  “Gabriella?” Drummond clasped her hips in his wide hands, holding them disappointingly still, so she made do with tugging his silver-black chest hair, feeling the springiness sift through her fingers. However, then disappointingly, he caught the back of her hand holding it still also. “What is the second item, madame? This second question, which you say I have not answered?”

  Gabriella sighed heavily, laying her cheek comforting to Drummond’s bare shoulder as she gave one last attempt to wiggle her fingers beneath his hand. “Am I a fallen woman now?” she asked softly, sighing again. “That was my question,” she murmured with a kittenish yawn, nuzzling his warm, muscled shoulder.

  “Not yet,” Drummond murmured watching as Gabriella slowly fell asleep in his arms. What a prime opportunity he was allowing to slip quietly into slumber, Drummond reprimanded himself as he continued to hold Gabriella. She was so very beautiful with her small Grecian nose and her cupid, bow-shaped lips. Her lashes were dark chocolate brown, nearing black against the porcelain fineness of her cheek and her chin was perfect in a delicate shell shape. She was a dainty piece of femininity and she made him feel overpoweringly protective, not to mention fiercely possessive. Perhaps, Harrison was right, this did indeed feel quite painful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabriella murmured softly in her sleep, barely finding wakefulness when a husky, roughened voice whispered in her ear.