Free A Shocking Proposition by Elizabeth Rolls Page A

more than happy to perform their duty again.
    She stiffened her spine. She couldn’t hide here all night, even if she had made a fool of herself. With a deep breath, she walked out from behind the screen to face her husband.
    Her mouth dried at the sight. Oh , lord! He had already dispensed with coat and waistcoat, the lacings of his shirt hung loose, revealing the merest glimpse of a powerfully muscled chest. She swallowed, watching helplessly as he prepared to pull it off over his head, feeling again that dizziness, the aching emptiness that he had caused, and filled, in the carriage.
    His gaze caught hers and he stopped.
    “Would you rather I undressed somewhere else, sweetheart?” he asked. “Behind that screen?”
    The idiotish, cowardly part of her shrieked, Yes! Then she could dive into the bed and shut her eyes. “No.” Unless... “Unless you would rather?” Perhaps he thought it was immodest for her to be here? To watch.
    He shook his head, a very wicked smile curving his lips. “Not at all. I’m more than happy to strip for your pleasure.” The smile became even more wicked. “Perhaps tomorrow night you’ll return the favor.”
    She was conscious of the heat, the wetness between her legs. Knew what it meant. Did he mean that he would find it arousing watching her undress? Her knees shook at the thought, and prudently she backed up to lean against the high, old-fashioned bed. “I...um...” He was unlacing his shirt fully, one hole at a time. “I have to apologize.”
    He looked at her. “For what?”
    “For...for the things I said. In the carriage.” She swallowed. “I know that you trusted me. There’s no excuse for what I said about you marrying me for Haydon because that was exactly what I offered you. I’m sorry.”
    “And will you accept my apology?” he asked quietly. “Not just for thinking you might not have told me everything, but for rushing you in the carriage? My excuse is pathetic—I wanted you too much.”
    “You wanted me?”
    “Oh, yes.” His gaze caressed her as he finished unlacing his shirt. Stole her breath. “And I want you now.”
    “Oh.” Her voice failed her. So they were going to... Thought failed as well, but his smile told her he knew exactly what she would have thought if her mind hadn’t melted. Still wearing the smile, he hauled his shirt off over his head and dropped it.
    She had seen statues of the nude male body. Of course she had. Secretly she had doubted that the real thing could be quite as godlike as the sculptors seemed to suggest.... The sculptors, she realized, had indeed not got it quite right. For one thing, they had not the advantage of working with living flesh and gleaming, supple skin. With swells of muscle that bunched as a man bent to remove stockings and shoes. With firelight that shadowed every angle and danced lovingly on every hard plane. And nor could blind, marble eyes possibly blaze with heat as his did, as she gazed, riveted, while he unbuttoned the fall of his breeches...
    Her eyes widened as he slid off the breeches and his drawers. Apparently the sculptors had got something else wrong, too. No statue she had ever seen had looked remotely like that. There wasn’t a fig leaf in the world big enough.
    He had gone very still. “It won’t hurt again, Maddy,” he said quietly. “My word on it.”
    Was the man a mind reader? “It wasn’t that,” she lied. Or not entirely that.
    “No? What then?”
    Oh, lord! “Well, I haven’t seen a real one before,” she said, desperately. “Only statues.” And thought about it. Not quite true. “At least, not a man’s pizzle,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat. They heated even more as his eyes widened and an unholy amusement curved his mouth.
    “Pizzle?” he repeated in a very neutral voice, and she knew, just knew , she’d said the wrong thing.
    Gritting her teeth, she said, “I take it you don’t call it that.”
    He shook his head. “No,” he said, in the sort of voice