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that she could barely see through them.
    Yes, he was doing that.
    His mouth was pressed tight against the woman’s intimate place, his head moving back and forth, his hands wrapped tight about the pale skin of her upper thighs.
    Should she scream? It was clearly an assault.
    Her eyes squeezed shut, her mind spun.
    A low moan sounded, a very feminine moan.
    It didn’t sound like the woman was in pain—well, it actually did, but like no pain Bliss had ever experienced.
    She opened both eyes.
    The woman’s head was tossed back, her body arched, legs spread—the man’s tongue…Oh my, Bliss didn’t have any words. The woman dropped both her hands, burying them in the man’s hair, drawing him closer. He was moaning now as well, as he lapped at the woman, acting as if he couldn’t get enough. Lady Ormande had hinted at such things, but Bliss had never truly believed her.
    And the woman’s face…the faint light from the window lit her features, and Bliss could hardly describe the expression; the eyes half shut, the mouth slightly parted, as a moan followed, a very low, deep moan.

    Her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. Bliss closed her hands into fists as she fought to not make a sound, although her breath was now heavy, almost panting. Clamping her lips together, she tried to still herself. An ache grew between her thighs, an ache she could not contain. She wanted. She needed—she just didn’t know what.
    “Come for me now, Julianna. Now, I say.” The man growled, his voice echoing in the dim chamber.
    And then it happened. Bliss wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it happened. The woman’s whole body stretched as if struck by lightning, her head falling farther back, harsh cries seeping from her lips, and her face—Bliss had never seen anything like the expression that took her features and held and held, before suddenly they softened, her eyes drooping closed.
    “That’s my girl. So needy,” the man growled again, but this time softer.
    “Do you want me to—” The woman’s voice asked quietly before being cut off.
    “Not this time. Turn and put your hands on the desk.”
    “But—”
    “Do it.” The man spoke with such command that Bliss almost found herself moving to follow his direction, her body eager even if she knew not for what. She pressed her legs tighter, her nails digging into her thighs, the brief spike of pain helping her to remain calm.
    Without another word the woman stepped around the man and, turning away from him, placed her hands flat upon the desk, her head falling forward, her eyes still partially closed.

    Bliss’s breath caught as the man rose and turned toward her. She knew him. Lord Banks. He sometimes called upon Swanston. Did he see her? How could he not? What would she say? How would she explain…?
    Although he was staring in her direction, he clearly saw nothing but the woman in front of him as he moved to stand behind her, his hips thrusting forward to press tight against her behind. For a moment he did nothing but rub himself against her skirts, which had fallen again when she moved to the desk. Then he leaned his body forward, almost pressing the woman into the desk, letting his weight rest upon her. His mouth moved against her ear and Bliss could hear the whisper of words.
    He moved an arm forward, his hand reaching up to run his fingers over the full breast, which still escaped above the woman’s bodice. His hand moved in a soft caressing movement and then, as Bliss watched, he began to press his fingers tighter. Bliss waited for the woman to protest, but she only turned her head to look over her shoulder, her teeth biting down on her lower lip.
    Bliss realized she too was biting down, her own teeth nipping into tender flesh. What did the woman feel as Lord Banks’s fingers tightened about her? Again Bliss’s hand rose to her own breast. She squeezed softly as she felt the swollen flesh beneath her fingers. This time she had to bite down to prevent