you w—with your dress, m-m-miss?”
Lucy couldn’t prevent the small jerk of shock as the maid forced her sentence out. The girl stuttered. Was it nerves? “Thank you. I hope I haven’t frightened you.”
“N-no.” The girl hastened over, and Lucy found herself in capable hands. She was down to her shift in no time at all.
She could see her reflection in a large cheval mirror. Her blush deepened with every passing moment. The maid worked efficiently, without speaking, but Lucy knew what the girl must think. That she was a lightskirt. A wanton.
“This is not what it appears—” She stopped. What else could she say it was? She couldn’t say she had to take off her dress because she’d been caught in the rain, for heaven’s sake.
“It—It’s not m-m-my business, miss.”
Lucy saw the maid’s face. She wasn’t stuttering with nerves. She had seen the girl’s small frown of frustration as she got stuck on one of the words.
“Y-you’ll like H-His G-g-grace,” the maid whispered. The girl smiled tentatively.
“Like him?” She thought him wretched. Then her blush rushed like wildfire, like dragon’s fire, over her face. “Has he ... been intimate with you?” Had the maid meant she would like him ... in bed?
“N-no, miss. ’E d—don’t allow that. With me s-stutt—” The girl sighed.
With an ache of sympathy, Lucy supplied, “Your stutter. Yes, I understand.”
“C-c-couldn’t keep a place. Th-thought me d-d-daft. Not His Grace. Not him!” The girl spoke vehemently at the end, so filled with force, her stutter left her.
It surprised Lucy. Apparently, the arrogant rogue had done something kind for this young woman.
“Y-your shift, m-miss.”
The maid took it by its lace-trimmed hem and slithered it up, over her head. As the muslin flew past her hips, Lucy felt a breeze through her nether curls and between her thighs. As it brushed past her breasts, it made them bounce and they jiggled, heavy and naked, as her shift was pulled off completely.
Instinctively she put a hand to cover the juncture of her thighs and used her other arm to shield her breasts. The maid gave a shy giggle and turned away. She scooped up Lucy’s clothes and laid them over a chair, keeping her back to Lucy. Then the girl hastened out, closing the door behind her.
Lucy let out her breath with a whoosh. Even alone, she covered her body with her hands. She had never stood anywhere utterly naked. Not even in her bedroom. The mirror threw her image at her. Her hair loose and falling to her hips, her curvy nude hips. Her breasts squashed by the pressure of her forearm into round and jiggly spheres. Her full thighs, her calves, her bare feet. She looked like some sort of wild creature. In her mind, she looked more like a wild thing now than she did when she changed to dragon form. She turned away, flushing more vigorously.
You have to let the duke, this man, this stranger, see you like this.
Goodness, she couldn’t even look at her body in the mirror, much less show it to that ... to him.
She hurried to her clothes. Her hands were on her shift before she got control of her thundering heart and spoke sense to herself. “You cannot run, Lucy. If you go, your family will be ruined. If you go, you know Helena will marry the Odious Earl to save the family.”
The Odious Earl. She shuddered. He was a dragon-shifter, a distant relative in the Drago family tree, but he was also a fifty-year-old, grossly fat earl. And he wanted to marry Helena. The Odious Earl was certain he was going to be given Helena, because he knew how desperate they were due to her brother’s debts.
Lucy had almost wed a horrible, terrible man. After the Earl of Montley, she had determined she would only marry another dragon. And she had been fooled by a handsome face. For her fiancé had been the worst beast imaginable.
She couldn’t let Helena be forced into a horrible marriage. Her sister was nineteen. Lovely and innocent. Helena deserved to marry for love. The earl was a lecherous old debaucher. If Lucy erased a thirty-thousand-pound debt with a fortnight of sex, the Odious Earl could be booted out of the house on his backside.
She heard a soft sound. A footstep? Was the door going to open and the duke walk in, wearing just his trousers?
She stared at the doorknob so hard, she was surprised she did not set it on fire with the ferocity of her glare. A soft, sliding sound came behind her and a man’s voice said, “You have a delicious derriere.”
She almost jumped out of her skin. Jerking around, Lucy realized her breasts had moved a few moments before her arm caught up to cover them. No doubt he had seen her curves, even her dark brown nipples, which looked so scandalously ... hypnotic when they were unclothed. Even she could barely tear her gaze from her bare nipples when she caught a glimpse of them.
But the Duke of Greystone was watching her face. He calmly sauntered through the secret opening, one that had been covered by a sliding wall panel. He strolled into the bedroom the way some men strolled through the park on a pleasant afternoon.
Except he was completely naked. And he was obviously, rigidly, shockingly aroused.
2
Stripped Bare
Lucy spread her fingers to cover her private place again and clamped her arm over her breasts. She desperately tried to look everywhere but at this naked man who stood before her. But her eyes betrayed her, and her gaze slid to him. She caught glimpses of broad, straight shoulders. Glimpses of his pectorals, with the dark circles of his nipples, and the long, hard muscles of his thighs.
And once or twice her gaze strayed back to that part that revealed how much he anticipated having her.
“Lady Lucy,” the duke said coolly. “You offered me the free use of your lovely body. Please move your hands. I wish to enjoy the view.”
“I—” She couldn’t. She simply could not stand in front of him so boldly. Already she was blushing like fire because he could see so much of her, just as she could see every inch of him. If she wanted. If she looked.
He could see her generous thighs, her hips, and her stomach. He had already seen her naked bottom, even if it was only for moments. She felt so ... embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated. Her body was too lush, too curvaceous. Her body had always been a curse. When she’d been just thirteen, she had begun to shift into dragon shape. That had been bad enough, for it had taken her years to learn how to control it, to learn how to live with the pain of the shift. Then her body changed from slender and boyish to this rounded, embarrassingly wanton-looking shape.
Lucy glanced at the duke through her lashes, but he had turned his back to her. He strode to a cupboard. At least he wasn’t ogling her, but she was surprised he wasn’t. As he opened the door, he said, “Lady Lucy, just because you are paying with your innocence, does not mean the surrender has to be unpleasant.”
Unpleasant? It was mortifying. She’d had no idea she would feel this awkward and embarrassed. She’d thought she could do this, but all she wanted to do was run for the door. She kept her gaze fixed on her arm, ensuring it shielded her breasts. And ensuring she did not look at his muscled back. Or his naked
