“Emma,” he murmured. He wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, the tops of his fists deliberately brushing the curved undersides of her breasts through layers of clothing. One day he’d peel every stitch from her. The sooner the better. “Please, my lord.” Her feeble, half-hearted plea could be taken either as protest or encouragement. Adam chose the interpretation that suited him best. His hands roved more freely. When the wind pushed the hood of her cloak away, he nudged the material still further with his chin, hunching over to rest his head in the curve between Emma’s neck and shoulder. He knew he was behaving abominably and taking outrageous liberties with a gently reared maid. But with Miss Emma Whiteside snuggled in his arms, he felt more alive than he had since all the bloody losses and suffering he’d witnessed at Albuhera. The memory of the way she’d returned his kisses and set him ablaze made him hard as marble. As a battle-scarred man with a frozen heart and numbed soul, he had little to offer a woman aside from his protection.
