Carcel lifted her from the desk. He didn't let her adjust her dress. He didn't let her cover the creamy expanse of her chest or the bare skin of her thighs. He held her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist, as he carried her back across the room to the Chesterfield sofa.
He set her down, but not on the cushions. He placed her feet on the rug.
He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his legs spread wide, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up at her. She stood before him, a disheveled vision in a servant's gray wool, her hair a wild mane, her lips red and swollen from his kisses.
"You asked for fairness," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. "You asked what I wanted."
Ines nodded, her breath hitching. She felt small standing there, yet incredibly powerful. She saw the way his eyes devoured her.
"Kneel," he whispered.
