Without bothering to knock, he pushed open the door and came to an immediate stand-still. Elaine turned around, wide-eyed, halfway dressed in some gauzy, almost sheer nightrail and stockings. She wore a long string of pearls, wrapped three times around her neck, and her blonde hair was still pulled into its knot above her shoulders-but his wife had nothing else on. She was still pulling the garment into place with the assistance of the two ladies she’d left with.

He caught the briefest glimpse of one lovely, pink nipple before it was swallowed up by the fabric. His heart tripped into his throat at the thought of swallowing such a divine little bud. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, ladies,” Owen choked out. He took a step backward, then forced himself to turn away from the intoxicating sight.

“ No need to leave, Lord Raynesford,” one of her friends called out after him. “Lady Lipscombe and I were just on our way out.” The two dark-haired women scurried past him, the smaller of them turning and winking at him just before closing the door.

For several moments, Owen stood rooted to the floor in just that position. What on earth was going on? Why had they been with Elaine, helping her put on something so delectable and immodest, something so very different from anything she’d worn in his presence before? He fought to slow his pulse, lest he turn around and ravish her more thoroughly than he’d ever done before, though it seemed a lost cause to even attempt such a thing.

“ Owen?” she said timidly from behind him.

The delicate tips of her fingers landed almost imperceptibly on the bend of his elbow, yet he was so alert to her every bewitching movement it felt like a horse had just thrown him. With faint steps, she moved deliberately to stand before him, robbing him of the ability to breathe. The top of her nightrail hung loose, giving him a painfully clear view of her bosom, the pert nipples straining beneath his gaze.