Page 102 of The Untamed Duke
Grace shivered. “Your Grace…”
“Duchess…”
“You won’t become bored?”
“Are you joking? Never in a million years.” The dress loosened enough so it fell forward, and holding her hand, Nicholas assisted her in stepping out of the puddle of ivory satin. “Turn around, love. Let me see you.”
Still holding her loosely by the fingers, he whirled her until she faced him, clad only in petticoats and the corset and chemise constructed of the same ivory-hued material as her wedding gown. The corset was a confectionary bit of fluff intended to be more pleasing to the eye than for support purposes. It was a lacy, delicate artful contraption of ribbons, ribbing and pearls, and the mere sight of the cups pushing her breasts to quivering heights was enough to make Nicholas groan in appreciation.
Equally filmy, thin stockings were attached to it, held up with delicate garters. It was like vanilla icing on a cake; the whole effect accented by exquisitely heeled shoes, ivory-hued and studded with the same pearl buttons.
“You look delicious enough to devour,” Nicholas breathed, taking her champagne and setting their glasses down on a side table. “The money on your bridal trousseau was well spent.”
“It was an exorbitant amount. I could have used the funds on the purchase of a few new fillies.”
He grinned, tipping her chin up with a forefinger. “Now, no pouting. Did I not tell you you’d have your fillies as well? You know I can’t deny anything you ask of me. It doesn’t come as easy to me as it does to you…God’s blood, Grace. Why have you made me wait these past eight weeks to have you? I’m mad with wanting you…”
“We needed something traditional in this unusual courtship of ours. And believe me, waiting was just as difficult on my part.”
Grace sighed as he ran a hand up her arm, along her collarbone, and further until he reached the heavy rope of pearls he’d given her as a wedding present. When she touched his chest, her palms flat against the heavily muscled planes there, the Richeforte Diamond, all seven carats of it and the matching band of emeralds and gold glittered on her finger. And on her wrist, always on her wrist, was the bracelet he’d first given her.
Grace kissed him until his grip tightened about her waist. Her vow was a velvety heated promise.
“Forever, Nicholas. I love you forever. Do not ever doubt it.”
“You brought me out of the darkness. My life, my heart. Everything is yours. My Grace, forever.”
Grace’s smile turned mischievous as she began working on his cravat, twisting the silk between her fingers in a suggestive manner. “You mustn’t be so docile, Nicholas. Do you suppose I might try taming you this time?”
“I going to make love to my wife while she’s wearing only these gifts and the ring I put on her finger,” he kissed her softly, intent on fulfilling his promises first. “I want to worship her and adore her and coax those little moans from her that heat my blood. I shall use my fingers, my mouth. My tongue. My body. All of me to make all of you mine.”
Epilogue
Bellmar Abbey, Cornwall
Seven months later
“Nicholas. Wake up.”
Nicholas shot from the bed, wild-eyed, naked, hair sticking up in all directions. Grabbing the first article of clothing nearby, he threw it on before belatedly realizing it was Grace’s nightdress and would go no further than his neck.
“Jesus!” he bellowed, yanking the garment off and hurling it aside. “What is the matter? Are you all right? Is it the stables? Is someone hurt?”
Grace stood calmly at the foot of the bed, already dressed and wearing breeches and boots. Her hair was pulled into a braid. The fringe of bangs sweeping across her forehead revealed shining gold eyes.
“It’s time! Come on! Or we’ll miss it!” She threw on a light coat because even though it was early June, a recent cold spell meant the predawn hours were chilly.
“It’s the middle of the goddamn night, Grace,” Nicholas muttered, throwing on one of his shirts.
“No, it’s not, grumpy. It’s almost dawn. The sun will be up soon. If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss everything.”
“I am hurrying. Give me a second.”
Grace sprinted ahead, taking the stairs two at a time, holding onto the bannister for balance. She was out the front door and halfway to the stables before Nicholas even made it as far as the top stair landing.
The new stables were well-lit, with gas lanterns outside each stall, open and airy fretwork between the stalls themselves and high, beamed rafters allowing movement of air and light to pass. It was beautiful and modern and the most well-equipped stables in Cornwall. Indeed, in all of southern England. While Grace and Nicholas traveled across the continent and Ireland for their honeymoon, an army of workers and the Queen’s famously gifted architect worked tirelessly at rebuilding the entire structure.
After a brief visit to Darby Meadows for the May Day celebration, they’d spent the last two weeks at Bellmar Abbey, waiting for the first crop of foals to be born. Nicholas considered this a continuation of their idyllic time together. They slept in late every morning. Rode in the afternoons. Made love in the shade of the Abbey ruins. Twice they swam in a hidden spring that hugged the coast, frolicking in waters as warm as the sun and clear as crystal. At every available chance, they shared a touch, a kiss, or a smile.
