Page 86 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
As he guided Eleanor over to the fire, he snagged a towel on his way. She delicately lowered herself to the floor, sighing when he put a mound of cushions and blankets around her to soften the hardness of the wood.
She smiled up at him, tilting her head back. He wrapped her hair in the towel and gently squeezed it. Then, he kneeled behind her, and she turned her face toward the fire, warming herself.
His fingers were deft on the towel, drying her hair with care. He loved her hair, finding it soft and thick—beautiful.
“You think it is beautiful?” Eleanor asked, making him realize he had spoken aloud.
Spencer continued working the towel through her damp strands. “I thinkyouare beautiful, Eleanor. Everything about you is beautiful.”
He sat back on his heels, and before he could reconsider, he brushed her hair over her shoulder, baring the back of her neck. His eyes closed, his mouth pressed to her skin.
“You still smell like the rain,” he murmured, nosing along her upper back until he brushed the neckline of her dress.
His mouth grazed the fabric. The towel slipped from his hands, which rose to the laces of her dress.
“And you still smell like firewood,” she whispered. “Like the woods behind Everdawn Hall. I have always thought so. It is as if the scent follows you. As if it calls you back home every time.”
“Perhaps it does,” he relented. “Especially now that it has become my home with you.”
The words were placating, masking the things he wasn’t yet ready to say. He swallowed, his hands dancing down the back of her dress until it loosened. He slid a finger into the gap between the fastenings, exhaling when he met her bare skin.
“Spencer,” she whispered.
He paused. “I can stop?—”
“Do not.” Her head turned to him, her shoulders slumping. “I… I am inexperienced.”
“I will guide you.” Spencer couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of her spine.
“I will be terribly imperfect.”
“You will be most perfect,” he declared against her skin as his fingers slid over her shoulders, pushing down the sleeves of her dress.
All Eleanor felt was the shaky exhale on the back of her neck and her racing heart. All she knew was that his words could not be true, no matter how much she wanted to believe them.
“You will be most perfect.”
Behind her, Spencer was a warm, solid wall, and she let herself fall backward. He caught her, as healways had.
“Watch the fire,” he murmured, his lips brushing her earlobe as her dress slipped down her body.
The bodice pooled around her waist, leaving her bare, for her corset had been soaked from the storm.
His hands were already roaming, slowly but surely exploring her. He cupped her breasts, heavy and waiting, his thumb smoothing over her nipples, which stiffened at the slightest touch.
Heat shot through her, and she gave in to it, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Do you recall what I told you the night I touched you?” His breath fanned her bare shoulder, and she shivered at the sheer pleasure it wrung from her. “That I will take care of you. Will you let me?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
“Then”—he kissed the underside of her jaw, slow and lingering—“open your legs for me, Eleanor.”
“You—you expect me to keep my wits about me when you give me such heated demands?”
She opened her legs regardless, not looking away from the fire, for he had ordered her to watch it. It only made the anticipation of his touch more exhilarating.
“Yes.” He laughed lowly against her neck. “Yes, I do. For every answer you do not give, I will stop.”
