Page 55 of Undercover with the Heiress
‘Good morning, Mrs Babbage,’ he said, scarcely believing the words.
She tugged at the coverlet so that it gathered around her waist. ‘I cannot believe of all the names in the world you could have chosen, you decided on Babbage.’
Phineas tucked a hand behind his head and propped himself against the bedstead. ‘I did not plan on having it for so long. Most certainly not forever. I might have thought about it more if I’d known. I suppose I am stuck with it now.’
Rosanna traced the D stamped on his side. ‘I was going to demand you tell me all your secrets, but I don’t think I need to know them all. Only some. How old are you?’
‘I don’t exactly know. I think thirty-four. Maybe thirty-five?’
‘How could you not know?’ she asked.
‘Not many parties in the workhouse or in the army. Keeping track never seemed important.’
She sat straighter and shook out her hair. ‘You must have a birthday. I demand you choose one.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I said you must. I think you should be thirty-two. Then I can organise a party at the hotel when you turn thirty-three. Otherwise, I will have to wait until you are forty-four, and that is such a long time. I will arrange cake and songs and decorations. I shall invite everyone in the street.’
Noise. Attention. People. Small talk. The whole thing sounded awful. He would hate all of it. He would grump about it, and the people around him would laugh and sing and bring presents.
‘February twenty-ninth. You will have to wait until next leap year.’
‘You cannot!’ she chided, then slapped at his chest.
Phineas caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. He nipped at her softness and planted a kiss on her wrist. More than roses and sunshine, she smelt like sweat and debauchery and bliss andcontentment. How could one woman be so many things? How could she contain so many components in one body, in a form the same height as his own?
‘On the fourteenth of June, Rosanna Hempel was accosted, and despite her reservations, she allowed me to help her. After years of being numb, I came alive. How is that?’
Her smile started coy and delicate, but when he bit her knuckle, a twinkle of mischievousness flickered in her eyes. Far from a blushing bride, Rosanna moved with confidence as she planted her palms on either side of his head and deftly swung herself over his body. Even after availing himself of her all night, he felt himself growing hard, his cock stiffening at every little rub and nudge as she adjusted herself into a position that suited. She splayed her fingers to shake out her hair, and the tips of her hair tickled the top of his thighs as each curl twisted and settled. Everything about her screamed decadence. He licked his thumb and circled a nipple while his fingertips pressed at the softness of her breasts.
She nuzzled into his neck, then nipped his skin. Phineas squirmed. Rosanna sat back. Her eyes widened with shock, and she grinned in realisation. ‘Are you—’
‘No,’ he snapped.
‘You are! You are ticklish!’
With a shriek of delight, Rosanna attacked him, her fingers dancing and skittering over his sides and bare skin, light and searching in all his delicate places. He snuffled and tried to push down a spluttering laugh, but to no avail, as her brisk assault raged on. He caught her wrists and flipped them both, and she squawked and wriggled beneath his weight until he silenced her with a kiss.
‘Phineas…’ she muttered against his lips.
‘Hmmm?’
‘I like fucking.’
‘I had noticed.’
‘Not so much the first time. Not at the start, anyway. But after that, I liked it much more. I would like to do it again, but I am so hungry. Is that normal?’
‘I have an idea.’ He swung off the bed, grabbed his trousers from the floor and slipped them over his nakedness, then swiped his shirt and tugged it over his head. ‘I will ask Felix to make a picnic basket so that we can eat in bed. He will be beside himself with delight.’ He kissed her nose. ‘And I will bring you tea. I’ve heard that’s what men do when they adore their wives but aren’t so good with the words.’
The house mumbled with the sounds of early morning, of people waking. A door creak, feet on floorboards, pipes squeaking. A busy house. A home. His slippers scuffed the stair runner. If making tea was going to become a habit, perhaps a first-floor bedroom would be best. Then he wouldn’t have to walk so many stairs each day to bring Rosanna tea. On the ground-floor landing, Phineas swung into the lobby, making for the servants’ staircase near the dining room that led to the kitchen. He’d made his own brew daily in the army. Surely, he could manage now.
‘Morning, Babbage. Running late?’
Phineas took a few steps backwards to peer into the entrance. ‘Taylor?’
His colleague was leaning against the front door. Phineas blinked twice to convince himself he wasn’t still asleep. Taylor had never been to his house before. He’d never even asked where Phineas lived, nor had Phineas enquired after him. Their conversations never extended past pleasantries and the ledgers.
