Page 61 of His Spirited Lady
“I’ve done this for as long as I have—” Her sentence ended in a groan that tightened every inch of Richard’s skin.
He cleared his throat and kept going, easing his touch in the hopes of minimizing her reaction. “I know you have, and I know you like to do it, but you shouldn’t be working so hard.”
“I’m perfectly capable.” She moaned again. “That feels marvelous.”
“Shh. If you keep that up, I’ll have a room full of angry men.” Not to mention how difficult it was going to be for him to walk out of here.
“Why?” She turned her head, pushing another knot against his thumbs, and the pleasure on her face made his mouth water.
This had been a horrible idea, but Richard couldn’t make himself stop. “I’ll explain it later,” he mumbled as he shifted away from the heat of the fire and changed the direction of the massage, hoping her neck would make him stop thinking about how easy it would be to skim her dress from her shoulders.
He should have known better. A woman’s nape was one of his favorite spots. The skin there was a cross between satin and velvet, always warm.
“I know you’re capable, Amelia, but let me do the shoveling and heavy lifting, please.”
“Are you doing this to get me to agree?” She dropped her head with another sigh, this one quieter. She’d bitten her lip to keep it contained.
It didn’t matter to his body, which had hardened to the point of pain. “No. It’s not to get my own way.” He simply couldn’t resist touching her. His thumb found the hollow at the base of her skull and his fingers slid into her hair. He gentled his touch to keep from mussing it. “But I want to help you.”
“But when you go—”
He didn’t want to think about that. He leaned forward to reach into his pocket, bringing his nose near her ear. She smelled of flowers and fruit, and he filled his lungs with it. “Let me do it while I’m here,” he whispered.
She turned to him wide-eyed and nodded mutely. Richard pressed a soft kiss to her lips and slid one hand to her shoulder while the other pressed the box into her hands. “Thank you.”
She eyed the box before giving him a cheeky grin. “Will you give me presents every time I agree with you?”
“This time is special,” Richard said. He nudged her with his torso, meaning to encourage her. Instead, it sent a domino reaction down his body. “Open it.”
The box fell open, and her gasp made him swell with pride.
Richard had intended on a simple ring, but the only jeweler in Thetford happened to have a small client list and a good supply of gems, thanks to a cousin who had recently gone out of business. The ring consisted of a small sapphire circled by blue topaz rounds and then surrounded by narrow slivers of yellow topaz and garnets.
“It’s lovely.”
He took it from the box and slid it over her finger. It was slightly too big, but they could have it resized. Otherwise, it was perfect.
“You didn’t need to do this,” she whispered.
He shifted so that his thumb could stroke her jaw, encouraging her to look at him. “I wanted to.”
Her mouth met his and opened easily to give him access to her sweet, hot tongue. He tempted it to follow his, taught her how to kiss him, growled when her fingers tangled in his hair. Her silk covered breast filled his hand, the peak pebbled against his palm. He slid his thumb across it, and reveled at the way she arched, silently begging for more. He gave it, rolling the nub between his index finger and thumb and claiming her mouth to muffle her sigh.
He kissed her until she needed air and then kept going, shifting to her jaw, then her neck, and finally her shoulder. The soft swell of her breast against his fingertips brought him crashing back to earth.
Richard straightened as much as he dared and waited for her eyes to refocus. “That shouldn’t have happened, Amelia. I’m so—”
She stayed pliant in his arms for an extra moment before sitting, her spine curved in a languorous arc that tempted his fingers and mouth. Her lashes hung low over her eyes, and her lips were swollen. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry unless you really are.”
He wasn’t. “I lost myself in the moment,” he whispered.
“So did I.” She rested her forehead against his temple before kissing his cheek. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”
*
I publish the banns of marriage between Richard Pierre Ferrand of this parish, via Quebec, Canada and Rosnay, France and Amelia Christine Chitester, daughter of Baron Kilverstone, of this parish. If any know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.
Chapter Sixteen
