Page 70 of Ne'er Duke Well
The bed must have been assembled in the ducal bedchamber. It was the only piece of furniture that had remained when Peter had moved into the Stanhope townhouse, likely explained by the fact that it was too large to fit out the door. It was a great heavy wooden thing that reminded Peter of an immense ship, its prow extending nearly to the opposite wall.
And in that huge boat of a bed, lapped by little mounded-up waves of bedclothes, lay Selina. His wife.
The linens—he’d had Humphrey iron them the day before—were crisp and white. They lay softly over her calves and ankles, twisted under her hips, then flared out around the long curve ofher ribs and shoulder. She slept. She slept and he stood on the other side of the room, marveling at her.
He’d kissed that bare, luminous skin. Had licked across the curves of her thighs, cradled her delectable bum as he’d entered her. Once in the portrait gallery. Again in the bed. He’d tasted his way across her body and he thought there were perhaps one or two places he’d missed. He had the whole morning to remedy that.
He’d risen to go downstairs and fetch coffee for himself—tea for Selina, because he’d only ever seen her drink tea. He should go. He should go, or at least turn away, stop staring at her like a lovesick fool and put his damned trousers on.
Hang the coffee. He dropped the trousers he’d been holding and stepped back to the bed.
He sat beside her, and his weight caused the mattress to dip. She stirred, blinked open her eyes, and found him with a sleepy half smile. “Peter.”
He found some knot of tension uncoiled in his chest at the sight of her face. Her smile, her eyes.
He thought perhaps she was happy to see him. Hewantedher to be happy to see him. Almost as much as it terrified him.
If she was happy, there was something to lose. If she thought him more than a selfish idiot, he was bound to disappoint her in the end.
He leaned down wordlessly and kissed the tip of her long elegant nose.This, he thought. This he knew.
He kissed the corner of her mouth. He traced one finger down the side of her neck, and she shivered beneath his touch. “Good morning,” he said to the freckle at the top of her shoulder.
She made a little squeak. “Peter. I must clean my teeth.”
“Surely not. You’re naked.”
She laughed and squirmed, and he meant to let her go, butwhen he looked at her face, she was staring at him. Her eyes were bright as morning.
“You have this way of looking,” she said softly, “as though you cannot see enough of me.”
“I cannot.” He lifted the rumpled sheet, smoothed it over her bare shoulders, then slid his hands down slowly, caressing the sides of her breasts, her rib cage, the curve of her waist through the thin linen. A flush bloomed on her cheeks again. “I can’t touch enough of you either. I’d thought to spend the morning on it. Touching you. Tasting you. But mere morning won’t suffice.”
She lifted her chin, exposing the column of her throat, so he placed his lips beneath the line of her jaw. A kiss. A small bite.
“What is it that you smell of? I can’t tell you how long I’ve been wanting to know. Years, I think.”
She laughed shakily, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head. “My soap. Oil of bergamot.”
He paused in his attention to her collarbone. “You smell of tea?”
“I am sorry to say that bergamot is a very sour orange.”
He ran his tongue along the valley beneath the delicate rise of bone. “Impossible. You smell of spice and sweetness. Perhaps it’s your skin itself.” He couldn’t help himself. Her nipple was inches from his mouth and he found it through the sheet with his lips.
Selina gasped and arched her back, pressing into his mouth.
She wanted, too, it seemed. Christ, he was so goddamned ready for her. But slow. He must go slowly.
He pulled back and framed one breast in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. “You have,” he said conversationally, “stupendous bubbies.”
She twisted her fingers into his hair. “Don’t tease.”
“I assure you I am not. I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking on them.”
She blinked at him, dark brows drawing together. “I have seen engravings, Peter. They are too small for larking.”
Now it was his turn for bemusement. “For… what?”
