Page 32 of A Lady of Means
Moria sat on the settee, he sat next to her.He took her hand and placed small kisses on the back of her hand.Her eyes tipped up to his in challenge.“So, you’re in the market for a wife then?”
She was bold, direct.It was one thing he found attractive about her.One of the many things.
He tightened his hold on her hand, looking into her eyes in challenge.“I’m in the market foryou.”
She placed one hand on the side of his face.“And after the month is up?You’ll go to Jalalabad?There’s no seducing you into staying in England?”
There was a teasing note to her voice, but he saw the sincerity in her eyes.He owed her the truth.
He kissed her hand, then placed it in his hair.He scattered more kisses on her jaw, trailing down her neck.“You have fought your battles to get to where you are, my lady, I’ve fought mine.And just like you, I have my pride,” he inhaled the sugar scent of her skin, willing to tell her anything so long as she kept curling her fingers in the hair at his nape.“Giving up my leadership of my men, even for a perfect woman, doesn’t feel like the honorable course.”
He met her eyes.“I’ll share the plans I called you here to discuss.But first, I’d prefer it if you kiss me while you still have the chance, soldier.”
His lips took over, crashing into hers, drinking in her little whimper of surprise when his tongue circled hers.Her hands ran down his shoulders.He could feel every inch of her that pressed against him.The heated rise and fall of her chest against his had her pulling back.
“It’s this blasted corset, it’s too hot in here.”
He spun her around.Slowly, he peeled off the delicately embroidered gloves and each sleeve of her bodice and set them gently on a table.She was just in the 14 other remaining layers of clothes she’d put on today.
“This is absurd.Were these clothes designed to make women suffer?”he said, pulling back her chemise so that he could unlace the strings of her corset.
“If they’d been designed by men, perhaps.”
“No, there’d be a lot less of them in that case, my lady.”
When he untied them and placed a finger in the panel to release some of the tension, she sucked in a large breath and leaned her back against his front, her hand still at her abdomen.She hadn’t need of a corset so blasted tight, his hands already fit around her waist.She was perfect, just like this, with her hips, even in her skirts, jutting into his manhood.He bit down a groan.He needed his hands on her.
He spun her to face him.“Better?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face.His hands tightened on her hips, his mouth drew swirls and licks against her breast until she sighed audibly.That sound embedded itself underneath his skin.She arched underneath his touch.
He was startled back to alertness by the rattle of the locked door handle.There were always interruptions with her, always intrusions and demands on her time.But if it were like this just being with her for a few minutes, what must it be like for her?
Her eyes darted to his.“What do we do?”
There was the sound of voices on the other side of the door, Moria must have recognized them because she muttered, “Drysdale.”
“You know him?”His jaw and fists fought the urge to clench in jealousy.
She winced.“We were almost engaged a couple of times.He’s not a threat.”
As Devyn held his tongue over her nipple, and the back of her corset in his hand, he arched a brow at her.A low growl escaped before he could rein it in.“Moria.”
“My dress requires…resettling…I’ll hide in that adjacent chamber over there and you buy us time.Just make conversation about…military strategy,” she instructed.
Before he could protest, she’d disappeared, and he was left with a young dandy in the now open doorway.
“Oh, hello, there.”The man Moria had called Drysdale said as he entered.He was a blond-haired fop in finely fitted tailoring.Devyn couldn’t help noticing the farcical contrast between himself and the other man.
Devyn gave him a noncommittal nod as he looked up from his papers he’d had the sense to remove from his bag in the nick of time.The toff looked at him askance, then tried to peek at the papers Devyn was reading.
“Sorry to be a bother…only…I’m damn curious why the door was locked.”
Devyn arched a brow.“Important military documents,” he said, holding up the parchment in his hand.He felt like an idiot as the other man eyed him skeptically.His eyes settled on an intricately embroidered glove beneath a seat cushion, then turned to Devyn.
“Moria Pembrooke, I know you’re here,” the other man said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.He was the picture of smug arrogance.NotLadyMoria Pembrooke, justMoria.He’d known her by her glove?Had she been here before, with him?Hate was too watered down a word for how Devyn felt about it.
Moria appeared from an antechamber somehow immaculately dressed and coiffured.Drysdale smiled and kicked a leg up on his other knee like he’d won some sort of contest.
