Page 82 of Gambling with the Earl
“I am with child,” she said, the words falling like raindrops all around them. A new reality which could no longer be denied.
His hands stilled against her smock, warming her flesh. But she knew a chill as his face lifted away from her. Silence enveloped them, sending a flurry of nerves outwards from her heart. She twisted against him, needing to see the expression in his eyes.
His face was shuttered and blank. A look she’d never wanted to be confronted with again.
“Guy?” she tried. Her throat constricted with alarm.
“With child?” he repeated. “Are you sure?”
She nodded once, not trusting her voice. “Quite sure,” she whispered shakily.
Then came the smile. Sunshine after the darkest night. His handsome face became boyish. Cares stripped away. He cupped her cheeks and gazed down at her adoringly.
“A child.”
She placed her hand over his. “Is it what you want?”
He blinked in surprise. “Of course.”
“I was so scared.”
“For what reason?”
She couldn’t mar this happy occasion with terrible memories from the past. She merely shook her head, unable to tear her eyes from his.
“I wondered if it might not happen for us,” he said slowly. “But I always hoped.”
She nodded eagerly. “Me too, and now it has.”
His hand went reverently to the slight curve of her belly, settling on her in the gentlest caress. “Our baby.”
Her tears were tears of joy. “Yours and mine.”
His lips pressed against her head. “I was happy before, but now you have made me the happiest man in England.”
“Oh, Guy.”
“I do not deserve it.”
“No man deserves it more,” she corrected him. Shadows danced on the wall behind him. Her handsome husband. “Will you kiss me properly now?”
He cupped her face in his large hands, drawing her towards him until their lips met in a featherlight kiss.
“Should we?” he asked against her cheek. “Can we?”
In answer she took hold of his hand and placed it firmly against her breast. A shot of longing made her limbs grow heavy. “We can and we should.”
She sensed the moment he allowed his desire to surface. His breathing slowed, along with the practised movements of his hands on her willing flesh. His mouth went to her neck, and she arched against him, giving herself over to the first wave of pleasure. His fingers skimmed over the straps of her smock. A silent ask for permission in the face of this new dynamic between them.
Her answer was to hitch the lacy fabric up over her hips and then pull it over her head in one smooth movement. She shook her hair free, feeling the heat of his gaze travelling over her body, lingering on her bared breasts.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
Again, she brought his head towards her, thrilling to the sensation of his feather-light kisses. Heat gathered in her core as she moved beneath him, giving herself over to the sensual stroking of his hands, the warmth of his tongue, the teasing of his fingers. She reached for him, eager for the feel of his skin but encountering the soft linen of his shirt.
“You are still clothed,” she managed.
“My attention is on you.” His head was at her navel now. Kissing and nuzzling and making her writhe with pleasure.
