Page 17 of The Marquess's Final Fling
“A likely story!” She chuckled.
“The better one is that she gets all her news from one of Prinny’s tailors.”
“But why would a woman go to…?” She stared at him. “She wears men’s clothes?”
“My mother said the lady declared she liked the ease of trousers.”
“Have you ever seen her wear them?”
“Once.”
“And?”
He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Well…I know from experience pants are comfortable.”
“I bet they don’t go well with corsets,” she speculated.
“I bet many ladies should give them a try.”
She put the tip of her fan to his chest. “Corsets are such a bother.”
“Most men would agree.”
“Puttingmodistesworld-wide out of business.”
“You could try mine on,” he offered with a grin.
“Darling, your hips and mine?” She shook her head. “Your pants would never fit.”
He bent near and whispered, “We’re meant to fit in more exciting ways.”
She blushed as brightly as holly berries. “Just for that, I will show you.”
“I hold you to it, Madam.”
”Later!” She whipped her fan to a high breeze, then tipped her head toward the other side of the room, far away from him. “Later.”
* * *
Theo climbed the back stairs from the library, torn between anxiety and elation. All day long, he’d wandered in a daze of sexual heat. Having Penn was such an elixir that he doubted he was an older man of thirty-one! He’d never spent a night like he had with her last night. Not with anyone so willing, so responsive, so effervescent in the throes of passion. He knew, too, he was unique. How many men achieved the dream he had at this party? Few. So few. He knew at least a dozen men, lonely and forlorn or disgusted with the lack of sexual joy they shared with their wives.
He knocked on her door, determined never again to be one of them.
She pulled it open. Already wrapped in a robe, this of gleaming white satin, she sank into his embrace.
Beneath the supple fabric, he could tell that she wore nothing.Dear god.Nothing. He was a randy boy, greedy too. Walking her backward toward her bedroom, he spoke on her lips. “Did you order orange marmalade tonight?”
She sputtered in laughter, curled her fingers around the collar of his banyan and led him on. “No.”
“A shame. I loved the taste.”
She paused at the side of her bed, her dark brown eyes alight with mischief. “Might you like strawberry instead?”
He untied the sash at her waist and pushed the liquid fabric to the carpet. He ran his hands down her shoulders, her hands, her buttocks and up to her breasts. He regarded how they fit snuggly into the palms of his hands and how her large rosy nipples blossomed into tight hard buds. He pinched both between his thumbs and forefingers. She writhed beautifully. “I’ll try it,” he whispered and bit her earlobe, “afterward.”
Then he urged her back to the bed, her knees bent at the edge of the mattress. She was open to him, her core stunningly hot pink and glistening, ready for him. He took himself in hand and ran his nails down the center of her, from throat to delicate curly blonde hair. She undulated, her arms up to urge him down. But he was intent on serving her, entering her andoh, yes,enjoying her hot wet capture of his body. This time, he came with a fury that surprised him—and she came with him, loud and long in her culmination.
God in heaven, but he loved her.
