Page 97 of Wild Lily
“I merely return the favor, darling.” He was proud of her. This, her first social event as his wife, was one she was thoroughly enjoying. Better yet, she was liked in return. She’d thrown herself into meeting everyone. She devoted herself to learning about others and refrained from discussing herself unless asked. She was an unqualified success.
“An American with poise and charm,” he’d overheard one matron tell another.
“When might we join the dancing?” she asked, her eyes wide with glee.
Valentine had led out the oldest lady in attendance, the Viscountess Dorn. They swept the floor in graceful arcs and as the musicians began the roundelay, other couples joined.
“I think this is our chance.” He led her to the chalked floorboards, put his arm around her slender waist, took her other hand and grinned at her. “Madam.”
He took them out in small steps. Their first few were awkward, two people learning the other’s rhythm and form in this new dance of love. Their bodies adjusted, melded. At once she became fluid in his arms, the wind at his command, a dream to hold. She leaned back and flowed with him, the joy on her face an exquisite display that rivaled her expression when she came apart in her delight in his bed. He’d been so right to desire her, so fortunate to marry her. She was quite perfect for him.
Filled with such ebullience, he danced her toward the open doors and onto the terrace. At the kiss of the night air on her skin, she gasped.
“Are you cold?” he asked as he swirled her along the terrace, the sound of the German waltz muffled by the breeze through the treetops.
She shook her head. “You didn’t forget.”
“I promised you this.”
“So you did.” And she began to hum with the music.
At the edge of the terrace, far from the French doors, he slowed their tempo until they merely swayed together.I love you.
The thought sprang up so quickly, his jaw dropped.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarm on her face.
“Nothing.” He stepped toward her and embraced her, the supple curves of her body a sensuous fit to his. “I have to taste you.”
She circled her arms around his waist and closed her eyes as he pressed her near and took her lips with his own. Her mouth was warm, the flavors of champagne and mint a subtle aphrodisiac to his muddled mind. He sent his tongue into the cavern and claimed her, defined her. She moaned and crushed him closer. This woman was intoxicating and best of all, she was his.
His.
He broke away and grabbed her wrist. He’d visited here before, often. He knew the boxwood maze well and so he led her along the far path. Left, right, and straight. He recalled a folly, small, secluded, hidden by roses that he hoped to God were in bloom.
“Where are we—? Oh!” She halted as she surveyed the marble and wood structure before them.
He urged her up the steps and whirled her into his arms. “You are becoming necessary to me.”
“Am I?” she said, breathless as he lifted her skirts and caressed her wet feminine folds.
She gasped but didn’t object.
He sank down, careless of his trousers. He needed her and it was here he wanted her. He parted her fragrant lips, and touched his tongue to her sensitive spot.
She dug her fingernails into his coat. “Oh, Julian. Can we not lie down?”
He shot to his feet, glanced around. There.There.
He took her to the wooden seats around the circumference, dotted tonight with cushions. Julian grinned. His host, not so Puritan after all, had the foresight to provide for the lovers who would need an interlude during the ball. He urged his wife to lay down along the pillows, making mental note to thank Val tomorrow for his foresight.
With her skirts up around her waist, her pale eyes twinkling like stars above, his wife was an erotic portrait of bold desire. She opened her arms to him and he went to her and kissed her madly. His hands busy seeking out the treasures of her body, he noted how succulent she was. How ready. How willing. How loving.
That word again.
Love.
He licked her and she bucked.
