Page 82 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
Or at least as long as she appealed to him physically.
She recoiled at that nagging possibility. It had picked at her all through the night. Each time she awakened, the possibility loomed like a ghoul. The only fact that had lulled her back to sleep was his statement that he would not take mistresses. And if Gus were his only source of pleasure, then he’d come to her.Will he? Always?Her pride would die a thousand deaths if he shamed her thus.
She had no way to know. But she could do things to ensure he always came to her, couldn’t she?
And so she had committed to that this morning when she left her bed at dawn. Even her resolution to welcome all his advances and make many of her own had not improved her looks. One glance in their mirror gave raw evidence that her nightlong questions had certainly made her look like hell. Warmcompresses to her cheeks and cool to her eyes had improved her appearance. At least partially.
Her aunt stirred in the carriage. She even smiled. “It is a good marriage, Augustine. I have been less than agreeable about this. But it has merits. Ashley is an earl. Though he may not come from a family that comports itself with credit, Society cares not, if the man has land and prestige. I understand he has little money, however. Your forty thousand is in British banks in London. Use it as you will to make yourself happy. If that means using it on him and your children, then so be it. But it will be imperative that you—”
“Aunt? Please. No more.” Gus could not look at the lady. She would see how Gus wanted him. At the moment, Gus could not hide it. Nor did she wish to.
All I want is to be done with this ceremony and away from Paris again. With Kane. And in his arms in a comfortable bed where I might lose myself in nothing and no one but him.
*
The ceremony wasquick. Merry, not merry. Cecily, wary. Kane, his eyes dancing, irresistible in morning attire of gray satin waistcoat and cerulean-blue frock coat, breeches that fit his thighs like his skin, and a regard of Gus that set her heart aflutter.
One day long ago before Amber wed Maurice St. Antoine, Gus had marveled at her friend’s giddy anticipation of her wedding. Amber, never one to gush over any man’s lashes or jaw, had remarked that the only thing she wanted to do at that moment was press her lips to Maurice’s belly button.
Gus had chuckled. Amber had loved the man with a passion almost at first sight, never thinking twice he was thirty yearsher senior. She loved him for himself. “You have seen his belly already and like it, do you?” Gus had asked.
“I adore all of him. But that, yes. I want him beneath my lips. All of him. One day you will want a man desperately, and you will need to taste his skin…everywhere.”
Gus had waved a hand, disregarding the probability she would ever want a man that badly.
But now, as she vowed to love and treasure Kane Russell Whittington for the rest of her days, she understood. Her need to see Kane, touch him, discover all he was, did not scare or repel her. The stirring deep in her womb was unbearable this morning. Her eagerness to leave unhappy Merry and critical Aunt Cecily grew like hot lava in her loins. She’d erupt if she and Kane could not be alone soon.
At last, Merry offered Kane and her a dipped pen. “Sign here.” He pointed to boxes that marched across his open diplomatic journal. She wrote her maiden name and birthdate, her parish where her birth had been recorded, and her age. Kane put in his own. Aunt Cecily autographed as witness to their marriage.
“When you return to Britain, you should go to Doctors’ Commons, Lord Ashley, and notify them of any need to reaffirm your vows. Because France observes no religion, not even of the Catholic faith, and because I am only minister ad hoc, you may wish to wed again before Anglican clergy. For now, you are both married legally. Congratulations and good day.”
Merry left as if he had a fire in his shoes.
“I thought he’d never stop talking,” Aunt Cecily complained as Kane and Gus walked her to her carriage.
“So poorly named, isn’t he?” Gus asked Kane when they were settled into his coach.
Kane sat across from her, his grimace nothing feigned. “He is a marvel. Why the dour fellow was appointed temporary minister is a mystery. Bonaparte finds him tedious.”
“Smart man!” She patted the seat beside her. “Are we not so well attuned by now that you can sit near me and we won’t cause a scandal?”
“If I sit next to you, I may squash you.”
She batted her lashes. “Come squash me, then.”
His hot gaze dropped to her lips. “You don’t know what you invite.”
“I’d like to.”
“I’ve spent weeks wanting you as mine, Augustine Whittington.”
She beamed at her new name. “That means you must have ideas about what you and I can do legally.”
He scoffed. “In this carriage?”
She considered how his sculpted thighs had to flex in the confines of the coach, how his knees bracketed hers, and how beneath the points of his frock coat and waistcoat, his cock rose even as they spoke. “Here, yes,” she said, and rose to sit on his lap.
Even at that, the air was close, the appointments of the squabs and walls very near. She lay in his arms, wiggling to find a comfortable spot on his lap, and he yelped, fighting beneath her derriere to rearrange his accoutrement in comfort.
