Page 67 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
He climbed the stairs to the level that his rooms occupied, and only then did his senses break through his exhaustion. He took a deep breath and recognized the fresh, floral scent of Arabella. Suddenly invigorated, he tore through the door, hurried towards the bedroom and met her coming the other way.
She had discarded one glove and her coat but still wore her riding boots and the artfully cut skirts that enabled her to ride astride a mount. He wondered if she had ridden through London astride one of the horse’s from Ashenwood’s stables. He could imagine her, turning heads as she went, the Riding Duchess. She cannoned into him, and he staggered against the force of her embrace.
His arms went about her, and he picked her up, spinning her round. For a moment, he just savoured the feel of her body against his. The smell of her hair, into which he had buried his face. The swell of her breasts against the hardness of his muscles. She was the personification of loveliness. The epitome of femininity.
Not the preened, manicured, artificial femininity of women like Helena Harrington and her ilk. It was a genuine, natural womanly quality that Arabella exuded. It was possible to imagine Eve, in the Garden of Eden, being just like her.
“I have won. We have won,” Aaron whispered hoarsely.
“I love you,” Arabella replied, her voice breaking with emotion.
“As I love you. Always,” Aaron replied. “I feel as though I have fought a battle today but all I have done is talk.”
“You have fought. And now it is time to rest,” Arabella told him.
She stepped away from him, the length of her arm, without letting go of his hand. He moved to follow, and she led him into the bedroom. She bade him to sit, which he did on the edge of the bed. Then she knelt before him, removing first his boots, then his sword belt, and finally, she began to undo the intricate buttons of his Hussar’s coat.
“We have one more fight,” Aaron said, running his hands through her hair. “Your father.”
Arabella shook her head, turning it to plant soft kisses on the palm of his hand.
“It will take time with Father. A campaign, not a battle. Besides, I will not let my warrior go into battle for me anymore. Not today. You have conquered, so take your spoils.”
She stood and Aaron held her about the waist, feeling her body beneath the dress, touching her through the cloth with his fingertips, savouring the sensation. She reached behind to the buttons at her back, deftly undoing them and pulling the dress from her shoulders.
“Were you thinking that people will have thought it scandalous that I rode through the streets of London with a magnificent beast between my legs?” Arabella asked with a sinful smile.
“I think they will be talking of nothing less for a long time,” Aaron replied.
“They do not know the half of it,” Arabella replied.
She pushed the dress down to her waist in one movement. There was nothing beneath but her skin. With a twist of her hips that made Aaron’s mouth go dry, she pushed the dress further, revealing naked hips, thighs, and the heart of her womanhood.
Then his wife was naked before him, kicking the discarding garment away from herself. She shoved Aaron backwards and tore his coat open, kissing him as she began to unlace his shirt.
Chapter 40
Arabella approached the stall in which Achilles lived. The last time she had been there, she and Aaron had shared a tryst in the hayloft. She smiled to think of it. Those days seemed far removed, though it had been barely twelve months. In a month or so it would be the first anniversary of the cursory ceremony that had brought her into holy matrimony with Aaron. In the meantime, they had both been persona non grata at Eversden Abbey.
At first, that absence had been easy. She had been angry at the ease with which her father could cut her off and condemn her. She did not entirely blame him; what she had done was not according to the conventions of polite society. But neither was it the most immoral act one could perpetrate. She loved the man she had taken as her lover. Helena did not and would not.
“Who is this stranger I find pestering my horses?” her father’s voice reached her from across the yard.
Arabella turned, one hand resting lightly on her stomach as had become her habit. Her father stood opposite her, dressed for riding. He strode across the yard towards her and held out an apple for Achilles, who chomped it with gusto.
“Where is he?” Eversden curtly.
“He?” Arabella asked sweetly.
“You know to whom I refer.”
“My husband is taking a stroll around the grounds. He wished to give you and I time to…talk.” Arabella said.
“Seems he is the prince’s favourite at the moment. Quite the man about court,” Eversden replied.
“He did the prince a favour and then helped defeat a bill that would have disadvantaged a great many men who had risked their lives for King and Country. He is well thought of,” Arabella replied, not trying to keep the pride from her voice.
Eversden looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Your sister is married. Had you heard?”
