Page 50 of Til Death Duke Us Part
His cock stirred. He’d not thought much with his southern organ since seeing her on his doorstep. He’d been too… worried. But now that he felt with his arms and chest and rusty heart that she was safe and unharmed, his cock was prepared to greet her properly.
“You made it home to London safely,” he said.
She nodded, her smooth, now clean cheek rubbing against him. “No one bothered me a bit.”
“I was worried.”
She swatted his thigh. “You were not. Tell me, how much loot did you cart home?”
“You’ve not forgiven me for that.”
“I’m still enraged. I’m here against my will. And only for the tub.”
“Naturally.” He traced the knuckles of one hand up and down her thigh. She shivered, and his knuckles became his palm, warm he hoped, and soothing—up her thigh, over her knee, down her shin, in the reverse, over and over again. “I didn’t take anything.”
“What?” She popped upright, and as she whipped around to look at him, water sloshed over the edge of the tub. He chuckled, and she cupped his face in both her hands. “What do you mean you didn’t take anything?”
“It’s not difficult to understand, Sephy. I am still poor.” But there was a way, a means, and he’d been working—yes, damn it, working—to turn that means into reality. But… he couldn’t tell her just yet. What if he failed? He shivered and urged her back down against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “I left all the grave work right where it was. Didn’t even try to open a door.”
She grunted and started patting his chest. He couldn’t help but notice that her mouth was curved upward the slightest bit. He’d pleased her.
God, that felt good.
“You probably couldn’t help it. You had no alchemist to open the tombs.”
“Oh, there was an old lady, and I considered cutting off her hand,” he grumbled, “but that was too much evil even for me.”
She kissed his chest. “I knew it.”
It was more than the kiss that did it. It was the absolute conviction in her voice. She didn’t say what she knew, but didn’t have to. It was something to do with whatever sliver of goodness resided in him. She knew about that. Even before he did.
He climbed out of the tub.
“No!” She turned and wrapped her hands around the back edge. “Come back.”
He’d never resisted come-hither eyes like that. But he had to. Instead of kissing her, he lifted her from the tub and set her on the tile, her little squeaks of objection music to his ears. He rubbed her dry with a linen and wrapped her in his glamoured banyan. Then he picked her up, cradled her in his arms as he carried her into his bedchamber.
And he dumped her onto the bed where she landed with a gasp and a bounce.
She glared up at him from an escaped tangle of midnight hair.
“Stay the night.” He said it like a statement, a command, but in his heart, it was all question.
She nodded and scooted up the bed toward the headboard. He joined her, spreading out beside her atop the blankets. He slipped a curl behind her ear. She smiled. That made him happier than he’d been in a long time.
“I’d like to stay longer,” she said.
“Oh?” His palms were sweaty. What did she mean?
“Let me be your mistress? For a week… a fortnight, perhaps.”
“Persephone—”
“No, listen. I just want to lose myself in you. I don’t want to think or feel or philosophize. For a little bit. I can give you nothing but… but pleasure. I would invite you to my room, but I do not think you would go.”
He was beginning to think he’d go wherever she was. No matter where.
She traced a finger down the line of his neck. “I do not want to talk about anything onerous. I do not want to think of the future. I just want to be. With you. In this bed. Can we?”
