Page 119 of The Heiress's Daughter
“My condolences,” Race said.
Milly frowned. “Condolences? But—”
Anxious to get on with her wedding night, Clarissa cut her off. “Milly, this is Lord Randall’s house. He bought it.”
Milly’s jaw dropped. “Lord Randallboughtit?”
“Yes,” Race said. “The house belongs to me. Now, if you don’t mind—”
Milly rushed up to him and clasped his arm. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Lord Randall. Mama will be soooo relieved. And thrilled. And so very grateful. I’m sure she’ll take back every unkind—I mean every mistaken thing she ever said about you, now that you’ve saved us from having that dreadful vulgar pig trotter man as a neighbor. She was considering moving, you know.”
“Whatunkind things?” Clarissa demanded.
“You and your mother are most welcome, Miss…um,” Race said briskly. “Now, if you don’t mind.” He hurried Clarissa through the front door and shut it firmly behind them.
“I want to know what unkind things they’ve been saying about you,” Clarissa said crossly. “How dare they? I won’t have anyone saying unkind things about you, especially Milly and her mother!”
“They won’t, my little firebrand, now that I’ve rescued them from being neighbors with the dreaded Lord Pig Trotters—or should it be Sir Pigly Trotters? No, I think he must be Sir Pigly Trotter-Pickles. Yes, he married well, a rich Miss Pickles, and then was knighted for services to pig trotters. Though,” he added thoughtfully, “the pigs might not agree.”
“Sir Pigly Trotter-Pickles?” She snorted, then collapsed into giggles. “You truly are wicked, Race.”
“I know. And now, my love, let me show you some of the many delightful ways we can be wicked together, now that we’re married.” He swept her up into his arms and ignoring her protests that she was too heavy, he carried her upstairs and into their bedchamber.
“There,” he said, laying her gently on the bed. He took a moment to—quite unnecessarily—close the new curtains; he was a little out of breath and trying not to show it, the dear, sweet man.
He turned. “Now, where were we?”
“You were going to show me some delicious ways we could be wicked together. Or do I mean delightful?”
“Both,” he said firmly, and prowled toward her.
It wasn’t anything like wickedness, she decided much later, lying boneless and euphoric on the bed. It was pure bliss.
He’d started by simply flipping up her skirt and petticoat and introducing her to what he called the deliciousness.
It had shocked her a little at first—his putting his mouth on her, there. But she was soon dissolving in waves of pleasure and deciding—when she could think at all—that she had no objection to this at all, except that it was wrong to call it wicked.
Slowly she came back to awareness. Her eyes fluttered open and she found him stripping himself naked. She lay, still luxuriating in the last echoes of the sensations he’d aroused, and admired his strong body, his broad shoulders, his long firm thighs, and the small crimson heart high on his left buttock, with her name enclosed in tiny elegant script. It made her smile every time. Along with a small surge of happy possessiveness.
He turned, caught her watching and with a smile, proceeded to undress her, layer by layer, caressing her all the time with lips and hands. And when they were both naked, they moved on todelightful, which began rather like their first time, but oh, it was so much more.
Izzy was right: it did get even better.
They dozed for a while, then she felt him stir and get out of bed. She opened her eyes to see him at the window, naked and magnificent, pulling the curtains back and opening the window, letting in the late sunlight and the gorgeous greens and textures and scents of the garden.
She was so lucky—no, she was blessed—to have found this wonderful man. Why had she ever hesitated so long? He made her feel…everything. She didn’t feel plain and unattractive anymore: he made her feel beautiful. She didn’t even feel fat: she felt…luscious—his word for her. He respected her, he listened to her. He loved her.
And she loved him, so very, very much.
He turned, saw her expression and hurried to her side. “What is it, love? What’s the matter?”
She shook her head; her heart was so full she was unableto muster a word. She reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek.
His face softened. “Happy?”
“More than happy,” she managed as she raised her face for his kiss.
