Page 63 of The Viscount's Seduction
“I was not weeping, Bakeley.”
“You are not eating either.”
“I won’t be able to sleep if I eat now.”
He locked his eyes upon hers, set his palm upon her hand, and walked his fingers up her arm, under the dark brocade, watching as her color rose again.
“’Tis our wedding night,” she whispered.
“You had forgotten.”
“No only… how did we arrive at Julius Caesar?”
“You were explaining that you are still an innocent.”
“I am.”
He drew his hand away and patted his knee. “Come here.”
She paused to drain her glass—for courage, he thought—and settled daintily on his lap.
He kept his hands braced on the edge of his chair. “What do you want from me tonight?”
She looked at him a long moment. “A wedding night.” She nodded. She sounded breathless, and her chest was rising and falling like she was having trouble breathing.
“You look very fetching in my robe.”
“Thank you.”
He hadn’t expected shyness. “I’ve played your maid, yet I’m still fully dressed, as you see.”
A smile danced on her lips. “I will valet you, my lord.” She went to work on his neck cloth. “Though I shall not be able to tie anything so elaborate for you in the morn. Your valet is quite the artist.”
“I tied that myself.”
Her eyebrows rose as she tossed the white cloth away. “It’s talented you are.”
“As you shall see.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Shall we stand to remove these coats?”
“No.” He leaned forward, close enough to smell the scent of lilacs. “Slip your hands under my lapel and push.”
“Oh.”
Her slim hands on his chest made his heart thump and his trousers tighten as though about to burst.
“Like a glove, it fits. Who is your tailor?”
He grunted as she wrangled the sleeves, her breasts touching his chest, her silky hair floating against his cheek. “Henry Poole.” He watched as she put the inside-out sleeves of the coat right, folded it, and tossed it onto her vacated chair.
God, a man should never marry a woman who’d been in service.
He had to find some way to move this event along. “I have an idea, my lady. I fear you are getting a crick in your neck. If you straddle me, this undressing will be easier.” He lifted her bottom and pushed at her skirts. “Separate your legs, my dear.”
She had her lips pursed. If he had any doubts of her innocence, the color rising there told him all he needed to know.
“There. Now you may unbutton my waistcoat.”
