Page 58 of Let Me Be Your Hero
He shrugged. “I don’t think your maid lied to you. I think she told you whatshelikes. But that doesn’t mean it’s what most women like, and it certainly doesn’t have to be whatyoulike.”
Izzie peered at him. “How do you know all this?”
He ran a hand over his face. “Not by sleeping with dozens of women, believe me. Although I will admit to not being a virgin. Prior to you, I had slept with precisely two women. But, as a general rule, I like to understand how things work. So, I asked questions. Lots and lots of questions.”
Izzie shrugged. “It’s probably for the best that one of us knows what they’re doing. But…” She bit her lip. “Did they truly say that? Thatmostwomen prefer the… the clitoris?”
His ears had gone pink. “The question I asked was how best to please a woman. They both directed me to attend to that spot. The first time, I was surprised and asked if women would not derive pleasure from… well. Doing what pleasedme. She told me that some would, but not all, and that if Ireallywanted to make a woman happy, I would fondle her clitoris.”
Izzie raked a strand of hair out of her face. “I wish I numbered amongst those who enjoy both. I can’t help but feel like it’s extra work for you.”
“You could just as easily consider the things that bring me to climax to be the ‘extra work,’ and the things you enjoy to be fundamental to the act,” he countered.
She blew out a frustrated huff. “Nobody would consideryouracts to be the superfluous ones. Your acts are necessary for procreation.”
His chest shook with laughter. “We are specifically tryingnotto procreate!”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Must you be so contrary? You’re not one of those men who cannot bear for anyone else to win an argument, are you?”
Eyes tender, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, so I’m sure you will win a good many arguments. Just not when the point you’re trying to make is that something is wrong with you. Because that position is indefensible.”
Izzie felt her insides turn to mush. He was slightly wonderful, this new husband of hers. “Still, it seems like a lot of extra trouble for you, especially if you add those minutes up over time.”
“Izzie,” he laughed, “the minutes I spend making love to you are the best minutes of my day. Do you really think I’m going to complain that I get a few more of them?”
“I suppose not. Still—eeyah!” She shrieked as Archibald seized her about the waist, rolling them back onto the mattress. “What are you doing?”
His voice was full of humor. “This morning, you implied that there would be more unnatural acts and fewer arguments about whether one or both of us are reaching orgasm the wrong way. Which is a nonsensical question. The wrong kind of orgasm—now there’s an oxymoron if ever I’ve heard one.”
Izzie recognized this as the distraction it was. But it was agooddistraction, and she found herself asking, “Was there a particular unnatural act you were hoping to try?”
“It happens that there is. Was there a picture in your brother’s book of a man lying on his back and the woman sitting on his face?”
“There was. I wasn’t quite sure what they were—eek!”
He had lifted her as easily as if she were a rag doll, spreading her legs and settling her above him. She felt everything between her legs give a throb.
He smiled up at her. “I believe a demonstration is in order.”
Afterward, Izzie had to own that Archibald did not, in fact, seem to mind going to the extra trouble of bringing her to satisfaction. In fact, he seemed to have a particular enthusiasm for the task. And as she settled her head on his shoulder and allowed her eyes to drift shut, she mused that this hasty marriage just might work.
CHAPTER 27
Much to Archibald’s gratification, they did not emerge from their bedchamber for three days.
A few times a day, maids would enter, bearing some combination of food, fresh linens for the bed, or cans of hot water for the bath. Archibald gave Izzie one of his dressing gowns, an ostentatious burgundy velvet garment that had made him feel ridiculous both times he’d attempted to wear it, for her to wrap herself in while the maids went about their work. It was huge on her, but he quite liked the sight of her wearing it at the table by the window, a quiet acknowledgment that she was his.
But other than those brief intrusions, it was just the two of them. They would make love when they awoke, then have a leisurely breakfast together, make love again, then talk about nothing and everything until it was time for luncheon. Izzie had her maid fetch the manuscript for her book, and they read it together, lying side by side on the bed, waiting for the other to finish before turning the page. Archibald managed to laugh in all the right places, and although it was one of those rare instances when Izzie was bashful, she seemed genuinely pleased by how much he enjoyed it.
On the afternoon of their third day as husband and wife, Archibald was reflecting that the past three days had been the happiest of his life when the knock came at the door.
Izzie had fallen asleep after their latest bout of lovemaking. Archibald had been heading in that direction, but he gently extracted his arm from beneath her head, replaced it with a pillow, then pulled on a shirt and trousers and padded over to the door.
It proved to be his office manager, McPherson, clutching his hat in front of him. “A thousand apologies, Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, sir. But might I have a quick word?”
Archibald stepped out into the hallway. It turned out that the King of Salaria had not proven understanding regarding Nettlethorpe Iron’s inability to deliver his order of cannons earlier than promised.
“I’ve been trying to put him off. But he shows up every day with his entourage, shouting and complaining. Today, he threatened to go to the king.”
