Page 29 of The Earl Takes All
But she’d never been able to forget that first kiss. Or forgive Edward for deceiving her, for being the one to gift her with her initial taste of passion. That privilege had belonged to the man she loved—Albert. They were perfect for each other. A wayward kiss certainly didn’t change that.
“Will there by anything else, m’lady?” Torrie asked.
“No, that will be all.” Only after her maid left did she meet her gaze in the mirror. It was unkind to think ill of the dead. At least she was reassured that Albert would never learn of her betrayal. She’d always worried that Edward—during one of his drunken stupors—would blurt out what had occurred among the roses. She’d been ever so grateful when he’d taken up residence in his own London town home.
“You did nothing wrong,” she reassured her reflection. Except fail to distinguish one brother from the other. She’d not repeated her mistake since that night. Now it was no longer a possibility. What struck her was how much Edward’s passing saddened her. She didn’t think he’d really meant any harm. It was simply his mischievous ways. Her pride had been pricked, she was embarrassed, and she certainly never wanted her husband to know. She might strive to think of some memories to share with him, but that night in the garden would never be one of them.
Rising, she glanced at the door that led into her husband’s bedchamber.I’ll see you in a bit,he’d said before leaving her to prepare for sleep.
This morning she almost instructed his valet to toss out his nightshirts, to ensure that he no longer wore one to bed. It was heavenly having so much skin easily accessible to her touch. She walked to the bed, used the low steps to climb up, then lay beneath the covers, stared at the canopy and listened to the quiet in the next room. Heard the click of the door opening. Turned her head to the side. Smiled at the sight of his skin revealed by the V of his dressing gown.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, glancing quickly at the dying fire before looking back at her.
“I will be.” She patted his side of the bed.
He extinguished the flame in the lamp before settling in beside her, lying on his back, staring at the canopy that only a moment before had held her attention.
“It’s quite boring,” she said.
He rolled his head toward her, and she rather wished he hadn’t extinguished the lamp. There were too many shadows now, and she couldn’t see his eyes as clearly as she’d like, couldn’t determine what he was thinking. On the other hand, the grayness made it easier to say words that caused her to feel vulnerable. “You haven’t kissed me since you arrived home.”
Enough light remained for her to see his brow furrow. “I kissed you last night.”
“No, I kissed you. Granted, you returned the kiss with fervor, but you’ve not begun one.”
“The babe—”
“A kiss is certainly not going to hurt the babe. Whereas not kissing me causes me to doubt, to fear far more has changed while you were away than I realized. We used to kiss so often. We’ve not kissed once all day.”
Rising up on an elbow, he cradled her face, stroked his thumb over her cheek and held her gaze. “We can’t have you doubting your husband’s devotion to you.”
He lowered his head. Her eyes slid closed as she welcomed his warm lips brushing over hers just before he settled his mouth in to plunder. That was the only word to describe the force and surety with which his tongue swept through her mouth, claiming every corner, crevice, and hollow. The kiss last night had weakened her knees. This one weakened her entire body, caused warmth to sluice through every inch of her. She turned toward him, sliding one of her knees between his thighs, relishing the echo of his growl.
She skimmed her hands over his bare chest and shoulders, along his back. So firm, so hard, although not quite as hard as the part of him that pressed against her belly. She trailed her fingers down his stomach, his hip, around until she cupped him.
His head came up sharply, his hand tightened around her wrist. “We’re not going there. I’m on a weak tether as it is.”
“I want to touch you, all of you.”
“No.”
Taking her hand, he flattened it against the center of his chest, held it there. “You can touch anything not covered in cloth.”
“That’s hardly fair when I’m willing to let you touch anything you like.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath, felt it as his ribs expanded beneath her palm. He squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his forehead to hers. “I shall play by the same rules.”
She could not miss how rough and raw his voice sounded, as though he’d dredged those words up from the soles of his feet. He wanted her. She had no doubt that he wanted her. She nipped at his chin. “Spoilsport.”
He chuckled low. “I’m working here to be a good husband. Considerate. Mindful of your delicate condition.” He leaned back. “Besides, imagine how mad we’ll be for each other after the babe comes.”
“I’m mad for you now.”
With a low groan, he blanketed her mouth, kissing her with such abandon that she went light-headed. He kept to his promise of touching her only where cloth did not separate her skin from his. Thank God he noticed that the hem of her nightdress had risen up to her thigh. He stroked her calf, the sensitive area behind her knee. All the while he kept his mouth plastered to hers as though he drew the will to live through her.
She grew warm, so warm, wanting to toss off the covers, yearning for much more as her nerve endings thrummed with unbridled desire. She became aware of the dew between her thighs, an aching in her breasts. The power of his kiss astounded her. All the sensations it elicited. They’d shared a few chaste kisses while he was courting her. The more sensual ones had always accompanied their lovemaking, were part and parcel of the whole, and she’d been so lost in the moment that she never noticed all that a kiss stirred to life.
Everything.
