Page 9 of The Earl Takes All
He tugged on his ear. “I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ve caught up all that we need to. I left my wife alone for far too many weeks. I intend to make that up to her now. We’ll see you at breakfast.”
He caught a spark of approval in Ashe’s eyes; not that he was seeking approval, but apparently he’d managed to conduct himself more as his brother might. Now if he could just do the same without stumbling through the maze that had been Albert’s life with his countess.
Chapter 3
Julia’sfeet were feeling so much better. Albert’s massage had done wonders. It had also helped that once he left, she called for her maid and changed from the stiff black crepe into her softest nightdress and wrap. Although she enjoyed visiting with their guests, she welcomed the opportunity to simply relax with her husband.
Sitting in a plush chair near the fire, she set her feet on a low stool and curled her toes. Unfurled them, thought of the callused hands that had stroked her with such surety, as though he’d rubbed her feet a thousand times before, when he’d never once performed that intimate and luxurious service for her. She imagined those abraded hands skimming over all of her, how marvelous the different textures would feel, what a very different experience it might be. She rather hoped they wouldn’t go completely soft before they made love again.
Hearing the click of the door opening, she looked over to see her husband stride in with two wineglasses dangling between the fingers of one hand and two wine bottles caught in the other. He staggered to a stop and stared at her, his gaze running the length of her as though he’d never before seen her in a nightdress and wrap. Perhaps it was simply that her condition was not as disguised as when she wore a dress. Self-consciously she tugged on the sides of her wrap, trying to close it over her belly and breasts, but it refused to cooperate. “I’ve become huge while you were away.”
“No, not at all.” With his elbow, he closed the door before bringing the wine and glasses over and setting them on the small table before the sofa. She could see now that one was a bottle of red, the other white. “Our guests were completely understanding, and the servants should be bringing our dinner any moment now. I thought we might enjoy a spot of wine while we waited.”
“I’m not convinced spirits are good for the babe.”
He suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable, as though he’d forgotten about her condition. “You’re absolutely right. Not certain what I was thinking.”
“No reason you can’t indulge.”
He wasted no time pouring red into a glass, lifting it toward her in a salute before taking a sip and walking to the fireplace. He looked at the fire, darted a quick glance to her, and returned his gaze to the fire as though not quite sure what to do with his eyes. “How are your feet?”
“Much better. It helped I think to change into something not quite so confining. Since it was to be only the two of us here, I didn’t think formality was required.”
“Of course it’s not.”
Shoving herself to her feet, she was grateful the swelling had dissipated completely and she was able to glide toward him without any limping or discomfort. She couldn’t be completely certain, but it appeared he’d ceased breathing as she neared. “You should be as comfortable,” she murmured, taking his glass from that marvelous hand that had touched her so intimately and placing the wineglass on the mantel.
Slipping her hands beneath the opening of his unbuttoned jacket, she glided them over his shoulders, tugging off his coat. “You’ve broadened a bit while you were away.”
“Trekking through the wilds is strenuous work.”
The jacket began to fall. She caught it before it hit the floor and tossed it onto the nearest chair. Slowly, she freed the buttons of his black waistcoat. “Your skin is darker.”
“The African sun is harsh.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I could always tell you and Edward apart because he wasn’t nearly as fair as you. Did you blister when you arrived?”
“No.”
She eased off the waistcoat, pitched it onto the jacket. Lowering her gaze, she began unknotting his neck cloth.
“Julia, I’m not certain this is wise.”
She gave him a speculative look. “To be comfortable?”
“To tempt me.”
A thrill shot through her. Yes, they were in mourning, yes, sorrow radiated from him, but she still had power over him. She flung the neck cloth aside and cupped his face between her hands, her fingers dancing along the back of his neck. “I missed you so much.”
She tilted his head down, rose up on her toes and planted her mouth on his. His arm snaked around her, drew her nearer. His tongue slid between her lips as he adjusted the angle and took the kiss deeper. She fairly melted against him.
Hunger. Urgency. A compelling need. They were all there. In him. In her. As though death hovered nearby, waiting, as though with enough passion and desire they could ward it off. A low growl vibrated through his chest, shimmered through her breasts, which were flattened against the linen of his shirt.
The heat between them intensified. His hands traveled over her back, her hips, cupped her backside, pressed her ever closer. The hard rigid length of him pushed against her belly, driving her mad with want and desire. It had been so long, too long. Once they knew she was with child, he’d insisted they refrain from any intimacy for fear his ardor might cause her to lose the child. Oh, he’d kissed her, held her, stroked her on occasion, but not like this. Not with this fierce need. She wasn’t certain what they’d shared had ever been as primal as this—as though he’d returned from his travels uncivilized, in need of taming.
A knock on the door had him lurching back as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. They were both breathing rapidly, heavily. Horror was reflected in his eyes.
“My apologies,” he rasped.
