“Goodness,” she squeaked.
Ludo smirked at her, and she covered her mouth with her hand as a giggle escaped.
He tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes.
“Are you laughing at me?” he demanded with mock outrage.
“N-No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Oh, I’m s-sorry,” she managed, struggling not to laugh. “Only you looked so d-dreadfully pleased with yourself.”
“And why not?” he demanded, his dark eyebrows flying up. “You were looking at me in a way that made me feel about ten feet tall.”
Bunty sighed as he moved closer. “You are rather splendid, Ludo. So handsome. Are you really mine?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “And there’s no changing your mind now, it’s too late. You’re stuck with me.”
Ludo climbed onto the bed and lay down beside her, his head braced on his arm, his eyes warm and mischievous. He looked happy, and Bunty could not help but smile in return.
“Good afternoon, Lady Courtenay.”
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she replied politely, for all the world as if they had just greeted each other in the park.
“May I debauch you now, my lady?”
Bunty choked out a laugh, only to see him grinning at her with such a boyish gleam of amusement that she threw back her head and laughed again.
“You’re dreadful!” she exclaimed, and then caught her breath as he climbed over her. He stared down at her, his blue eyes bright and glinting with desire.
“Yes, and you like it, so you must be every bit as wicked. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Bunty was only too happy to do so, sighing as he started where he’d left off. He kissed her everywhere, touching her reverently, caressing and painting intricate patterns with his tongue. The most shocking sounds were drawn from her until she was panting and clutching at the bedclothes, her skin damp as he returned to the sinful place between her legs and made her believe she might go mad as her body spun out of control. It was as though she had been an instrument, put away and forgotten, dusty and unused, and suddenly he had come to teach her how to play, for he seemed to know her body far more intimately than she had known it herself.
She wasn’t even shocked when he slid a finger inside her; she only moaned her pleasure and revelled in the way he praised her for her lascivious behaviour. The louder she was, the better he seemed to like it.
“Say my name,” he begged her, his voice husky as he slid another finger inside her and caressed until she saw stars. “I want you to come with my name on your lips.”
She did not entirely understand what he was asking her for, but then he applied his mouth once more. Pleasure rolled over her, making her hold her breath as the onslaught became overwhelming. She clutched at his hair, at the bed, at anything that might keep her tethered to the earth for surely she would fly away.
“Ludo!” she cried, her body arching, his name torn from her as waves of incandescent joy surged through her, over and over until she was sated, boneless, and utterly spent.
She was only dimly aware of him kissing his way back up her body, and she blinked hazily at him as he settled between her legs. It was only as he slid that wicked, masculine part of him against her oversensitive flesh that she gasped, and her eyes flew open.
“Now?” she said, a little stunned.
“Definitely now,” he agreed, sounding strained and determined. “Unless…?”
He hesitated, and Bunty laughed at the disappointment in his eyes.
“Now,” she agreed, wrapping her arms about his neck.
“Thank God,” he murmured, sliding his arousal against her in a slick glide that made her close her eyes, her head thrown back.
Bunty moved her hands over his shoulders, glorying in the shift and play of powerful muscle and the damp silk of his skin. The coarse hair on his torso felt delicious against her breasts as he pressed closer, reaching between them to guide himself inside her.
“Speak to me.”
Bunty blinked up at him in bewilderment. He wanted conversation? Now?
“Tell me it’s all right. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Oh.
“Bunty?”
“It’s all right. Don’t stop, it’s….” She sucked in a breath as she reconsidered that statement and he stilled utterly. For a moment, she breathed carefully around the strange sensation, and then she relaxed by degrees.
“Better?” he asked, his voice strained.
She could feel the tension singing through him.
“Yes.”
He moved again, cautiously, slowly, and Bunty stared up at him. He had his eyes closed, his face a picture of concentration. How beautiful he was, and how careful of her. He was tender and thoughtful and… and how had this man gained such a reputation? How had he become what he was purported to be? She could see nothing of that in him now. His eyes flicked open, dazzling blue and filled with triumph as he gazed down at her. Bunty smiled.
“Better?” he asked again, his lips quirking.
“Better,” she agreed, and then gasped as he tilted her hips and… oh.
“Much better,” he said this time, and it wasn’t a question. He sounded rather smug.
“Oh, yes… m-much….”
Bunty wrapped herself about him and simply held on, clinging to his powerful frame as he taught her what pleasure was, what they could have together. And, oh, it was marvellous. His touch was careful, his attention on her absolute. At this moment, she hadn’t the slightest doubt she was the centre of his universe, and she wanted to be there always. The intimacy was astonishing, the closeness with this man she barely knew. Already, she felt he had sunk into her bones, into her soul. She did know him, didn’t she? At least she recognised his generosity, his kindness, and his willingness to share himself—both his faults and his strengths—and to bolster her own insecurities with his surety. Bunty was lost, drowning in him, in this man she had known so little but was falling for like a star plummeting to earth. His body made hers sing, made her feel right in her own skin in a way she’d never thought possible. No longer was she awkward and hiding herself, trying to disguise her curves, to diminish her height. He loved her body, that much was obvious from the way he was moving, every grunt of pleasure that made her skin prickle with awareness. She had never realised, never expected…. Her mother’s staccato, anxiety-laden words of advice for her wedding night had not given the slightest hint that this… this was even possible. Perhaps it wouldn’t be with anyone else but him, but it was him. He was breathing hard now, his movements erratic and harsh, wonderfully masculine sounds of effort and passion filling her ears as he shuddered, jerked, and spilled himself inside her with a hoarse cry that made her heart soar, and hope fill her to the brim.
He collapsed on top of her with a groan, his chest heaving, his body slick with the effort of his exertions. Bunty lay pinned beneath him, feeling a little dazed and very feminine and… and almost delicate as his heavy body pressed her into the mattress. It was heavenly.
“Christ, I’m crushing you,” he muttered, hauling himself up.
“No!” Bunty cried, holding onto him and pulling him back. “No. Don’t… Don’t go. Not yet. I… I like it. I like the weight of you, the feel of you.”
He shifted a little, propping his head on his elbow and staring down at her.
“You do, eh?”
There was teasing in his expression, but it was warm and gentle, in no way mocking, and so she just nodded.
“You’ve really gone and done it now, my lady,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.”
“No regrets?”
Something flickered in his eyes, something vulnerable and uncertain, and Bunty wanted to chase it away. She reached her hand up to stroke his face, still unable to believe this gorgeous man was really hers.
“Not one,” she said.
Chapter 5
“Wherein the real world intru
des.”
London
December 13, 1820
“There’s no choice, Ludo. If you will be so ridiculously stubborn about using my money, then we must not waste yours. Your landlady charges a fortune for those meals she cooks. We must either go out to eat, or get some shopping so I may attempt to cook for us, though I warn you now I am more than a little doubtful as to my skills.”
“I won’t have you skivvying and cooking!”
Bunty rolled her eyes as their discussion went around in a complete circle for the second time. “Then employ a maid and let us get some dinner.”
Ludo was sitting up in bed, looking mutinous. His arms were folded across his chest and Bunty tried not to get distracted by the way it made his muscles bulge. She wanted to lick him. He was so delicious, and….
No.
Then he’d have his way, and they could not carry on like this. No matter how delightful it was.
They had not left his rooms in the five days since they’d married. Astonishingly, no one had called. Astonishing that was, until she realised her father had not posted notice of their marriage. He was ashamed of it. Of them. The knowledge burned, especially when she was so happy, but… well, that was her parents’ problem. They only knew Ludo by reputation. They would come around when they realised the man he really was. The one she was coming to know.
“But I don’t want to go out,” he grumbled. “Come back to bed.”
He gave the mattress an inviting pat.
Bunty wavered before firming her resolve. “No. And it’s only for a while. Honestly, anyone would think you were ashamed of….”
She let those word hang in the air as she actually thought about them, and all her old insecurities came crashing down on her.
“Oh, no!” he said, and she looked up, startled by his impatient tone.
He leapt out of bed and crossed the room. She had been standing by the window in her dressing gown, staring at the street below. Now she was riveted to the sight of her husband striding towards her in all his naked glory. Her breath caught and held as he closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands, staring down at her.
“What maggoty idea has taken hold in that brain of yours, wife? For, if you think I could ever be ashamed of you… My God, that’s a laugh. I’ve never been prouder of anything in my entire life, and that’s a fact.”
Bunty’s gasped, a knot of emotion in her throat.
“Really, Ludo?” she asked, believing him but wanting to hear it again.
She had never known what it was to be so thoroughly approved of, to be with someone—anyone, let alone a man—who looked at her as though she was important, as if her opinion mattered. Yet it was better even than that, for Ludo looked at her as if she was the beginning and the end of his world. She had tentatively begun to believe he meant it.
“Of course, really,” he said, impatient now, and then his expression darkened, and his voice was filled with regret, “it’s you who will be ashamed, love.”
Bunty took a moment to look him over, feeling a now familiar surge of heat as desire pooled in her belly. She shook her head and smiled at him.
“Now who’s having maggoty ideas?”
He gave a huff of laughter, but it was bitter-edged, and she did not like the sound of it. He turned away from her.
“If we go outside that door, you will realise this is all I’m good for.”
Bunty watched as he waved a dismissive hand at the bed.
“Don’t be foolish, Ludo,” she said, thinking perhaps he was joking, but the way he was dragging on his small clothes and then his breeches with sharp, angry movements made her reconsider.
“Fine,” he muttered “You want to go out? We’ll go out. You’ll figure it out eventually, anyway.”
“Ludo,” she protested, wondering where this unhappy, angry man had come from when he’d been so content just moments earlier.
She ought not have pressed him, ought not have insisted but… but no, this was silly. They were only going out to eat. It wasn’t Almack’s, not that they’d have a hope of gaining entry there, she thought with amusement and a complete absence of regret. Goodness, she could just imagine the patronesses’ elegant noses turn up in horror if she turned up with….
Oh.
“Ludo.”
He did not answer, searching for a clean shirt before giving up and snatching the one he’d married her in off the floor. He’d not worn one since.
“Ludo,” she said again, as he tugged the shirt over his head.
She moved to him, standing right before him and clutching at the billowing fabric so he had to give her his attention. He stilled, his eyes wary, tension rolling off him in waves.
“What?” he asked, terse and irritated, but not, she thought, with her.
“Ludo, you know how you don’t understand how I have always felt so… so uncomfortable with… with the way I look?”
Ludo rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, and Bunty smiled.
“Precisely,” she said, sliding her hands about his waist. “You do not understand it because, by some happy miracle, you do not see me like everyone else does.”
“Nonsense,” he snapped. “It’s only that you’ve let your mother dress you and hidden yourself away in corners, trying to make yourself shorter and skinnier, and something you’re not. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and everyone else would see it too, if you’d only believe it yourself.”
Bunty blinked away the emotion those words produced and reminded herself that she was reassuring him this time. It was only fair, after all, not to mention God’s honest truth.
“Well, perhaps,” she allowed, her voice quavering. “But the point is, Ludo, you’re wrong about what I think, about how I shall feel outside of these doors. I know your reputation. I followed your exploits, you know. I always searched the scandal sheets for your name to see what you’d been up to. I expect I know more about you than you do yourself, though I suspect much of it was fabrication, or at least the truth with fancy embroidery. I know all those things, and now I am coming to know you, and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you, and not only because you’re so handsome you make my heart feel all strange and fluttery, but because you’re wonderful. You’re kind and funny and generous…. Oh, Ludo, don’t let other people’s opinions spoil everything, for I shan’t.”
She watched his throat work, saw the doubtful glint in his eyes and pressed on, determined to get her point across.
“You made me believe in myself, Ludo. You’ve made me feel beautiful these past days, and I shall continue to believe it no matter what others say, so long as you always think it. So believe in my words too… please?”
He pulled her into his arms and held her close, resting his head atop hers. He said nothing for the longest time and then looked down at her, one dark eyebrow quirking. “Strange and fluttery?”
Bunty laughed. “Oh, Ludo, that’s the bit of my heartfelt declaration that stuck in your head, was it?”
He gave her an odd look. “I’m a man, of course it was.”
She huffed and shook her head, giving in. “Yes, my beautiful man. Looking at you, thinking of you… it does peculiar things to my heart.”
“Not just your heart,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Bunty spluttered and buried her face in his shirt.
“Dreadful,” she said despairingly.
Ludo touched her chin with his fingers, raising her face to his and bending down, kissing her with such tenderness that tears pricked at her eyes.
“You make me believe I could be something,” he said quietly. “And I want to be, for you. I want that very badly.”
Bunty swallowed and gave a decisive nod. “You already are, Ludo, but I believe you can be anything you want. I believe in you.”
Ludo took Bunty to Abingdon’s chop shop and watched his wife with the greatest of pleasure as she took in her surroundings. That she had never been to such a place in her life was eviden
t, as her fascinated gaze swept over everything and everyone. At first he’d hesitated, uncertain he should take her inside, but… well, they had to eat, and she was right. If he was dead set against spending her money—which he knew was idiotic, but had stuck in his brain as a matter of principle—then it was either this or making her cook for them, and that he would not do. She had been raised a lady, raised with the expectation and ability to run a large and prosperous household. A woman who might have married an earl, or at least a viscount, not some disowned, disgraced youngest son with nothing but his tarnished name to claim as his own.
As he’d opened the door, he’d wished he was taking her somewhere fancy, that he could afford Claridge’s or Grillon’s, but now, watching her, he rather thought she preferred this. It was a bustling place with the rich scent of roasted meat heavy on the air. Ludo’s stomach growled as he realised how hungry he was. A harried waiter came up and took their orders, slapped a jug of ale on the table, and gave the scarred top a perfunctory wipe with a grubby cloth before hurrying away again.
Ludo poured them each a glass and watched with amusement as Bunty took a cautious sniff and then sipped. She screwed up her face and shuddered, then resolutely took another sip. By the fifth sip she seemed to have the hang of it, and Ludo reached his hand across the table, an odd sensation in his chest as he stared at her. She had always been a far-off dream, a bright hope he’d never dared want, for it was too implausible, too fantastic that she would ever look at someone like him, but here she was. His wife. Emotion filled his heart, pushed at his ribs, something new and fragile and optimistic, and he dared to let it flare to life instead of snuffing it out as he had with every other thing he’d ever wanted for himself. His hand was on the table, palm up. He felt silly, vulnerable, and went to withdraw it, except she noticed then that he had reached for her, and put her hand in his. She curled her fingers between his and held on tight, squeezing a little and smiling at him.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 29