Nothing, not even reading, made her feel as powerful as the desperation that laced his voice. She'd never felt more wanted, more essential, more desired. It was a heady and potent sensation. Yet as desperately as he seemed to need her, she needed him equally as much. "I need you, too, Arch."
The urgency in his voice, the readiness of his body, his quivering muscles gave her the impression that he would quickly slake his desires and then see to hers, but it was as though having voiced his needs, learning that she had needs as well, that his fires had been banked.
He ran his hand along her side, down to her thigh, her calf, then back up, his gaze following the path of his hand. He met her eyes, gave her a smile, a kiss. The press of his lips to hers was brief, yet filled with promise. His mouth grazed her cheek, her chin, then took a leisurely journey along her throat.
Growling low, Arch dipped his tongue into the hollow at her throat. Rolling slightly, she bowed her body against his, to urge him on, to encourage him to hurry.
"Not so fast, my darling," he whispered.
Now that he was so close, was able to feast on her flesh, he seemed in no hurry to finish the meal. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pressed her palm to his cheek. Tomorrow she would watch him shave, and the day after that, and the one that followed. Without guilt, without shame, without worrying that anyone would learn of her behavior, she would watch him awake, brush his hair, dress. She could share all aspects of his life, openly and in public, that before she'd only shared in secret.
There would be no more secrets, not between them, not around them. They could be open and honest and the knowledge was incredibly liberating.
His hands worked their magic over her breast, cupping, kneading, reshaping. She loved the feel of his hands reacquainting themselves with her body. He lowered his mouth to her breast, his tongue circling, creating a familiar path. He closed his mouth over her turgid nipple and suckled gently.
"Archie." She dug her fingers against his scalp, holding him in place, relishing the feel of the roughness of his tongue.
He kissed the underside of her breast, the valley between them, then gave attention to her other breast. She stroked her hands over his shoulders and back, rubbed her feet along his calves. She kissed his throat, his neck, his chest. She took satisfaction from his growls, his harsh breathing, his tense muscles, and his dew-coated skin.
How could he have thought she'd truly give any of this up for a dukedom?
They became a tangle of arms, legs, and bodies sliding one over the other. Touching, teasing… now…not quite yet…a bit longer… I can't wait…
When they came together it was as though they'd never been apart. And yet at the same time, it was new and different. These weren't stolen moments, secretive moments. These were their moments, the first of many to be shared during all the nights to come.
They rode the wave of passion together, and when it crested, she thought nothing had ever been so glorious.
It was long moments before she came back to herself, aware of the weight of his body on hers. She loved the feel of it. Loved everything about this man.
He eased off her and brought her up against his side, holding her close, his hand idly stroking her arm.
"I've missed this," he said quietly. "Holding you. Having you near."
"I'm so incredibly happy, Arch. I never thought I would be. Not like this."
She raised herself up, leaned over, and kissed him. She was Mrs. Warner now. She'd never cherished a title more.
* * *
Epilogue
Eight years later
"Papa, when I grow up will I be as beautiful as Mummy?"
Arch glanced over at Venetia sitting on a blanket, the wide boughs of the tree spread out above her creating shade to protect her fair skin from the summer sun. Although she was only six, it was quite obvious that she'd not only inherited her mother's features, but her mother's intelligence as well.
Resting on an elbow, he reached over and tweaked her nose, which caused her to giggle. "You are as beautiful as Mummy now."
"And me, Papa? Am I beautiful like Mummy?"
This question from four-year-old Helena. He tweaked her nose also, which made her release a bout of irresistible chortling. "Undoubtedly."
"And me?" two-year-old Anna asked.
"Of course," he said, pretending to snatch away her little button nose, which caused her eyes to sparkle.
Then, because she wasn't talking yet, but he was certain she was equally curious, he tickled his infant daughter's tummy. A large toothless grin appeared, and her chubby legs began kicking at the air. "And you, too, little one."
"And will Roman be as handsome as you when he grows up?" Venetia asked.
"More so, I should think."
He glanced toward the distance where his son—the first of their children to prove that Camilla wasn't barren—was playing cricket with his friends. After Helena was born, Arch and Camilla had stopped taking holiday in places with warmer climes. After Anna, Camilla had removed the pearl necklace from beneath her pillow. With this latest addition to the family, it seemed that the only way Camilla would no longer have children was if Arch stopped removing his trousers before going to bed.
And that wasn't likely to happen. No indeed, not in the least.
He watched as his wife strolled toward him, having gone to get a closer view of the cricket match while the girls napped following their picnic. Greeting people along the way, she smiled brightly. The breeze carried her laughter, and he thought he'd never known a happier person. Or one more involved with the community.
Through her efforts the Haywood School for Boys had become the Haywood School of Etiquette and Advancement. It taught boys and girls now, and not only the fundamentals. It taught the ambitious how to fit in with the elite.
"The world is changing, and a new class of people is emerging. The aristocracy is welcoming wealthy Americans into its ranks. Wealthy Brits can't be far behind, and there is a good deal one must know in order not to appear foolish."
She jokingly referred to her etiquette program as "Fooling Them All." She never joked about her reading program for adults, "Catching Up."
She was an outstanding example of what a person could achieve if she set her mind to it. She frequently spoke to groups about the need to provide educational programs not only to the poor but to those who'd been overlooked for one reason or another, not only to children, but to adults as well. Using herself as an example, she proclaimed, "An adult's inability to read is not the fault of the indi-vidual, but it is rather the fault of England. How can we as a nation eliminate financial poverty if we do not first battle educational poverty?"
Arch had never been more proud of her than he was when she petitioned Parliament, urging them to pass an act that would allow for free education.
She worked tirelessly to improve the educational system, and while she was often frustrated by how slowly the wheels of progress turned, he couldn't help but believe she was making some impact. If nothing else, she was able to loosen the tightest purse strings when it came to raising money for her causes. He suspected it was because she'd once been privy to a good many secrets. And she had no shame when it came to the foundations she believed in and using whatever methods necessary to improve the plight of the uneducated.
When she was near enough, the older girls popped up and ran to her. She managed to get her arms around all three. "Hello, my little angels. Did you enjoy your naps?"
"Not really," Venetia said. "But will you read to us now?"
"In a bit," she promised.
Taking the baby into his arms, Arch pushed himself to his feet as Camilla herded the girls back to the blanket. Once they were situated, she turned to him.
"I can't understand the rules of cricket regardless of how close I stand to the game," she said, clearly agitated that the sport seemed beyond her comprehension. So little was.
"I suppose it only matters that the players understand them," he said.
"I suppose." With a loving smile, she took their youngest daughter from him, turned around, and placed her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her nearer, and rested his chin on her shoulder, bringing her scent and warmth closer to him.
No, indeed, he wouldn't be going to bed without removing his trousers anytime in the near future.
"Do you ever regret not marrying your duke?" he asked quietly.
Leaning her head to the side, she glanced back at him. "Why would I want a duke when I could have a prince?"
But seeing all the love for him reflected in her eyes, he didn't feel much like a prince. Rather he felt like a king.
* * *
Courting Rituals
One of the things that I enjoy about writing historical romance is the opportunity I have to discover little tidbits of history and use them to add flavor to the story. I have always been fascinated by the Victorian courting rituals and entertainment. What did people do a hundred and twenty-five years ago to have fun?
In An Invitation to Seduction, Richard and Kitty played lawn tennis and went yachting. In Love With a Scandalous Lord, Rhys and Lydia played croquet and attended a performance at Albert Hall. In To Marry an Heiress, Devon and Georgina rode through Hyde Park.
For , I wanted something that I hadn't used before. I had thought to have my characters riding a bicycle, but the bicycles of the 1870s were "high wheels" which only men could ride, because the design with the oversized front wheel didn't accommodate a lady's attire. And very often, the rider took a tumble because the machine wasn't well balanced.
So what would a gentleman suggest if he wished to lure the young lady away from her chaperone so that he might have an opportunity to woo her with his charms unobserved—and if he were very lucky, receive a kiss while no one was watching?
Why he took her linking!
Or as we think of it today, skating. James L. Plimpton is recognized as the father of modern roller-skating because he designed a skate that allowed the wearer to more easily make turns. Because I couldn't find enough information on skating, I contacted the National Museum of Roller Skating. Deborah L. Wallis, Director and Curator, answered my questions about the design of the skate and how it would have been tied to the shoe in 1879. She also told me that in 1875, Plimpton visited England and afterward, the popularity of skating as a sport rose within that country.
So it lent itself well to being the "something different" that I was looking for. While rinks were often built so people had somewhere to skate—hence the term rinking—many couples would skate in the park. While the terrain wasn't as smooth, it was easier to escape the chaperones who were seldom able to keep up. And "a little harmless flirtation" could ensue.
Resources:
Pleasures and Pastimes in Victorian Britain by Pamela Horn
www.rollerskatingmuseum.com
As an Earl Desires Page 24