His body was beautiful. Strong shoulders tapered down to a trim waist, the ridges of his stomach defined in artistic detail that rivaled the Marbles they’d viewed at the British Museum. A thin line of dark hair trailed from his chest to his abdomen, where it dipped below his waistband. She followed that line as he continued to undress, his hands on the buttons of his trousers before he continued and removed his smalls. She admired his broad back that angled down to firm, muscular buttocks, indented beneath smooth skin to where his thighs were dusted with dark hair. She saw his erection as it jutted from his pelvis and shot her eyes up to his. He had the audacity to quirk a smile.
“I told you that side by side on the mattress, my bullet wound holds little significance. I’m as hot-blooded and randy as any other male.”
She wanted to laugh, but nothing rose in her chest. Instead, she sat up and watched him watch her. Wanting to please, she untied the ribbons at her shoulders and slowly loosened the ties until the silky fabric fell to her waist and bared her breasts. His eyes flared, golden-brown, then went darker with wicked arousal. His expression promised unending pleasure.
He stayed her hand when she went up on her knees to remove her night rail.
“Allow me.” His husky timbre sent a shiver through her but she dropped her hands to her sides and granted him permission.
He gathered the lacy fabric in his fist and swept it from her. Everywhere his hands touched her skin burned with desire. She savored how her body reacted to his in anticipation, how she grew anxious and wet, a restlessness deep inside now building with intensity.
He skimmed his knuckles down the side of her thigh, a featherlight brush against the delicate skin and across her core with the lightest touch. She trembled with want, but she said nothing, too entranced by her body’s demands.
“You’re so beautiful, love.” He climbed atop the bed, caging her body beneath his as he kissed her firmly on the mouth. He withdrew and placed kisses down the side of her neck, the new growth of whiskers across his chin burning her skin with a delightful pain. “I want to make you mine. I need to make you mine. I can’t wait any longer, Theodosia.”
He moved down her body, his chest hair brushing her breasts in the most pleasing and infuriating caress. He licked into her navel. Pressed a lingering kiss to her abdomen and then settled between her legs.
“What are you doing?” She raised up on her elbows, alarm causing her pulse to beat harder.
“I’m giving you the pleasure you deserve.” His breath caused her thighs to quiver.
“I—”
She lost all interest in speech once he touched his mouth to her sex. A surge of sensation, white hot and powerful, drenched her to the core as his tongue stroked over her. She swallowed, willed herself to breathe, and dropped back to the mattress, caught between outraged objection and the greedy demand that he never stop. She closed her eyes and melted into the bedding.
Every stroke of his tongue there, each taste and lick, brought a wave of intense pleasure that rippled through her. Her legs trembled with need until his palms found her thighs, the press of his fingertips against her soft folds erotic as he opened her to taste her deeper.
She cried out, shocked by her inability to control emotion. Clutching the bed linens in her fists, she rocked from the purest, most blissful wave of gratification she’d ever known.
Still drifting in semi-awareness, she felt the mattress shift as he climbed above her, the damp heat of his erection against her sensitive skin causing yet another tremor of climax.
“Look at me, Theodosia.”
She didn’t. Sanity had returned and the realization of what she’d allowed to happen, what he’d chosen to do to her body, was too overwhelming to process. Nothing in her research had mentioned that.
“You’re a very sensual woman.” He nuzzled the side of her neck with a string of soft kisses. “I hope you know that.”
She couldn’t answer, though she realized a beat later he wasn’t waiting on her reply. He shifted again, and this time the subtle press of his erection against her core evoked relief most of all.
“Matthew.”
His head came up. One dark lock fell over his brow, lending him a reckless, disheveled look. “Yes, love.”
“I need to feel you inside me.” She inched her palms up the lengths of his arms, braced with his weight on either side. She circled her fingers halfway around his muscles. “I need to feel you.”
He groaned his agreement, nudging her thighs wider and angling his hips close. She knew he sought to be gentle, but she thought differently. She wrapped one leg around his hips and thrust upward, encouraging him to find her anxious and waiting.
* * *
Matthew didn’t wish to scare her. He’d done that already and cursed the outcome. He didn’t wish to hurt her. He’d regret that forever. But when Theodosia wrapped her thigh around his hips and opened beneath him, all wet, hot, and luscious, he knew any plan for tempering his body’s commands would prove useless. He’d touched her and tasted her into sensual arousal. He hoped now she was prepared for him. He sank into her lush heat and shook with pleasure. She was tight, her muscles quick to accommodate. Did she feel any discomfort? He looked at her face, but her eyes remained closed, despite a faint smile tracing her lips. Damn kissable lips. He dipped down for another kiss and pushed himself deeper.
She moaned into his mouth, the sound and taste of her desire all the encouragement he needed. From there he began a steady rhythm.
It was an odd set of circumstances that had brought them together, and still another collection of oddities that had kept them apart, but he dismissed all logic and consideration, lost in the pleasure to be found in Theodosia beneath him.
Her skin was silky smooth, her body a wonder, and he yearned to touch her everywhere at once, if only that were possible. Her full breasts, high and firm, begged his attention, the pink tips tightened to tempting buds. He lowered to taste each one and she arched with sensual arousal. Still he measured his thrusts, determined to make their intimacy last as long as possible. She gave a little cry, one of enjoyment not discomfort, and he suddenly wished to slow time, to hold back his own pleasure if for no other reason than to watch her in the throes of climax.
* * *
Theodosia held her eyes closed, though it was more for dreaming than fear of the new experience. Everywhere Matthew touched, caressed, or kissed, felt alive with fire and sensitivity. And now that he’d entered her and she held him inside her, her heart beat so hard she could hardly catch her breath.
He’d tempered his thrusts. Their lovemaking became less demanding but equally exquisite as he withdrew slowly and then leisurely slid back within her, the sensation extremely intimate and all the more arousing. She wanted this. Needed this closeness. They fit perfectly, as if made exclusively for each other, no trial and error needed to support that conclusion.
She opened her eyes the slightest and viewed him above her, amused to see his eyes were half closed as he continued to tease her, fill her completely and withdraw, each lovely stroke a gift of pleasure.
“Matthew.”
“Yes, Bookish.” He opened his eyes, though he didn’t stop moving. His voice rumbled through her, low and husky, and a rush of excitement prickled her skin.
“I want—” She paused, unsure how to express exactly what she wanted.
“This?” He thrust harder, moving her upward on the mattress, her eyes wide before she grinned.
“Yes.”
He didn’t say more. Mindful of her hip, he lifted her leg, which allowed him to go deeper. Each stroke sent a quiver of sensation that built in her middle and radiated outward, to her arms and legs, to her fingertips. She was tied in knots and at the same time floating free. She couldn’t catch her breath for the beauty of it and she chased that feeling, his sweat-slicked body above her, her own suffused with sensitivity, the heat of their bodies together another point of arousal.
“Come for me, love. Feel what I want to give you.
”
He angled his head down and captured her mouth in a kiss, and that’s when it took her.
She climaxed hard, torn apart in a burst of hot embers, so sensitive and powerful, they seemed to explode from the inside out. She gripped his arms and embraced his weight as he came down on top of her, their mouths together still, their tongues tangled as tightly as their bodies, and nothing but sensation tremored through them both with the force of love and passion. He shook with the intensity, buried to the hilt inside her, until at the last possible moment he withdrew, his groan of release against the bedsheets echoing in her ears.
She didn’t know how long they remained that way. If she dreamed or stayed awake. When at last she returned to clarity, she drowsily opened her eyes to find Matthew half across her body, one leg anchored around hers to hold her securely to his side, his hand over her heart, his face lost in the pillow of her hair.
But his eyes were open and he blinked at her as if the action would bring everything back into focus.
“Theodosia.”
This time when he said her name it sounded as if a revelation.
“Bookish.” His mouth climbed into a half smile. “That was incredible. That was the word that hasn’t been invented yet but means better than incredible. You’ll be the death of me.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” She pushed back on the bed so she could see him more clearly, and while she attempted a serious tone she failed miserably. “Perhaps we shouldn’t repeat—”
“Bite your tongue.” He rose up on his elbow and peered down at her. “Never mind. I’ll do that for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matthew awoke before Theodosia, but unwilling to disturb her, he lay in the bed as still as possible, despite the myriad thoughts racing through his brain. He hadn’t proposed. He hadn’t even declared his love. Nor presented his argument as to why they belonged together, whether that meant a residence in London, Oxfordshire, or on the damned moon. He huffed a breath of frustration and the subtle movement was enough to rouse her. Unless her mind raced too. He found she rarely escaped his thoughts, even in sleep.
“Have you been awake long?” She rolled to her side to view him, her hands tucked below her face on the pillow.
“No.” He stretched an arm along the headboard so he could collect her closer to him. “Just long enough to list all the things I didn’t do last evening.”
“There’s more?” She reared back the slightest, as if the idea was too difficult to comprehend this early.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Not that. Although I assure you there’s much more to experience.” He smoothed a hand below the covers and traced a fingertip down her spine. “No, I mean things I didn’t say. Words I meant to share with you before we made love.”
She blushed prettily and he enjoyed every moment of her fluster.
“We did, didn’t we?”
“Several times, indeed.” He slid lower so he rested on his pillow at eye level. “Are you feeling well? Your hip doesn’t pain you from the fall?”
She shook her head in the negative. “Not enough to complain. Besides, I should ask you the same. All that rocky terrain last night must have created discomfort this morning.”
“I’m accustomed to aches and pains.” He drew little circles along her shoulders, mesmerized with the softness of her skin. “I’m grateful I arrived when I did and your grandfather was able to lead me to you.”
She perked up, her lovely gray eyes brighter. “His clear thinking of late is absolutely fascinating. I know better than to dismiss Dr. Fletcher’s advice, but it’s almost as if nothing’s wrong now.”
“Dementia is difficult to understand.” He wouldn’t say more, though he’d despise if she started to believe Lord Talbot’s faculties were returned to normal. “You should consider each day of clarity as a gift. And that reminds me . . .” He leaned in and kissed her forehead before he rolled over and left the bed. He winced once he placed his foot to the cold floorboards, but luckily his back was to the bed. “I have something to take care of before Christmas Eve. Did I mention my sister, Amelia, and her husband, the Duke of Scarsdale, have decided to join us?”
“Here?” She shot up as if stung by a bee, her rescue of the sheet to cover herself belated at best. “You invited them here?”
“Didn’t you open the box I sent you? There were several crates and cartons, but one gift was specifically intended for you. I marked it with your name.” He buttoned his falls and reached for his shirt as he came to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Was it delivered with the others?”
“Yes.”
She rose from the sheets and gathered her wrapper from where he’d flung it the evening before. He lost the thread of the conversation momentarily, distracted by her delectable breasts, slim legs, and pert bottom. Bookish might claim her nature quiet and reserved, but she possessed the body of a siren.
“I was saving it for Christmas Day.” She looped the belt around her waist and knotted it with a vengeance. “What’s inside?”
He laughed. So much had changed from the time he purchased the present until now. “I won’t tell, except I included a lengthy letter in which I suggest you might come to London for the holiday season or I will bring my family to yours.”
“Oh dear.” A look of alarm widened her eyes. “I have so much to do. Your sister is a duchess and her husband, a duke.”
“Yes, that’s how it’s generally arranged.” He smiled at her sense of panic. No one was more unconventional than Amelia. He had no doubt his sister would fall in love with Theodosia just as he had. “But you needn’t worry. Amelia is high-spirited, independent, and undaunted by societal censure. She’s the last person to be concerned with public opinion, considering all the scandals and scenes she caused before she wed. She possesses an indomitable spirit similar to yours.”
“But the expectations . . . I’m not the typical hostess, and Lord and Lady Scarsdale have titles of the highest nobility,” she elaborated, displaying a look of genuine worry.
“You’re the granddaughter of an earl.”
“You don’t understand.” She shook her head vigorously. “The house—”
“The house looks lovely, if you don’t mind me taking credit for many of the decorations. I’ve impeccable taste.” He winked in an attempt to add levity.
“But the menu . . . Mrs. Mavis and I haven’t confirmed the final courses. I couldn’t decide, and now I’ll have to choose, except I’ll have to choose what a duke and a duchess like to eat and I don’t know what a duke and duchess like to eat . . .” She sank down on the corner of the mattress and wrapped her arms around her chest, as if to console herself.
“Amelia and Scarsdale aren’t picky. You’re becoming overset for no reason. The house is decorated beautifully and your staff exhibits the finest decorum. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He did his best to stifle his laughter at her endearing distress.
“But what if Grandfather . . .”
“Your grandfather is an engaging man with many exceptional qualities.” He hoped his confidence would boost her belief.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes beseeched him as she stood and stepped nearer.
“I do.” He came to stand beside her and gently brought her into his arms. “Once you meet Amelia, you’ll understand you had nothing at all to fret about. She isn’t like the petty girls you remember from the academy. Her husband is one of my closest friends. Together we will have the grandest holiday.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She exhaled deeply and he rested his chin on the top of her head as he held her tight. “I honestly can’t imagine a different outcome.”
* * *
Everything was going wrong. Theodosia dictated orders to the servants, barked them, actually, her usual good-natured demeanor long lost. Ever since Matthew informed her Lord and Lady Scarsdale would arrive in two days’ time, she couldn’t hold a thought in her head. So much needed to be done, and yet all the respo
nsibilities of daily life still existed. How could Matthew behave with nonchalance when the house was being turned inside out, rugs beaten twice, silver polished three times, and every other detail, all for the benefit of a good impression. An important impression.
She wasn’t fooled. She suspected what lay inside that mysterious square box that she still hadn’t opened. And if there was to be any hope of a future for Matthew and herself, she’d need to show she wasn’t some odd bluestocking hidden away in the countryside. She needed to prove, to herself most of all, that those haunting memories from long ago were caused by nothing more than insignificant jealousy, and as the wife of an earl, she could entertain, make conversation, and charm guests as eloquently as any cultured debutante.
A clattering brought her attention to the front hall and she whirled to the right to watch footmen climb ladders to reach the highest glass panes in the entry window. They’d need to change the tapers in the chandeliers while up there too. She pivoted to the right as Mrs. Mavis waved a shopping list after two maids who hurried toward the door. She turned again, but changed her mind, swinging in a full circle, arms flailing, and that did little more than cause a rush of dizziness.
“Are you practicing a new dance step without me?”
The tap of his walking stick on the marble tiles alerted her to look to the upper landing. Matthew grinned, sly mischief in his eyes. She wondered then if all the stairs in Leighton House caused undo strain on his leg. Although her nightly ritual of rubbing ginger salve into his calf and thigh muscles proved surprisingly sensual and arousing.
“No.” She managed a wobbly grin. “I just want everything to be perfect when Their Graces arrive.”
“I can’t imagine why.” He came down the stairs and approached, and that same charming sparkle lit the depth of his eyes. “Amelia and Scarsdale are as far from perfect as the rest of us, not discounting my valet will make a solid case he deserves the label.”
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