by Eva Devon
“Do you trust me?”
“Not particularly.”
He laughed. “Wise woman. Still, turn around.”
“I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
“Correct.”
“Well then. . .” She let out a dramatic sigh and did as she was asked, even as her mind raced, wondering what the devil he was going to do.
Surely, he wasn’t about to bend her over and bed her like a stallion takes a mare. She knew enough of love making that while man and woman could mate like animals, they certainly weren’t required to.
The soft touch of his lips brushed the nape of her neck then slowly, his hands traced along her waist, pulling her back against him.
Her back and bottom curved perfectly against his granite frame.
Those magic kisses of his trailed along her neck. He paused then bit ever so lightly.
She shivered as he then pressed an open-mouthed kiss over the slightly roughened skin.
Dropping her head back against his shoulder, she was astonished by how simple a thing could send her legs quaking.
His hands at her waist, he worked the belt of her dressing gown open.
He slid a hand under the robe and met naked flesh.
A low groan came from his lips. “Patience, you’re going to be my undoing.”
“I hope so,” she managed to reply. “In the best possible way, of course.”
He laughed, a rough rumble, as he raked his other hand under her robe then up her ribcage to her breasts.
Her mouth opened as he palmed her and massaged her flesh.
It was shocking and wonderful, the feel of him oh so slowly caressing her.
His hands moved upwards and he guided her gown over her shoulders.
She tensed, as in one gentle movement he shed her of her garments.
To her amazement, she didn’t feel embarrassed. She’d expected to. After all, wasn’t one supposed to feel their most vulnerable in their naked skin?
But she didn’t.
Strangely, somehow, standing with Charles behind her, her gown on the floor, she felt powerful.
He wanted her.
And so there was no reason to be tentative or doubtful. There was no need to convince him she was desirable.
He already desired her.
So, she reached back, slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled his head downward.
Understanding, he bent and met her lips.
It was not easy, kissing him this way, her neck turned, her face angled up and, yet, it was so exciting.
As their mouths met, his hands roved the front of her body, stroking, taking, worshipping.
Yes. That was it. She felt worshipped.
And as his fingers slipped to the “v” of her thighs, instead of feeling maidenly nervousness, she parted her legs slightly, giving him better access.
She wanted to know. She wanted to know what her body could feel under Charles’ touch.
When his fingers stroked through her soft curls, then into her wet heat, she gasped, not with shock but sheer pleasure.
It felt. . . It felt. . .
As he kept kissing her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, she grabbed on to him.
She couldn’t describe how it felt, how absolutely, impossibly marvelous which was quite ironic since words were her profession.
With each touch, he was hurtling her towards something. Some mysterious destination and with each confident stroke of his fingers over that particular spot between her thighs, she struggled.
Struggled with need and, yet, fear of the unknown.
Charles whispered against her mouth, “Just let go, Patience. Don’t think.”
To not think was the opposite of everything she’d ever known. But if it would help her reach that just out of reach destination, she would try.
She tilted her head back further and focused on Charles’ beautiful face.
His eyes darkened as their gazes met. Passion transformed his face as he circled his fingers over her.
Just when she thought she could take no more, she pulled him back down, kissing him wildly.
As he took her mouth, a torrent so intense, so unbelievable, washed over her that she cried out his name against his kiss. It hit her again and again until her legs turned to jelly and she could barely stand.
Sensing her weakness, he swept her up in his arms and took her to the bed.
“You’re mine, Patience. All mine.”
She had no idea if he truly meant it, but the words swept over her and filled her with the deepest pleasure.
She wanted to be his. . . Just as she wanted Charles to be hers.
Chapter 18
Charles couldn’t recall ever feeling so entirely untethered. Usually the master of every situation, he had no idea what to expect from Lady Patience and as unsettling as that was, he absolutely loved it.
She was everything he admired in a woman and more. It had never occurred to him that such a woman would ever agree to be his wife.
Women like Lady Patience didn’t need men like him. Not usually. But by the strangest chance of fate, she had needed him.
Rescue was not the word he’d use, but he’d been able to offer her freedom. Which was desperately humorous because to most, marriage didn’t represent freedom. It represented prison.
He’d avoided it all his adult life.
But not because he feared a prison.
He’d feared making a woman unhappy. He was the kind of man who could never be in a marriage that was what society dictated. And frankly, that was exactly what most women wanted.
But not Lady Patience. She was the one woman he knew who was so entirely different.
He’d seen what could go terribly wrong in a marriage when two people wished for different things.
Even his own parents had struggled. His father had finally felt a failure and given up.
With Patience, he felt certain he could make her content.
She didn’t long for fairytales and a high place in society. She longed to know the very essence of people. To explore. To have adventures so that she could put them into her books. That was something he could help her with.
Lady Patience was a wife to be proud of. . . Now, the question was, could he be a husband to be proud of?
Probably not, but he could at least devote himself to her satisfaction.
He’d already begun well.
It had taken him many hours to choose the decorations for her room. Simple, elegant, and adorned with only the slightest traces of gold, it matched her perfectly.
Now, he was showing her with his body how he adored her. How he already knew her.
Patience was a woman who kept herself in control and it was very difficult for a lady to relax when she was very controlled. And pleasure was impossible to achieve if one couldn’t relax. And so he had turned her to face away from him, so that she could focus on her own body and on his touch.
The request for her to turn around had been perfect. For now, she was soft in his arms, ready for their bodies to meet.
She gazed up at him from the bed, her lids half-closed. “Take off your clothes,” she ordered.
He bit back a grin. God, how he loved that about her. Her ability to be so blunt. He liked wit as well as anyone but sometimes, the ability to say exactly what was on one’s mind was the best thing in the whole world.
Without further ado, he complied. Slowly.
Whilst she lay back on the counterpane, he pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor.
Then he undid his breeches.
Her eyes devoured his every movement and her curiosity drove him half-mad.
“Come here,” she said.
“I am not yet unclothed,” he protested playfully.
“I find I cannot wait,” she replied.
“Whatever you wish.”
“I like that.”
“Good. I like it, too.”
He climbed onto the bed and braced his arms on either side of he
r. “This is what you wish?”
“This is what I wish.”
Unable to wait, he slid his cock free from his breeches and placed it between them.
Her eyes widened as he slid the head up and down her hot core.
She arched against him, instinctively knowing what she needed.
He could delay this. He could pleasure her for hours before he took her. . . But he didn’t think that’s what she wished. It certainly wasn’t what he wanted.
A need to claim her surged through him and he rested his cock against her opening. He gazed down into her stunning, intelligent eyes and thrust home.
Because that was what she felt like.
Home.
It was an alarming feeling. One which he quickly shoved away as he thrust deep inside her.
She groaned and locked her legs around him with no urging.
Lady Patience had found her sensual courage and he adored it.
Tossing her head back and forth, cries of need came from her lips as he thrust again and again before she at last begged, “Please, Charles. I need—I need—”
He knew exactly what she needed. He needed it, too. With a desperation he’d never felt before.
He moved his hand to that secret spot of hers and circled his fingers as he drove hard into her core.
A wild cry burst from him as she arched her back and held on to him with the intensity of one about to be lost.
When the pleasure ebbed, he struggled to gain control of his breathing.
In all his life, he’d never felt so completely undone by a woman.
Carefully, he lowered himself. He rolled to his side and pulled her up against him. He buried his face into her hair, savoring the feeling of her presence in a way he’d never let himself do before. He held her tight, wishing there to be no space between them at all.
She wrapped her hands around his and sighed with contentment.
This was to be the first of many such nights. Of that he was sure. Lady Patience would meet him in terms of passion.
And he was the luckiest man alive to have found a woman like her who had taken him just the way he was. Truly, he was lucky. There was nothing to fear. Not even that she seemed perfectly content, for him to not devote himself to her at all. Yes, everything was going to be splendid. Perfectly splendid.
Chapter 19
Years of habit could not be overridden by one night of passion. Or at least it shouldn’t have been. Charles was not a morning person. He had never been a morning person, unless one counted staying up to see the morning. But Charles had not been able to sleep long after he had decamped to his own room.
He refused to admit it was because he’d forgotten that married couples didn’t share a bed for anything but coitus. As a matter of fact, it was very odd for married people to share a bed. Charles had his room. She had hers. He would visit her when he chose. And he was determined to be a good married husband.
It was damned annoying because he’d wished to stay. To hold her in his arms all hours. To sleep with her body coiled against his. But he hauled himself up and out as one was supposed to do.
Supposed to. It wasn’t a phrase to which he usually succumbed. But he wanted to be a good husband. And that was what husbands did.
He had stayed in her bed until the first rays of dawn had touched the floor. Then he had quietly slipped away.
Now, he found himself in his own foyer, the hour painfully early, in desperate need of coffee. Rather than post-coital bliss, he felt irritation. Irritation that society had inhibited his desire.
So, he stumbled, not quite as groomed as he should be, but unable to face full dress at this hour, to the breakfast room.
It was quite possible that nothing would be ready yet but he’d ordered a large pot of coffee and toast, read the paper. . .
He stopped in the doorway.
Patience sat in a chair at the end of the table, her hair curled and pinned atop her head. Her gown, unlike her gowns before, was a delightful rose day frock. One hand was aloft, a cup of steaming liquid in it and the other clutched a large leather book.
Her eyes squinted slightly as she read the page.
She was the picture of deep concentration.
Her lips teased into a smile as she read a pleasing passage.
Charles leaned against the door frame, silent, suddenly feeling in a much better humor at the sight of his wife already awake.
Imagine, he was about to break fast with his wife!
Who would have ever thought such a thing?
Not he. But he couldn’t dismiss the feeling of delight suddenly warming him because he liked Patience. He liked everything about her.
He got so much pleasure simply looking at her so deeply entranced by something he enjoyed.
As she read, she sipped her coffee, put the cup down, then blindly reached for her toast. . . Her hand nearly ending up in the marmalade.
He grinned then.
“Good morning,” he said.
She startled and then her cheeks bloomed. “Good morning.”
He ventured in, surprised by his own reticence. How would she respond after last night?
It was tempting to shuffle to his chair, but that would hardly be the act of a lover. . . Then again, he wasn’t a lover. He was a husband. Even so, he couldn’t resist crossing to her, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
“How fare you this morning, wife?”
Her brow furrowed as she gazed at him quizzically, her lips plump. “Well, husband. And you?”
“I do exceptionally well but will do far better after coffee.” He then plunked himself down and poured himself a cup from the silver service.
“I’m glad you serve coffee,” she said.
“It’s very bold of you to drink it.”
She laughed. “Too true. Tea is lovely, but coffee is the nectar of the gods. I know it’s a bit adventurous and a manly drink but I find it fuels my mind.”
He nodded. “Can’t face the day without it, myself.”
“Then we are two of a kind.”
As he savored the rich scent of the coffee, he paused. Yes. Yes, in many ways, they were two of a kind.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Nothing that would interest you.”
He tsked. “How prejudiced.”
She blushed. “You’re correct. Do forgive me. I’m simply not used to others enjoying what I enjoy.”
He gestured towards the book. “Then?”
“Pamela.”
“A wonderful novel,” he said. “I’ve read it several times.”
“Several times?”
“I do love a good read and, if you must know, I don’t sleep a good deal. So, when I’m not being a notorious rake, I sit in my library.”
“Library?” she echoed.
“You haven’t explored the house?”
“No.”
For some reason, he pushed back from the table, coffee in hand. “Come.”
She gaped at him then seemed to decide it was worth following him.
So, he waited by the door, allowed her to exit into the hall then guided her to the cavernous room in his massive home that was his pride and joy.
She entered in silence, like a worshipper entering their church.
He cradled his coffee which he had taken with him. “You like it?”
She turned slowly, her long rose skirts swirling about her legs. Turning up her head she stared at the shelves which stretched down the long room.
He’d collected hundreds of books on dozens of subjects in many languages.
“A marvelous collection,” she breathed. “Did someone assemble it for you?”
“No. I collected each book. They are my favorites.”
Her brows lifted. “You’ve read them all?”
He nodded.
“Charles. . . You are full of surprises.”
“If you like this library, you must see the one at my club.”
“You have another library
?” she asked, apparently amazed.
“Yes.”
“And you openly own a club?”
“Openly?” He frowned. “Not exactly, but I own it and manage it myself which I know is very shocking. If I don’t keep occupied I. . . I don’t do well.”
“I see. It is good to know yourself so well.”
“Thank you.”
“Could I see your club?” she asked.
“The library?”
“Yes. That. But I’d like to see the club, too, since you manage it.” She drew in a quick breath. “Ah. It’s men only, is it not?”
“It is.” He considered. “But it’s mine. So, we must go.”
“Must we?” she teased lightly.
“Indeed, we must.”
She glanced down before saying, “I’d like to know what you enjoy and what you do.”
It felt dangerous and yet thrilling to introduce her to such parts of his life.
“And I’d like to know the same about you.” And for the first time in his life, Charles knew that he did wish to know about someone and to allow them to know about him.
*
Much to Patience’s surprise, Charles had suggested she pay call to the Duchess of Roth. It had surprised her that he should so specify one of The Duchesses. But he had been fairly adamant and she was curious.
So, she stood inside another massive London townhome with gilded walls, high ceilings, paintings, and wall hangings that boggled the mind what with their color and importance.
After waiting but a few moments, the Duchess of Roth entered, her red hair a riot, but pinned into semi-submission about her face.
Her soft yellow, gown fell in dandelion folds about her lithe, rather boyish, body.
It was a bit surprising how young the duchess was. Perhaps twenty? But there as a determination to her step and sharp intelligence to her gaze.
The duchess gestured to an embroidered seat. “It’s a pleasure to see you Lady Eversleigh.”
It was still so strange to hear the title but she nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Are you here for a visit or with some purpose in mind?”
The duchess’ frankness stunned her. Most would circle about a conversation, discussing the weather until it felt appropriate to speak of anything specific.
“If you must know, I’m not certain,” Patience confessed. “Of course, I enjoy the possibility of your company but my husband suggested I call on you. You, specifically. He was rather insistent.”