Deftly, she slid her hand across the breadth of his shoulders then up his neck to his hair, knowing how even the slightest tug drove him mad.
"For an innocent, you're quite adept at torture." He turned to face her, his eyes smoldering with restraint.
"I was thinking… isn't it about time we amended that?" she asked, tugging on his hand and leading him toward the exit.
"Your ability to tempt or your innocence?" he asked, eyes blazing with anticipation.
"We'll see, won't we?"
Beatrix turned and darted toward the carriage, knowing she wasn't going to win an award for speed, but not caring. She stifled a squeal when her husband swung her into his arms and made haste toward the carriage. He gently eased her in and thumped the ceiling before he was even seated.
"It's your turn to burn," Neville whispered before pulling her onto his lap. He slowly reached his hand to her ankle and lifted her skirt slightly as his fingers gently traced the line from her ankle to her knee.
Her body reacted with heat swirling inside her belly, causing her heart to beat rapidly, her breath to come quicker, as if she were doing more than simply sitting, but running swiftly! His lips teased her own, his teeth gently biting her lower lip. The peppermint flavor of him imprinted itself on her memory. And, impossibly quick, the carriage stopped, presumably before Neville's residence.
Without a word, he lifted her off his lap and stood. He alighted from the carriage and, in a delft movement, lifted her into his arms and took the steps, two at a time. His butler was waiting by the door and swung it open, but he was nothing but a blur as Neville strode wordlessly past and toward the stairs. As he ascended, he called back, "See that we are not disturbed."
To which the butler simply replied, "Of course, my lord."
The butler's voice was abruptly cut off by the distinct sound of Neville's arrival on the top stair. A few steps later, Beatrix bit her lip when her husband's embrace tightened as he leaned forward and twisted a knob.
After he kicked the door open, the room came into view, a rich and wide space with dark woods and a distinctive scent that was clove and peppermint, the very scent she associated with Neville. Lowering her to the ground, his hands lingered on her waist, tracing her shape. His hands were warm, yet she felt her body erupt in goose bumps with heady anticipation. His eyes burned with smoldering desire as he stepped back and kicked the door shut with his boot.
"Are you going to lock it?" Beatrix asked, glancing from the door to her husband, slightly shy, yet unwilling to let it compromise her bold desire.
"Are you planning on leaving?" Neville asked, taking a slow step toward her, daring, captivating, and weaving a spell around her with the wicked intent in his gaze.
Wordlessly, Beatrix shook her head.
She watched as her husband tugged off his gloves then tossed them to the side.
"I've always hated gloves… especially on you." He reached down and pulled her hand up, caressing her wrist before unfastening the pearl button and tugging each gloved fingertip till the silken accessory slipped to the ground. He repeated the same with her other hand. Palms together, he lifted their hands up and laced his fingers between hers. His grip was warm, comforting, yet anything but tame.
"I've waited for what seems like forever, and now that I have this long-awaited moment… I want time to stand still," he confessed, releasing one hand and cupping her cheek, warming her face.
His dark locks tempted her, and, without hesitation, she gave into the siren call of his soft hair. That was the beauty of the moment, that every temptation was simply an invitation. Weaving her fingers through his thick mane, she grinned when his eyes closed, and he leaned into her touch. It was humbling, yet empowering, to have such control, such power over another. But such was the nature of love, to completely give oneself over to the other, for better or worse. She'd not take such a gift lightly.
But tonight… tonight was a celebration. The final declaration, the physical completion of everything already in her heart, in his heart. And she was through with waiting.
As if reading her thoughts, Neville's eyes opened, spearing through her with their heat. Wordlessly, he placed a warm kiss to her neck, swirling his tongue along her flesh, igniting it. Warm hands reached around and began to unfasten the blessedly few buttons along her back. When finished, he slid the dress off one shoulder. He leaned down and lavishly kissed it, marking it as his own. Turning his attention to the other shoulder, he removed the dress from it as well and showered kisses along the tender flesh that seemed to burn at his touch. The dress pooled at her feet, forgotten, as he turned his attention to the laces at her back, loosening the stays.
Swallowing, Beatrix pulled in a deep breath, trying to control her body's powerful reaction to her husband's ardent attention. Forcing her eyes into focus, she reached up and tugged at his cravat, loosening the silk then tossing it aside, letting it float to the ground, no longer necessary. With the garment removed, she could see the movement of his throat, his Adam's apple moved slightly, and she glanced up to meet his gaze.
"So beautiful," he whispered reverently, "and still so very clothed." He grinned slightly and turned her so that her back faced him. In short order, the final stays were loosened, and the corset slid to the ground.
'"My lady." He grasped her hand, lifted it, and twirled her so that she'd once again face him. His gaze grew fiercely possessive as he took in her state of undress. Gently, he assisted her to step over her removed garment.
"Why thank you… but I must say… this is disappointing." Beatrix took a step back, growing more comfortable, even in the small, chemise underpinnings she wore.
"Disappointing?" Neville's brow furrowed, even as his gaze greedily took her in.
"Indeed. Am I not allowed the same benefits that you enjoy?" Beatrix inquired, stepping forward and running a finger along his chest and under his coat. "Honestly… still in your coat? For shame," she teased and tugged at the black lapel.
"A thousand apologies," he replied and shrugged out of the finely cut garment. "What else would the lady request?" He held his arms out, his gaze inviting.
Beatrix walked around him. "Your shirt, sir. It offends me."
"I'll burn it." He removed it quickly, bursting the buttons and sending them scattering along the wood floor.
"But my view is still inhibited… and that will not do." Beatrix paused before him, tapping her chin as she pressed her other hand against his undergarment.
"We cannot have that," he crooned. In one swift movement, he crossed his arms and pulled the tighter shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His stomach was a delicious mix of hills and valleys that cut down to where his breeches remained. Her gaze lingered on his chest, a solid and powerful display of what she already had felt under his shirt before.
"Impressive." She bit her lip as her gaze met his, a flash of heat jolting through her at the pleasure in his gaze.
"I'm entirely pleased you approve." He took a step forward, his shoulders flexing, his body radiating an inviting warmth she wanted to melt into. "However, I do believe we're about even." He traced the fine strap of her chemise. "While a fine garment, it is most assuredly useless." He leaned forward and tugged on the shoulder strap with his teeth playfully.
"Say the word," Beatrix teased breathlessly, feeling his warmth call to her.
"Please." The word was a hot whisper against her shoulder.
Turning, Beatrix removed the chemise and, not wanting to prolong it further, removed her other underpinnings. Feeling wicked, she simply cast a gaze over her shoulder. Her body bloomed with heat at the hungry gaze of her husband.
"So that is how we're playing, is it?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.
Rather than giving her his back, as she'd assumed he would, he strode forward and leaned his warm flesh against hers. She could feel his hands tugging at his breeches and heard the sound of them hitting the floor several feet way after he tossed them.
Just as she was about to
speak, a warm tongue traced her back, licking the flesh as her husband stood behind her. His heated flesh met hers, consuming her, setting her on fire with a smoldering desire that only grew with every passing moment. His mouth was hot at her neck, tasting, teasing, provoking the most delicious desire from within her.
After spinning her to face him, his mouth captured hers, ravaging it, claiming it. Strong arms banded around her, pulling her in tightly. Hands roamed her curves, as if memorizing, exploring, devouring.
"I love you. Every inch, every flavor, every breath," he whispered. "Say my name," he demanded as he pressed into her, guiding her toward the bed behind them.
"Edmond."
"Louder."
"Edmond!" she all but cried, loving the word, owning its power over her, the truth of the familiarity of it all.
He kissed her deeply, possessively, slowly breaking the seal of their lips. He picked her up then gently laid her on the bed. A shiver broke out across her flesh, as if an immediate reaction to missing her mate, her love, her husband.
"Beatrix." He whispered her name as he studied her, his expression reverent.
She took the moment to study him, delighting in every aspect of his glory. A moment later, her husband knelt on the bed, the soft mattress dipping under his welcomed weight.
No longer chilled, Beatrix lost herself in the warmth of her husband's skin as it covered hers, completing every intention in their hearts.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NEVILLE STUDIED HIS WIFE AS SHE sipped her tea while propped up in their bed.
Their bed.
Truly, he didn't think he could adore her more than when she'd agreed to marry him, yet when she'd walked down the aisle at St. George's, it was as if that love had doubled. Then, last night after she'd turned into the most playful lover imaginable, he woke up feeling as if his heart had grown several sizes. She was a wonder, his own miracle, and he'd not miss one moment glorying in the beauty of that rare find.
"Miss me already?" his wife asked with a secretive grin she tried to hide behind her teacup.
"I do believe the question is if you miss me," he countered, tugging on the sheets as she had them hiding the glory of her naked body.
Good Lord, the woman had the body of a goddess. Oh, he had imagined, but last night, he'd explored every blessed inch. And as soon as he was assured she was properly fed and hydrated, he was going to do the same.
Over and over.
As promised.
She tugged on the sheet, hiking it higher.
He pulled it, trying to snatch it from her grip.
She shook her head, her luscious brown locks dusting her shoulders with the movement. Surely, in all heaven and earth, there was not a more beautiful sight.
"Edmond," She scolded playfully.
How he loved hearing his name on her lips.
Although, his favorite was when she—
"What are you thinking? You have a particularly wicked grin on your face." She tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"About you," he answered, secretively wrapping the sheet around his hand and waiting.
"Oh?" she asked.
"Indeed. I was simply thinking about how much I love hearing you say my name."
"Your name? Like this… Edmond?" She grinned then took a sip of her tea.
The damn liquid had to be cold by now.
"Yes, but I wasn't referring to that particular circumstance." He chuckled as her face heated with a blush.
"Come love, there's no need to be shy." He used her momentary fluster to tug the sheets and succeeded in removing them from her inexcusable modesty.
She gasped and covered herself with her hands.
"Do not block such a lovely view— Wait!" He glanced to the discarded teacup. "How long has it been empty?" he asked, eyes narrowing as his wife giggled.
"Whatever do you mean?" She lost the fight and laughed deeply, the delicious sound filling the room and igniting his burning desire once more.
"Minx." He shook his head, and reached over and pulled her into the lee of his body. "You're chilled," he remarked as he traced kisses down her shoulder toward the particularly delicious landscape before him.
"Wait—" she gasped then pulled back slightly so that she could meet his gaze.
"Carlotta… she told me everything… about Kirby."
"I truly do not wish to speak of that blackguard right now," Neville replied, his tone impatient.
"I understand… but—"
"But I haven't spoken with you about it… and fault is mine. What do you wish to know?" He bit his cheek and tasted blood, hating even the thought of the man who had tried to separate him from the beautiful woman so gloriously naked beside him.
"I simply want to know one thing."
"Blessed providence," he whispered reverently.
She raised a wry brow.
"Apologies." He cleared his throat and glanced away, gathering his control.
"There's no way he could go after Berty?" she asked, her tone small.
Every protective instinct overwhelmed every other sense. Pulling her in tightly, he kissed the top of her head. "No. It's finished. It's done." He held her a moment till he sensed her body relaxing.
"Thank you. I don't think I've even said that yet." Her tone was relieved, yet grateful.
"Anything less wouldn't have been love, my sweet wife." She leaned back and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Love fights when there is a battle. It seeks till it finds, it searches till it's found, it doesn't rest, doesn't give up, doesn't seek itself, but the blessing of the other. It stands for what is right, what is true, what is lovely and beautiful. It's the one reliable truth in a world that compromises on so many other things. It's patient." He offered with a grin as he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss to his wife's lips.
"Exceedingly patient," she whispered against his lips, "even when it doesn't need to be." She invited and deepened the kiss as her arms wound around him, pulling him in tightly.
Not needing further encouragement, he vowed with his body the truth he had spoken.
EPILOGUE
Seven years later
"TRULY, YOU ARE A VISION. I honestly questioned if I'd ever see this day." Beatrix, Countess of Neville, tilted her head in a decidedly motherly fashion as she studied her youngest sister, Roberta Lamont.
"I hesitate to ask why," Berty replied, studying her very wide sister. Truly, there was no other way to describe her sister. While there was much debate on the matter, it was her personal opinion that the Neville brood was about to grow by two. Surely the woman had to be carrying twins to be that large!
"If you make any further comment on my size, I'll… sit on you," Beatrix replied, her eyes narrowing.
"I was thinking nothing of the sort."
"You're a lousy liar."
"Are we all set?" Lord Neville strode into the drawing room, his gaze intent on his wife.
He was famous for that gaze. Truly, from the first ball where they'd attended as husband and wife, the gossip had spread like wildfire, but not as one would assume. They were that season's idyllic love match.
It was sickening, yet sweet at the same time.
As she grew into her majority, she found that she rather wished a gentleman would look at her the same way.
Like she hung the sun, moon, and stars.
"Beatrix, love, you need to be off your feet." Neville guided his wife over to a chair and set her feet upon a stool. Leaning in, he kissed her, and Berty averted her eyes, knowing it was likely not going to be a chaste kiss.
Seriously, it was no wonder they had five children already. Of course, that Beatrix had produced one set of twin girls had added to their heirs considerably.
Neville all but strutted about when one mentioned his brood.
Of course, Beatrix was no less proud. Just, she was so wide she couldn't strut but waddle—
"Truly, I know what you're thinking," her sister cut in again.
"Is it a mother thing? Do you gain th
is ability to read minds once you give birth? Inquiring minds wish to know!" Berty grumbled.
"Yes," Neville and Beatrix answered together then chuckled.
"Where is Bethanny?" Berty lamented.
"Well…" Beatrix glanced away as did Neville.
"Why Berty! You're simply stunning! I never thought I'd see the day." Lady Southridge strode into the room, still spry at her age.
"You and everyone else apparently," Berty shot back, narrowing her eyes at her sister. "And where did you say Bethanny was? She promised she'd be here! It's my debut. She has to be here," Berty whined, unable to restrain herself.
"Bethanny? Oh, I thought you knew, Berty," Carlotta remarked as she entered the now-crowded room.
"Knew about what?" Berty ground out. For as many people as were talking, there was precious little actually being said.
"She's… well, we think she's expecting." Carlotta clapped her hands.
"Again?" Berty blinked.
"This is only number three," Beatrix interjected.
"But, but…" Berty felt her shoulder slump. "She's sick, isn't she?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes, but Graham sent a missive this morning saying she was going to try and make it tonight." Carlotta nodded then strode up to Berty and adjusted her gown. "You're going to be a wild success tonight, love. The duke and I, we are so proud of you." She placed a loving hand on Berty's cheek. "Truly, to have your debut, it's quite a spectacular night. One we've both waited for — and dreaded — knowing that we'd have to bless the intention of some young man seeking your heart." Carlotta's lip trembled slightly. "And to see you in such a beautiful dress…" She shook her head, tears welling up.
Was it truly that astounding for her to be wearing a dress? She was a young lady! What did they expect? Her to show up in a tiger costume?
"All is ready," Murray announced, "and Lady Graham is on her way." He winked at Berty.
"Thank heavens." Berty breathed, thankful that her oldest sister, the one so much like their mother, was going to be present on this, the most important night of her life.
A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3) Page 17