“How do you feel, darling?” He drew her to him gently and kissed her as she loved best, hot and hungry and open-mouthed, as if he could not get enough of her.
“I feel well enough to attend Duncan’s wedding,” she assured him when their mouths parted at last and she was breathless, a fresh ache of need building inside her. She supposed it would always be thus between them—fierce and all-consuming. And she would not have it any other way.
Thankfully, the sickness that had been plaguing her in the mornings had seemed to subside in the last few days. This morning, she felt no nausea at all. Instead, she felt nothing more than deep, abiding happiness. Not just contentedness, but the swelling sensation she was precisely where she was meant to be, in the arms of the man who owned her heart.
“Mmm.” Her husband’s mouth settled upon the hollow behind her ear, driving her mad. “I still cannot countenance Duncan is about to be wed.”
Nor could she. The raffish gaming hell owner’s abrupt nuptials had come as a surprise. As had his choice of bride. All London was abuzz with the news, as it was not every day that one duke’s bastard wedded another duke’s daughter. The scandal sheets were rife with speculation and caricatures calling it the mésalliance of the age. For Duncan’s sake, Jacinda hoped he would find the same love and passion with his new wife she and Crispin had found together.
“Much has changed,” she said softly.
Father had taken up residence in Whitley House, and Con and Nora were getting on famously with their new governess. Nary one dead rodent had been hidden in recent months, nor had any impromptu sledding sessions occurred down the main staircase. Crispin’s nightmares had grown far less frequent and pronounced, and word had recently reached London the Marquess of Searle had been liberated from the enemy forces holding him captive.
“I can think of one change more than others that pleases me the most.” Crispin’s hands, large and gentle and strong, came between them to cup the slight roundness of her belly through her gown. “I cannot wait to meet my flame-haired daughter. She will be as willful and stubborn and intelligent and beautiful as her mama, I know.”
She could not suppress her smile as she covered his hands with hers. “Or you shall have a dark-haired son who is as wonderful, honorable, witty, and handsome as his father.”
“Daughter or son, of one thing I am certain.” He kissed her throat, inhaling deeply as if he could not get enough of her scent, and continued his slow caress of the place where their child grew. “I am the most fortunate man in the world.”
Her love for him rose within her, coalescing with need. It had been a mere two hours since he had last made love to her in the earliest strains of the morning, and still she wanted more.
She kissed his ear, catching the shell between her teeth and giving it a naughty tug that made a groan rumble deep in his throat. “And I am the most fortunate woman in the world, my love.”
“Minx,” he said as his wicked mouth found hers once more. Framing her face in his palms, he kissed her deeply, his tongue toying with hers.
An answering sluice of need ran through her. Her busy fingers found the fall of his breeches, and she cupped the long, hard length of him. “Oh, dear,” she whispered against his lips. “I do not think you ought to attend Duncan’s wedding in such a state, Your Grace.”
He grinned down at her, his pale gray eyes burning with the promise of pleasure. “What do you propose to do about it, Duchess of Depravity?”
She freed one button, then another. “I do believe we have an hour to spare before we are required elsewhere. Do you think it ample time in which I can ravish you, sir?”
“Bloody hell, woman. There is always time for that.”
“And that,” she said with a grin of her own, “is just one of the many reasons why I love you.”
His mouth came down upon hers, voracious as ever. “God, I love you Cin,” he murmured when their lips parted once more. He scooped her up into his arms then, carrying her to the bed. “Now let my ravishment commence.”
About the Author
Bestselling author Scarlett Scott writes steamy Victorian and Regency historical romances with strong, intelligent heroines and sexy alpha heroes. She lives in Pennsylvania with her Canadian husband, their adorable identical twins, and one TV-loving dog.
A self-professed literary junkie and nerd, she loves reading anything but especially romance novels, poetry, and Middle English verse. When she’s not reading, writing, wrangling toddlers, or camping, you can catch up with her on her website. Hearing from readers never fails to make her day.
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Duke of Depravity (Sins and Scoundrels Book 1) Page 27