Chapter 14 #2
Although he would have liked to continue kissing his way down her body, he attended to his task, that of loosening the waistband of her skirt and freeing the tapes of her petticoat and hoops.
If he’d been profligate, he would have simply sliced through them with a knife.
He gave more than a passing thought to doing just that, with the reasoning he was wealthy again.
What was money for if not to use it to one’s advantage?
He could certainly afford a few dozen petticoats and hoops, but just as he was at the point of leaving her in search of a knife, the knot loosened in his fingers.
Slowly, he allowed the hoops and petticoats to drift to the floor, along with Veronica’s skirt.
He slipped the bodice from her shoulders and watched as it slid down her arms, the material catching on her elbows. With a shake, Veronica loosened it, and it fell to the floor.
She was a Botticelli Venus. Instead of emerging naked from a shell, she stood straight, clad in her corset, shift, pantaloons, and stockings.
“Women wear entirely too many clothes,” he said.
She didn’t reply, but a look passed between them, one reminding him of yesterday.
He bent, pushing aside the frothy mountain of her garments to unfasten each shoe.
“Step up,” he said.
Veronica put her hands on his shoulders for balance, lifted her foot so he could remove her shoes, one at a time.
She sighed, and he glanced up to see her eyes close, a smile curve her lips.
“Your shoes don’t fit properly,” he said, wondering why he hadn’t noticed yesterday.
She looked down at him. “They aren’t actually my shoes,” she admitted. “They belong to my cousin, Anne.”
He sat back on his heels. “You don’t have shoes?”
“I lost mine at the Society, remember?” she said.
“Along with your spare shift?”
She nodded.
“But I gained a husband,” she said, before he could speak. Her glance encompassed the sitting room, the view beyond the darkened window. “And a palace in which to live. What’s a pair of shoes?”
“Gleneagle had its share of seamstresses,” he said. “No doubt Doncaster Hall does as well.”
“And cobblers?”
He nodded.
Her garters were next, lacy little bits of silk.
He untied them, pulled them from her legs, slowly pushing down her stockings one leg at a time.
Only then did he stand, to see her face had flushed, reminding him that his bride, despite her response to him, was only one day removed from her virginity.
She flattened her hands against her thighs and fisted them.
Her knees were so perfectly formed that he stroked his hands over each, his fingertips delicately tracing a pattern behind them. She moved her leg, and he looked up, to find her lips curved in a smile.
“Ticklish?” he asked.
She nodded.
His palms made a leisurely path down her legs to the delicate curves of her ankles, fingers playing across the top of each pretty foot.
Her toes clenched in the carpet, inciting him to smile.
He rubbed his fingers over the red spots on her toes, wishing he had noted her ill-fitting shoes before this.
Sitting back, he allowed his gaze to travel up her body, taking in the sight of Veronica being seduced.
Reaching up, he pulled at the drawstring of her pantaloons, then stripped the garment from her. The shift was entirely too modest, coming almost mid-thigh. He wanted her naked.
Without standing, he reached up and tugged at each corset string, grateful this knot, at least, was easily untied.
When the corset was loosened, he grabbed it, hefted it in his hands, wondering why he hadn’t noticed a day ago how heavy it was.
Her shift was a well-washed linen, so sheer he could see the red marks around her waist. Standing, he pulled her shift over her head, tracing each line the corset had made.
Her breasts were perfect globes, with large coral areolas surrounding beautiful long nipples.
Bending his head, he kissed an angry-looking mark trailing from the center of her breasts to just above her navel.
Her swift inhalation of breath made him smile.
Her eyes widened, and her color mounted as his hand trailed down to cup her gently.
Her lips parted as she made a movement against his hand.
The fluid slide of his fingers was enough to make her tremble.
He turned his head, kissed her softly on the temple, and murmured her name.
Her hand gripped his arm, and he stilled the action of his hand, waited to see if she would pull away.
She remained where she was, her eyes closed, lips parted, and a pink flush coloring her cheeks.
He didn’t say a word, merely bent his head to kiss her lips lightly. Her mouth opened as she leaned toward him. He indulged himself in another kiss before pulling away. He had other things planned first.
He took her hand and walked her through the sitting room to his chamber. She pulled away at the door, returning to her room and extinguishing the lamp on the table before returning to his side.
Grabbing her hand again, he walked her up the steps and to the bed atop the dais. Only then did he release her, long enough to lift her in his arms and place her gently in the middle of the bed.
There she lay, a feast for him, her legs spread to reveal the glistening heart of her.
She was delicious, and he was so damn aroused he would have begged if she’d denied him.
He dragged off his shirt, his shoulders arching. He toed off his boots, watching her. Not once did she shield herself from him. Her arms rested at her sides, her hands flat against the coverlet. Her eyes were beginning to deepen in color, as if passion were heating her inside.
He wanted to explore every part of her. He wanted to taste and touch every inch.
Unfastening his trousers, he pulled his clothing off impatiently. Lowering himself to the bed, one hand traveled from her wrist, up her arm, across her shoulder, then down.
She sighed when he cupped a breast, teased the nipple. Slowly, his eyes still on hers so she’d have no doubt of his intent, he bent and took her nipple into his mouth. As he gently pulled with his lips, her hand came up to rest against his cheek.
His lips smoothed over her skin, teeth scraping against her curves as if to mark her as his. He was suddenly desperate to mate, urgent in a way he’d rarely been.
His fingers slid over her, into her as she flowed around him, liquid and soft. The feel of her was almost too much. Not yet. He wanted her panting and wanting before he entered her.
Her skin was flushed, felt hot; her eyes were closed as he drew small circles around her softness, moving faster, then slower.
“Montgomery.” His name was a siren call, a sweet, crooning sigh.
He raised his head, met her eyes, before moving down her body. When his mouth touched her, she gasped aloud in shock.
He placed his hands on each of her thighs, smoothing his palms against her heated skin as he spread her open.
His mouth feasted on her as she made a sound in the back of her throat.
Both of her hands flailed in the air, then gripped the coverlet.
He felt her fingers dance across the top of his head, then her hips arch against him as he flicked his tongue across her.
She twisted in his grip as he tasted her, until she shuddered against him. and he was drenched with her passion.
He rose, looked at her. She lay splayed across the bed, her legs spread, her arms outstretched, her breasts heaving.
Her taste was on his tongue, the need for her a pounding beat in his blood.
He slid into her, bracing himself on his forearms, playing with the damp tendrils of hair at her temples.
He moved over her like a shadow, a promise.
She moaned, called his name as he rocked back and forth until he’d seated himself completely in her.
He could feel her clench around him, almost came at that moment, the pleasure crawling up his spine and shivering through his body.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes opened, dazed, alarmed, and pleased all at once. He wanted to fill her, lose himself in her, bury himself in the sweet heat of her body.
In her, he sought both forgiveness and forgetfulness.
Veronica gripped his shoulders, pulled him to her with the tyranny of the aroused. Her eyes closed, and she peaked again, her surprised gasp of pleasure summoning another of his smiles.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and he closed his eyes at the sight of it, buried his face in her hair, and felt himself erupt in a gushing flood.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, held him tight. He moved to the side and pulled her atop him. She tucked her head against him, her breath against his neck. Her heartbeat mirrored his in its frenetic race. Her skin was damp; his hand stroked over the curve of her bottom possessively.
Words failed him. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. Not only was he physically sated, but he felt almost at peace, as if this act, this woman, had the power to reach deep inside and ease all the wounded places inside him.
A few moments later, she raised her head, propped her chin on her folded hands, and studied his face.
What did she see there?
Uncomfortable with her wordless inspection, he moved her away from him, suddenly hoping she wouldn’t speak.
When she was a little girl, Veronica had thought the world a magical place, where people like her, possessed of special gifts, were welcomed and understood. Maturity had left her with the knowledge people would never truly understand her Gift, and it was foolish to consider the world enchanted.
Yet, now, she wondered if she’d been wrong. What she’d felt with Montgomery had been nothing less than magic.
As he left the bed, she sat up, feeling self-conscious for the first time since he’d arrived in her sitting room.
He went to where his trunks were stacked along one wall and unerringly chose the second to the last, opened it, and withdrew a robe.
She’d thought he meant to wear it, but he returned to the bed naked, evidently feeling no shame about the state of his undress.
Why should he? He was so magnificently constructed that even then, when her body still thrummed from the pleasure he’d given her, she wanted to run her hands over his arms and legs, curve her palm around his shoulders, stroke his chest, and admire the man Providence, and her own impulsiveness, had made her husband.
He gently pulled her to her feet, placed the robe around her shoulders, helping one arm, then the other, into the sleeves.
The robe felt like silk, sliding against her skin in a whisper of coolness.
He folded one lapel over the other, wrapped the belt around her twice, then tied it in a bow in the front, as if she were a precious package.
She didn’t know what to say to him. What words were proper? Should she even have any comments about what had just transpired between them?
Raising her hand, she placed it on the side of his face, her fingertips brushing against his night beard. Although he was clean-shaven, unlike most of the men of her acquaintance, his cheek was bristly.
They exchanged a long, wordless look, one that might be interpreted any way she wished. She gathered the material of the robe in one hand so she wouldn’t trip and stepped down from the dais.
She halted at the door and looked back at him. He was standing there, still naked.
When Montgomery didn’t speak, she left him, doing so with the sense that perhaps he’d have spoken if she’d only had the words or the wit to coax his thoughts free.