Chapter 18 #2
Catherine grabbed the nearest arrangement and threw it blindly over her shoulder. "Done!"
They fled through the halls of Ravensfield House, guests' laughter following them. James pulled her up the main staircase, down a corridor, through a door she'd never seen before.
The ducal chamber was magnificent—all dark wood and rich fabrics, dominated by an enormous bed that made Catherine's mouth go dry.
James locked the door with decisive finality and turned to face her.
"Hello, wife."
"Hello, husband."
For a moment they just looked at each other, the reality of it overwhelming. They were married. After everything, the night at the inn, three months of separation, weeks of courtship, Miss Worthing's schemes, they were finally, legally, irrevocably married.
"We did it," Catherine said softly.
"We did."
"No more waiting."
"No more waiting," he agreed, moving toward her. "No more careful distance. No more propriety. No more pretending you're not mine."
"I've always been yours."
"And I've always been yours. From that first moment at the inn when you tried to steal my room."
"You tried to steal my room!"
"Details." He reached for the pins in her hair, removing them one by one. "My goodness, I've wanted to do this for months. Take down your hair, take off this dress, worship every inch of you without fear of interruption."
"Then do it," Catherine challenged. "We have all the time in the world now."
"We have forever," he corrected, his fingers working at the buttons of her dress. "And I intend to use every moment of it."
The dress pooled at her feet, followed by layers of petticoats and corset and chemise until she stood before him in nothing but her stockings and garters.
"The blue ribbons," he said roughly. "I knew it."
"You've been thinking about my garters?"
"I've been thinking about everything. Your garters, your thighs, the way you gasp when I..."
She kissed him to stop the words that were making her melt. He responded immediately, his hands roaming her bare skin with three months of pent-up desperation.
"Too many clothes," she gasped, pulling at his cravat.
He helped her, shedding coat and waistcoat and shirt with record speed. When he was finally as bare as she was, they stood looking at each other for a moment.
"You're more beautiful than I remembered," he said softly.
"You remembered?"
"Every detail. Every freckle, every curve, every place that makes you gasp." He lifted her suddenly, carrying her to the bed. "And now I get to rediscover them all."
What followed was nothing like their first time; that... had been exploration and discovery. This was coming home. They knew each other's bodies now, knew exactly how to touch, where to kiss, what would drive the other wild.
"I've dreamed of this," James said against her throat. "Every night for three months."
"Since that night?" Catherine gasped as his mouth moved lower. "I've been dreaming of it every night since."
He looked up at her, his grey eyes dark with passion. "Then let's make reality better than dreams."
And he did.
When they finally collapsed together, spent and sated, the afternoon sun was slanting through the windows.
"How long were we..." Catherine started.
"Three hours," James said immediately. "Three hours and fourteen minutes."
"You weren't actually counting during..."
"I'm always counting when it comes to you. Minutes until I can see you, seconds until I can touch you, heartbeats until I can do that thing that makes you scream my name."
"James!"
"What? We're married now. I can say scandalous things about my wife."
"Your wife," Catherine repeated, savoring the words. "I'm your wife."
"My duchess," he corrected, pulling her closer. "My love. My everything."
"We should probably rejoin our guests eventually."
"Absolutely not. They can entertain themselves."
"Your mother will..."
"My mother will understand completely. Besides, great-aunt Agatha is probably keeping everyone entertained with more inappropriate stories."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, hands exploring lazily, neither willing to break the spell.
"Was it worth it?" James asked suddenly. "The wait, the propriety, the almost-scandal?"
Catherine considered. "Ask me again in fifty years."
"I will," he promised. "Every day for fifty years and beyond."
"And I'll tell you the same thing every time."
"Which is?"
"That you were worth everything. The scandal, the waiting, the danger. All of it."
"Even Miss Worthing?"
"Especially Miss Worthing. She proved something important."
"What's that?"
"That you'll fight for me. Lie for me. Protect me even when it risks everything."
"Always," he said seriously. "I will always protect you, Catherine."
"And I'll protect you."
"From what?"
"From yourself, mostly. You have terrible impulses."
"Like what?"
"Like throwing pebbles at my window while drunk. Like proposing in the middle of ballrooms. Like kissing me in front of archbishops."
"Those were excellent impulses."
"They were dramatic impulses."
"I'm a dramatic person. You knew this when you married me."
"I knew it when I seduced you at an inn."
"You seduced me? I seduced you!"
"We seduced each other," Catherine decided. "Mutual seduction."
"I can accept that." He rolled over, pinning her beneath him. "Speaking of mutual seduction..."
"Again? Already?"
"Catherine, my darling duchess, we have three months of separation to make up for. We're going to be here for days."
"Days?"
"Weeks, possibly."
"James, we can't stay in bed for weeks."
"Watch us."
And as he proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he had in mind for those weeks, Catherine decided that maybe, just maybe, they could stay in bed for a very long time indeed.