Chapter 33 Contemplating in the Dark
Contemplating in the Dark
Meanwhile, back in Vittoria’s bedchamber
Unsteady on her feet, Vittoria practically fell back on the bed, her fingers clutching the counterpane for support.
She lifted one of her hands to her lips, her forefinger and middle finger brushing over the plumped pillows made more so by David’s scorching kiss.
Had that really happened? Had she really allowed it to happen? Not once had she thought to bring up a knee or lift a hand with the intention of slapping him across the face.
She’d had no hint of his intentions.
She’d had no warning he would do such a thing.
He didn’t even like her.
Or did he?
She supposed the moment she gave in and offered her feet to his therapeutic hands had emboldened him. Closing her eyes, she remembered how good his fingers had felt rubbing the balls of her feet, pressing against her arches, massaging her sore toes. The sensations had been positively blissful.
This was something he claimed husbands did for their wives? Not that she had ever heard, but she had lived a fairly sheltered life, her parents not allowing her in mixed company other than during dinners or soirées. No one talked about foot massages during such entertainments.
Pity.
She could imagine how the men might boast of their skillful hands instead of the other skills they hinted at with their double entendres and waggling eyebrows.
And hadn’t he made some mention of seeing to it his wife would have a shoemaker create half-boots and slippers better suited to her actual feet and not some antiquated idea of fashionable footwear?
The thought of having her own shoemaker brought a smile to her lips, and she once again remembered the kiss.
She supposed he had merely proven her assessment he was a rogue. Yes, that was it. Take liberties by invading her bedchamber in the middle of the night, massage her feet, and kiss her senseless.
A rather effective strategy, she had to admit. She certainly enjoyed it.
All of it.
There had been that moment before he touched his lips to her when his fingers had slid over her cheeks and down to her neck, leaving tingles in their wake.
That moment when their lips touched and his eyes had closed, and she could make out his long, dark lashes resting on the tops of his cheekbones.
There had been a stab of jealousy thinking his lashes were more lush than her own before their lips suddenly locked and she was forced to close her own eyes and concentrate on exactly what it was she was supposed to do during a kiss.
Apparently, a slight suckling was the only effort required to satisfy him, for she was sure she heard his moan of contentment after only a few seconds.
Or was that hers?
That he could continue the kiss without inserting more than the tip of his tongue past her lips was a testament to his skill—or perhaps lack of it.
He hadn’t tried to invade her mouth with his entire tongue, nor had he touched hers in an effort to engage it in some sort of duel.
Armenia had warned her only a few nights ago that men tended to kiss with their tongues in the manner of the French.
The idea of it had disgusted her.
So when David hadn’t done anything more than touch his tongue to her teeth, she had been pleasantly surprised. Pleasantly pleased, for the sensation had been a tickle of sorts.
And he hadn’t slobbered like some Alpenmastiff happy to discover his master.
She lifted her hands to her face, surprised to discover there were still tears on her cheeks. Glancing about, she realized she had dropped her handkerchief on the nightstand. Retrieving it, she wiped her face and sniffled one last time.
Pulling back the bed linens, she regarded the expanse of white and wondered what it would be like to climb into bed with a man.
With David.
An odd sensation fluttered through her abdomen, and she inhaled softly. Placing a hand over her belly, she grinned as she settled onto the bed and stretched.
Her feet no longer hurt. Her lips seemed to buzz with excitement. Her breasts felt heavy, the nipples hard enough to poke against the fabric of her nightrail. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have left the bed and gone in search of David’s bedchamber.
Make him finish what he had started, whatever that might be.
The thought had her eyes widening in shock.
What?
Give a rogue what he wants? Willingly?
Never.