Chapter 14
14
Constantine paused in the library doorway, his breath catching at the sight before him. Modesty lay curled on the sofa, a book resting forgotten upon her chest. Her copper hair had come partially loose from its pins, spilling across the cushions in gentle waves. She had drawn her legs up, wrapping herself in the soft folds of her shawl like a sleeping cat. The only light came from a five-branched candelabra on the side table, its flames casting a golden glow across her peaceful features.
His throat tightened with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. There was something achingly intimate about finding her like this—her guard completely down, her face softened in sleep, trusting and vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be in waking hours. The domesticity of the scene struck him with unexpected force. This was his wife, in his home, surrounded by his books. The thought filled him with a possessive tenderness that both thrilled and terrified him.
Earlier today, he had visited the pawn shop that had acquired Mr. Lester’s worldly goods. The box had been sold, but with financial encouragement, the shop owner had agreed to give him the name of the buyer: the Marchioness of Virtoux.
Nothing had prepared Constantine for this twist of fate. The marchioness was one of London’s most notorious gossips. And she was the same woman hosting tomorrow’s antiquarian soirée, where half the ton would gather to examine her latest acquisitions.
If Lady Virtoux had found the letter, she certainly had the power to ruin him. He had gone to call on her directly, but she was not at home. The possibility that she might be the blackmailer gnawed at his thoughts, disturbing his joyful reflections of happy times with his wife—like their dance lesson…like yesterday, with Augustus…
Quietly, Constantine moved through the library towards Modesty, not wanting to wake her. He stood by her side and allowed himself the secret pleasure of simply watching her sleep. He marveled at the way her long eyelashes cast shadows, the way her translucent eyelids trembled slightly as she dreamed.
She was…
His.
His to protect. His to cherish. His to crave. He may not deserve her, but she was his wife.
Though he had vowed not to insist she take him into her bed until she was ready, his body betrayed him. Heavens, even just thinking of her… He feared another rejection, yet his blood burned for her.
Driven by an impulse he distantly thought was a bad idea, he picked her up from the sofa, cradling her in his arms. She sighed, settling against his chest as naturally as if she belonged there. The slight weight of her tall, slim frame felt right in his arms.
As he carried her from the library, he was intoxicated by the whisper of her sweet breath, the silk of her hair against his cheek, the subtle perfume that mingled with her own scent. In the weeks since their wedding, she had transformed herself with remarkable dedication. Her bearing had grown more assured, her manner more refined. Though she now dressed with all the elegance her position demanded, he found her most beautiful like this—unguarded, utterly herself.
Halfway up the stairs, she stirred in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion turning to awareness as she found herself cradled against his chest. He expected her to pull away, but instead she held his gaze, the candlelight from the wall sconces casting golden shadows across her face.
Her pink lips parted slightly, her breath warm against his chin. The firelight reflected in her green eyes drew him in until resistance became impossible. With exquisite slowness, he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his own.
When Modesty opened her eyes, a tingling sensation ran through her entire body. She was in his strong arms—pressed to his warm, incredibly solid chest.
Candlelight showed the stark lines and shadowed angles of his face, his chestnut eyes so dark they seemed bottomless.
This man, usually as cold as ice, as sure as an arrow, always in control, now stared at her with naked desire. The heat in his eyes made her weak.
And so when he leaned down to her, she couldn’t stop him—because she didn’t want to.
Every day and night since the wedding she had dreamt of that first kiss in her chamber, and then the second one in the closeness of the carriage.
His lips were firm yet tender, and she surrendered to his kiss as he claimed her, devoured her, teased her. She wrapped her arms around his neck to bring herself closer. How could she not?
Her body melted against his as he lifted his head and continued up the stairs. She could barely breathe, heat pooling low in her belly, dampness gathering between her thighs.
He resumed kissing her as he strolled down the hallway. Her bedchamber door stood ajar—the maids must have left it so when turning down her bed—and he shouldered it open without breaking their embrace. She was aware they’d reached her bed only when her back met the mattress.
And then he was on top of her.
Still kissing her.
And she was burning.
His hands roamed her body, and even through her corset and gown, each caress sent shivers along her skin. When he cupped her breast, a moan escaped her. His tongue deepened their kiss as he pressed against her, the hard length of him creating a delicious friction that had her arching instinctively, seeking more of that unfamiliar pleasure.
He moaned as her hips moved.“Modesty…” he murmured. “You’re going to make me lose all control…”
What a bizarre notion. Normally, he was the one with all the power…and now she felt like the one in control. A rare feeling in her life.
She liked it.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured hoarsely, barely tearing his mouth from hers.
“No,” she managed through ragged breaths, and she’d never been more sincere about anything. “Don’t stop.”
He gave a sound of male distress and returned to her mouth. And all she could think was…more. She wanted more of his lips, and tongue, and hands, and legs, and that hard thing that was pressing into her.
He pulled back just enough to untie his cravat, shrug out of his coat, then his waistcoat. She reached up to help him tug his shirt over his head, eager to stroke the skin beneath. His chest was broad and well-muscled, dusted with dark hair. She ran her fingers over his silky, hot skin. Stroking him felt like touching a flame without being burned.
When his hand traced up her leg, she knew she should be scandalized. With no mother to guide her through these mysteries, she’d heard only whispers from the women at the almshouse about what happened between man and wife. But this felt natural, right. Timidness and desire fought within her. He brushed his hand up the inside of her leg, leaving a trace of intensely exquisite sensation. And she gasped when she realized he was going to reach her?—
Oh!
He moved to the side and lay next to her, cupping her sex with his hand. She jerked as delicious warmth spread through her most intimate parts. And she had a strange urge to press against his hand, to move against it like she had just moved against the bulge in his breeches. His fingers spread her folds and he explored her, rubbing gently, dipping into her entrance.
She gasped as waves of bliss surged through her. Oh, his touch…
“Hmmm,” he murmured hoarsely against her neck. “You’re soaking wet.”
She licked her lips, moving her hips, searching for his fingers.“Is that good?” she asked.
“Very,” he rumbled softly. “It means you want me and are ready to take me in.”
His finger found a secret spot that sent rapture coursing through her veins. Her back arched on its own, and she clawed desperately at the blanket beneath her.
“Take you in?” she rasped. “How?”
He chuckled as he changed the position of his hand, and one of his fingers began probing inside her while others kept rubbing at the wondrous place he had found.“Like so,” he said, gently exploring her tight entrance. His skilled fingers found places that made her gasp, while his thumb stroked that sensitive spot that sent sparks through her body.
She was in heaven. No, in some sort of hell bathing in pleasure and yet wanting more, and it was all building and building.
“But it wouldn’t be my finger, my sweet girl,” he murmured.
“What would it be?”
He chuckled. “Something big…” He increased the pressure and speed of his movements. “Something hard…” His finger was diving deeper into her. “You’ll see…” His fingers were stretching her with an exquisite tension that balanced between discomfort and bliss as he reached some spot inside her that intensified everything.
“So innocent,” he purred as he kissed her ear, and more sensations danced through her. “So pure. Mine. Mine alone.”
She shivered at that, and something happened deep within her core. The ecstasy reached heights she never knew existed. She couldn’t do anything. Only feel it, ride it, as her muscles tensed, and she cried out.
She burst with it, into millions of stars, as his hands drew out every last tremor of her release, her entire body spasming. And then she felt warm and heavy, and all she could do was roll onto her side. Held close in his arms, she breathed in his delicious scent…and slept.