Chapter 4
King woke to the faint gilt streams of dawn sifting through the window dressings and the rustling of fabric as Verity slipped back into her discarded dressing gown.
She had spent most of the night in his arms, sleeping in his bed, and he would ponder the meaning of how easily he had surrendered later.
For now, there was the pressing matter of his wife about to flee his bedroom.
He’d slept like the dead for the first time in as long as he could recall.
Ordinarily, he stayed up far too late and slumbered for only a few hours, plagued by nightmares and restlessness.
Bedding her had been the most exquisitely pleasurable moment of his life.
How he had ever believed he would be capable of resisting her and waiting to consummate the marriage was a tremendous mystery to him this morning.
She had dismantled all his plans, and he didn’t have a modicum of regret.
“Blasphemy,” he said, his voice still raspy with sleep.
Verity gave a start, her sharp intake of breath telling him how surprised she was to find him awake. “You’re not sleeping.”
“Should I be, so that you can sneak out of my room like a thief in the night?”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” she denied hastily.
“No? Then why are you leaving without saying a word to me?” His cock was already furiously rigid, making a tent of the sheet and counterpane.
He wanted her again.
Now that she had proven he possessed no restraint where she was concerned, he may as well enjoy himself. Even if she was sore, there was more than one way to pleasure a woman, and he could take himself in hand afterward.
“I am awake,” she said as if that alone were an explanation.
“As am I,” he pointed out.
She fussed with her dressing gown in the shadows, pulling it over her glorious breasts. “Yes, but I didn’t wish to disturb you.”
But not before he had spied that her pretty little nipples were hard. His cock pulsed, liking that image very, very much.
“You can never disturb me,” he reassured her. “You are my wife now.”
The word wife was still somewhat foreign on his tongue, still new. But he liked it. Liked it far too much.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“And as we’ve established, I may have been but am quite awake now.” Especially a certain portion of his anatomy.
She bit her lip. “I only wanted to let you rest. You look so peaceful in sleep. One would never know you have a razor-blade wit and a dagger for a tongue when you’re lost in slumber.”
He barked out a laugh at her description of him, for it was rather apt, he had to admit; he had never been known for his kindness. “You should know there is nothing peaceful about me, angel.”
Nor was there anything good about him. But he didn’t want to warn her about that now and ruin the easy camaraderie between them. She would eventually learn as much on her own.
“You know what I mean.” She tilted her head, considering him through the shadows. “Do you want me to stay? I had no notion of when your valet arrives in the morning, and I was worried it would be improper for me to be here with you should he come to perform his morning duties.”
She sounded worried. His angelic Verity.
She cared for everyone far too much. For the orphans, which had nearly managed to see her killed.
For her brother, who was a muleheaded bear.
For her mother, who didn’t deserve it. For her departed betrothed, who hadn’t been alive these last ten years to appreciate it.
And now for King himself, who certainly deserved her concern the least.
Something was clearly quite wrong with him, because her goodness only made him want to fuck her more. He was a depraved bastard.
“Hutchens will come when I ring for him,” he told her. “You need not worry about any of the servants. They are not paid to judge us. Besides, you are my duchess now, and you may do as you please.”
“Entirely as I please?”
She seemed to like the notion of that. He wondered what she could possibly want that had been denied her.
A wild notion came to him then, of showering her in jewels and gowns and flowers and books and shoes and whatever else she longed for.
He could spoil her. The idea gave him more pleasure than he had believed possible.
“Yes, entirely,” he said. “Only tell me what you want, and it shall be yours.”
He meant it. By God, he would allow this woman to drain him utterly dry, and he wouldn’t regret it for a second. The power she held over him was astonishing. He must never tell her.
“You are very generous, husband.”
If only she knew how generous he wanted to be, how much he longed to give her. Verity was a dangerous woman indeed.
“I can be more generous,” he said in his most cajoling tone. “Come back to bed and let me show you.”
She hesitated. “But the servants…”
“Have no business poking their noses into our privacy as husband and wife,” he finished for her. “If anyone dares to open either of these doors without my permission, I’ll have their head on a pike.”
She moved nearer to him. “Bloodthirsty of you.”
“Mmm, I am positively Machiavellian in the morning.” He patted the bed at his side, still warm from when she’d lain there.
“I don’t think such a thing is done these days—heads on pikes, that is.” She stopped at the edge of the mattress, her voice gently teasing.
And he knew that he had won this particular battle.
He grinned. “A trifling concern. I shall give them all the sack instead.”
“And then you shall be obliged to wait upon me all day,” she countered, shrugging out of her dressing gown. “I don’t know if you should like to be my lady’s maid.”
“I can think of nothing I would like better.”
She pursed her lips. “Are you proficient at lacing a corset?”
“I fear I may be far more skilled at removing one,” he drawled.
“I suppose you would be.”
He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Either way, his past was where it belonged. He had no notion of what the future held for either of them, but he did know that he hungered for her in a way he had never wanted another.
“I am a beastly man, my love, but I am yours now.”
“Would you truly sack everyone if I wished it?”
“Perhaps not Hutchens. He is quite adroit with a razor, and he presses my coats and shirts to perfection.”
Verity laughed at that. “You, sir, are a vainglorious popinjay.”
“I have never claimed to be otherwise. And you, madam, are a naked delight. Come here.”
She delighted him even further by obliging him, joining him back in bed. The height of the massive, carved oak furniture left her needing a hand, and he pulled her to him with ease. She settled against him with a sound that was remarkably akin to a purr.
“How soon do you think we shall have steps?” she asked.
Her breasts were pressed temptingly to his chest, and it took him a moment to gather his wits sufficiently to answer her.
“I could simply lift you in and out of my bed,” he suggested, enjoying the notion of taking her in his arms whenever he wished and carrying her about.
It was rather deliciously barbaric.
“You shall break your back,” she denied. “I must insist upon steps. I always believed myself tall by any lady’s standards, but I feel as if I am a child when I try to get into this bed.”
“Since I plan on having you here as often as possible, I reckon I must see about the steps. I’ll have Pierpont take care of it.”
She smelled so damned good. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled roses and bergamot and Verity.
Her hand settled on his chest, her finger lazily drawing slow circles over his bare skin.
Did they ever have to leave this bed? He hoped not.
He could think of at least two dozen more ways to pleasure her before the day was done.
Where to begin?
“That is very considerate of you,” his new wife said in a tone he recognized.
“I’m not a considerate man,” he countered, needing to disabuse her of the notion that any part of him was good. “I’m a selfish one, and I want you to myself as much as I’m able to have you.”
He reminded himself that she had been a virgin.
That he couldn’t simply have his wicked way with her as his rampaging cock currently demanded.
He had to take care. To be gentle. But damn him if his prick didn’t ache even more at the reminder that he had been the one to claim her.
That for all the love she’d had for her former betrothed, it had been King to whom she had given herself.
Under false pretenses, his conscience reminded him.
He tamped down the voice and told his conscience to go to the devil where it belonged. It was too late to do what was right, and he didn’t want to anyway, because it would mean he’d have to tell Verity the truth. He had no intention of ever doing so.
“You can have me to yourself as much as you like,” she told him softly, her fingertip still gliding over his chest in a whisper-light tease.
Bloody hell. How was it that Verity could put even the most practiced seductresses he’d met to shame? He was reasonably certain he would crawl through a bed of poisonous snakes, broken glass, and flame just to kiss her toes.
“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, thinking of their honeymoon and how he would have an entire week to fuck her as thoroughly and as often as he liked.
Paradise.
She slanted a glance in his direction. “I hope I do.”
His heart thudded, and all the blood in his being seemed to rush directly to his groin at that moment. “You’ve no idea, angel.”
She rose on her elbow and leaned over him, her hair curtaining his face as she found his lips, kissing him with the same passionate abandon he found irresistible.
It was the bright exuberance with which she approached every day, each obstacle.
She had been burned and nearly lost her life, and she hadn’t complained.
Not one word. He was going to enjoy the bloody hell out of spoiling her during their honeymoon.
Pleasure, food, gifts. He intended to give her everything he could.