Chapter 16
Verity stared at her reflection in the mirror, scarcely recognizing herself.
The woman looking back at her was dressed in a deep-purple silk velvet evening gown made specifically for her.
The bodice clung lovingly to her silhouette, the décolletage cut daringly low.
At her throat, the diamond necklace King bought her sparkled brilliantly, matching the brooch pinned to her bodice, her earrings, and the tiara perched carefully upon her intricate coiffure.
A soft knock sounded at the door connecting her room to King’s, her sign that he, too, had finished dressing for the ball they were about to host together.
“Come in,” she said, nervousness skittering through her as she turned away from the mirror to find her handsome husband crossing the threshold.
He stopped mid-stride as if he had run into a wall, his dark eyes devouring her.
“Sweet Christ, angel. You are incomparable.”
Warmth swept over her. King never failed to make her feel beautiful and loved. It was his particular gift.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. “Do you think I shall successfully browbeat everyone in attendance into donating as much as possible to the cause?”
He chuckled softly. “I have no doubt you shall.”
She allowed her gaze to travel over his form appreciatively. He was dressed in evening black, his suit tailored to perfection, a crisp white shirt and a tie at his throat. His dark hair was recently trimmed and his angular jaw cleanly shaven.
“You are wonderfully handsome as always,” she said, closing the distance between them. “I fear that in addition to browbeating, I shall also have to sternly chase away all the ladies who will be fawning over you.”
“I am pleased you find me so, my love.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.
“Your opinion is the only one that matters to me, and as for the ladies, I would happily chase them away myself. My heart is yours. I, meanwhile, shall be busy trying not to thrash every man who dares to admire you.”
She had a sudden, fleeting feeling she had heard him issue a similar warning before, but she couldn’t call up the memory. It was hazy and indistinct at best, but she swore she could remember him threatening to thrash someone for making her weep.
“What is it?” he asked, kissing her inner wrist. “What makes you frown, angel?”
Verity forced a smile, telling herself she was being silly. “I could have sworn I remembered you promising to thrash someone for making me weep. But I cannot seem to recall where, when, or why. It must have been a dream.”
His grasp on her hand tightened slightly. “It must have been.” He kissed higher along her wrist before straightening. “Although I can assure you that I would be more than happy to thrash anyone who so much as made you frown, let alone weep, my love.”
“Between you and Everett, I have quite the protectors.”
A shadow passed over her husband’s features. “I hope your brother can behave himself this evening.”
She sighed, for Everett hadn’t shown any indication of relenting. “He is stubborn, as you know, but Sybil will be at his side to keep him at his best.”
“He ought to kiss her hems.”
“I suspect he does.” She smiled, thinking of how besotted her brother was. “It is wonderful to see him and Sybil together.”
“I am happy for Riverdale, but I do hope he could find it in his icy heart to be happy for us as well.” King’s voice was wry.
“He is relenting,” she reassured him. “Only look at how long it took him to realize he was in love with his wife, when he was smitten from the moment he first met her.”
“I shall defer to your infallible sense of optimism, my love.” He grinned. “Now, enough talk about your brother, if you please. I want to bask in the sight of you. Spin about so I may see the full effect of your gloriousness.”
“Gloriousness?” She laughed, charmed as always. “You see me every day, silly.”
“Humor your poor, infatuated husband.” He was still holding her hand, which he now held aloft with the intent to whirl her about as if they were on a crowded dance floor.
Verity obliged, allowing him to twirl her slowly for his delectation.
“You are,” he said, all the levity leaching from his face, “without doubt, the loveliest woman I have ever beheld.”
“You flatter me.”
“There’s no need to, angel. You are beautiful. I cannot tell you how proud I shall be to stand at your side this evening. You are the finest woman I know.”
King’s expression, like his tone, was earnest and devoid of his customary polish and rakish air. He meant what he was saying. His pride in her and his praise suffused her with warmth.
“Thank you, my love.” She couldn’t resist stepping into him, not caring if her skirts were crushed.
She rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. King’s response was instant. His hands went to her waist, holding her against his strong, lean form as he ravished her lips. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against hers.
She groaned as a feverish need—never far when her husband was about—awakened in her.
“I don’t suppose we have enough time to dress a second time before the ball begins,” she grumbled into his kiss.
He kissed her swiftly and then lifted his head, staring down at her hungrily. “My wicked wife. I’ve taught you well. Perhaps there’s not sufficient time to dress again, but there might be time for a bit of fun.”
Anticipation coursed through her. She thought she knew what he had in mind.
“Won’t my skirts get dreadfully wrinkled?” she asked, breathless.
King grinned. “Do you care?”
“No.”
“Excellent answer, my love.” He removed her hands from his shoulders and held them in his. “Come.”
“Where are you taking me, you scandalous man?” she asked as he tugged her across the Axminster.
“To heaven in a moment.”
“You are irredeemable.”
“And I am forever yours.” He led her to the chair at her writing desk. “Have a seat, angel.”
“King,” she protested, although her body agreed wholeheartedly with his plans. “This is unnecessary.”
She sat, taking great care with her train.
“It is entirely necessary,” he countered, kissing her again. “Now I have only five minutes to make you come, so hush, if you please.”
“Five minutes?” Her head swiveled toward the mantel clock. “Is it really so late?”
It was, she realized, shocked at how quickly the hours had ticked by. When she turned back, King was already on his knees.
“Your trousers, darling,” she said, knowing how meticulous he was about his wardrobe.
“I’ll happily set them on fire in the drawing room if it means I can have my mouth on your pussy in the next thirty seconds,” he drawled, already maneuvering her voluminous skirts and petticoats to facilitate his aim.
Her heart pounded at his sinful words and the promise of what he intended to do. The pleasure of her husband’s skilled tongue and lips on her most intimate parts would never grow old. He was caressing his way up her embroidered stockings now, guiding her legs apart.
“You really shouldn’t say such vulgar things, you know,” she said, gasping when his fingers skimmed over the slit in her drawers, running through her folds in the process.
“But it makes you so deliciously wet for me,” he countered, just before his handsome countenance disappeared beneath her gown.
She widened her thighs obligingly, wishing she weren’t encumbered by so much silk velvet, cotton, linen, and lace. That she wouldn’t have guests arriving any minute, and she could instead tear away her corset and gown and make love with him all evening.
The breath fled her as his hot, humid breath fanned over her intimate flesh first, her core clenching in anticipation.
His tongue flicked over her pearl, and she arched her back, pressing herself against his face.
He indulged her by sucking her clitoris into his mouth.
The lusty, loud sound of it was rude and lewd, echoing in the room.
It was so wrong, allowing her husband to lick her as the seconds ticked closer to when their guests would begin filing into Castelyn House.
So wanton of her to like the way he said filthy things, to revel in the groan of delight he made that rumbled against her sensitive flesh and made her toes curl in her satin slippers.
He started lapping her up as if she were the best thing he had ever tasted.
The wrongness of it all, the limited amount of time they had, the thought of their guests lined up in carriages while King’s face was buried between her thighs… it all wound tightly within her.
When he sank two fingers inside her and caught her bud gently in his teeth, her crisis hit her, suddenly and without warning.
She had been trying to savor it, to savor him, to hold off for as long as she could.
But his fingers were curled, teasing that place that drove her mad, and he sucked her again as wave after wave of mindless pleasure flooded her until she was a gasping, limp heap in her chair.
King licked her slowly, thoroughly, until the last ripple left her, and then he emerged from beneath her skirts. His sensual lips glistened with her. It took all the restraint she possessed to keep from launching herself at him and demanding he finish what he had started.
“That shall have to do for now,” he murmured, as if reading her thoughts. “But after the ball is done, I want you in my bed, wearing nothing but those diamonds.”
A rush of anticipation swept through her.
“I aim to please, Your Grace,” she told him, feeling wicked and bold, as if she were capable of anything.
“You do, angel.” He rose to his feet, brushing at his trousers, which were as hopelessly wrinkled as she had feared they would be.
“You have ruined your trousers,” she fretted.
“I doubt anyone will notice.” He helped her to her feet. “Besides, it was worth it.”
“Wrinkling your trousers to please me?”
“Everything, my love. Now, let’s go to your ball.”