Chapter Three #3
She gasped as, he plucked free one of the hair pins holding her coiffure in place, then another, and another.
She swallowed. “Go on,” she said.
“You are the reason I accepted Sylvester’s offer to apprentice under him. The reason I refused to venture to London each and every season to seek a wife, despite both of you urging me to do so.”
She frowned.
“You didn’t know he pressed me to go, and return with a wife?
Well, he did. I believe, for a time, he wondered if, perhaps, my preferences ran contrary to women.
I assure you, Verity. They do not.” His fingers tangled in her hair as he loosened the coils her maid had woven, styling it for her wedding.
With every pull, every tug, her insides tightened. “I never sensed one iota of attraction from you,” she managed.
“Nor I from you,” he said, his gaze speculative.
“In any case, I would never have disrespected you or Sylvester in that way. Sometimes, I could almost convince myself you were nothing but my cousin’s wife.
My dear friend. One I would die for,” he said in a husky voice.
“But, at night, when I dreamed, I dreamed of you, and I burned.”
She felt like she was burning now. Her lips parted as her breath came in short gasps.
His pale blue gaze dropped to her mouth and remained locked there. “There’s one more thing I should tell you. Your villa—it never burned. I made it up.”
“You…why?”
“Because I was desperate. It never occurred to me—though, it should have—you might leave Cornwall, and me.”
Her heart could hardly take in the wonder of all he was saying. “Julian, are you saying I am the woman who has had your heart?”
He nodded. He’d worked out the tangles in her hair and now sifted his fingers through the strands.
“From the moment I first laid eyes on you. I planned to confess everything to you. I was just too much of a coward to bare my soul before we spoke our vows. I thought, perhaps, the idea of remaining the Duchess of Penrose might predispose you toward accepting me as your husband—in every sense of the word.”
He eyed her now, a question evident in his pale blue eyes.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
Pain etched his features for a split second. Then, his hands fell away from her and his face went carefully neutral. “No? I understand. I…I’m sorry. We can annul our marriage and—”
She cupped his face with hands that shook. “You misunderstand me. It is not the idea of remaining duchess that makes me want you as my husband, Julian. I…” she huffed out a laugh that was half sob. “I seem to have fallen in love with you.”
His nostrils flared, his eyes widened, and his breath hitched. In an instant, his arms went around her. “You love me?”
She nodded.
“I…are you sure?”
“I am. Are you sure? I am five years your senior. I am unable to bear children. I am hardly a prize worthy of you.”
His eyes closed briefly and he muttered something that sounded like a prayer.
“You are the most delectable, most desirable, most divine creature and I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how much a prize you are to me, Verity. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Please, can I kiss you now?”
She had barely nodded when his mouth took hers in a kiss that was both claiming and ravenous.
Flames of need ignited within her—to touch and be touched. To take and be taken—by Julian. She clung to him, kissing him back with everything she had.
“Blood of the saints,” he breathed against her lips as his hands, nimble and feather light, reached between them to untie the ribbon at her bodice. He loosened the fabric, shoved at the puff sleeves, working the gown down to bare her chemise.
She was equally greedy to press her hands to his naked flesh. But her fingers shook and she could barely undo the pearl buttons of his shirtsleeves.
“Allow me,” he all but growled. Shifting their positions, he rose up onto his knees and pressed her back against the mounds of pillows. As his searing gaze feasted on her, he ripped his shirt open. Buttons scattered over the bed like rain and she laughed as he shrugged out of the fine linen.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” he drawled, eyes dancing even as a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw.
In the next moment, he was off the bed, bending to remove his boots with efficient yanks. Next went his trousers.
Finally he stood at the foot of the bed, naked but for his drawers. Her mouth went dry at the sight of his hard, muscular, bronzed torso. He’d obviously been bathing in the nude. Oh, would that she had glimpsed him even once.
Never taking his eyes off her, he reached for her slippers, removing them and flinging them aside.
Then he worked his hands under her skirts, smoothing up one leg to find the lacy edge of her stocking.
Fingertips skimming her, he rolled it down and off, before repeating the process with the second stocking.
“Now for your lovely wedding gown, wife,” he murmured, joining her on the bed.
She could barely breathe as he grasped the fabric, shimmying the sleeves down to free her arms. The air in the chamber held a distinct chill thanks to her refusal to light the grate.
It wafted over her exposed skin and permeated the thin silk of her chemise sending a spray of gooseflesh sprouting over her as he eased her gown down the length of her until, finally, he removed it and tossed it aside.
With a whisper, the garment landed on the ground.
He stared down at her. Hunger blazed in his pale blue eyes, his expression almost pained. “You are so beautiful,” he choked.
She could refrain from touching him not one moment longer. With a soft cry, she scrambled onto her knees and reached for him.
He pulled her close, hands roaming her backside and molding her body to his. The hot, hard ridge of his erection seemed to burn through the silk of her undergarment. The area between her legs went hot and achy with need. She’d never known such a feeling.
She reached for the front of his drawers and shoved them down.
His hips jerked and his breath caught on a whimper, filling her with wonder. He wanted her. This beautiful man wanted her above all others.
He kicked out of his remaining clothing, baring the evidence of his arousal. When she reached for him, however, he shoved her hands aside. “Not yet,” he breathed. “I won’t last. I’m hanging on to my control on a knife’s edge as it is.”
“But…”
“Shh,” he said, pressing his fingers to her lips. “Lie back. Please,” he begged.
With reluctance, she eased onto her back. When he sprawled alongside her, shivers coursed through her.
“Please,” she whispered, reaching for him. She wanted his kiss, his weight pressing down on her, his body, filling hers, more than she wanted to breathe.
“Not yet,” he said, voice gruff. He lowered his head to brush kisses over her breast bones and his thick hair tickled her nose.
His fingers danced over one of her breasts, finding and toying with one sensitive nipple as his lips found the other.
He suckled her through the sheer fabric of her chemise and she whimpered, arching up in a wordless demand for more of the exquisite torment.
As his lips pulled, and his tongue laved, one of his hands skimmed down her waist. Then she felt the thin silk covering her legs bunching around her hips.
He drew his face level with hers and met her eyes. “I want to look at you when I touch you for the first time,” he said. Eyes locked, he parted her, exploring her damp and aching flesh gently. So gently she wanted to scream.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he said through his teeth as if speaking cost him. “Soft and wet, slick and ready. Does this feel good? Tell me.”
“Y-yes,” she choked. Nothing had ever felt so good. Never had she experienced anything like this tightening, this melting, this intense craving for something only he could give her.
He lowered his head and kissed her, so tenderly, she thought her heart might split in two.
And still his fingers glided over her, taking her closer and closer to an invisible precipice until, all at once the tightening was more than she could bear.
Pleasure exploded through her. She gasped, clinging to him as her hips bucked, her body shuddered, as wave after wave of delight washed over her.
When Julian slid atop her, she sobbed his name, twining her arms around him to hold him to her. She parted for him as he guided himself to her, fitting himself to her core.
With a groan of male exultation, he sank himself inside her, claiming her as his in a dance as old as time. He cherished her with his lips, his hands, his incoherent murmurings as he took her, again and again, finally drawing forth another glorious release which seemed to trigger his own.
Afterward they lay entwined, hearts beating in one rhythm.
“I love you, Lady Wife,” Julian murmured. “You are truly mine, forever more.”