Epilogue
Radham Hall, Surrey, May 1818
E tty clung to her husband, her body rippling with the aftereffects of her climax.
No matter how wicked such an act might be, nothing could surpass the pleasure to be had from making love out of doors—fully clothed, straddling her husband on a garden bench.
And, judging by the expression of satiation on her husband’s face, he shared her opinion.
She shifted position, and his manhood twitched inside her. He drew in a sharp breath, and his eyes flew open, dark with desire. “Oh, Etty—what you do to me!”
She grinned and squeezed her thighs together, and his nostrils flared.
“Witch!” he cried. “You seek to torment me?”
“Ah, torment is it?” She pouted. “Then perhaps I should desist, for I have no wish to increase your pain.”
She began to withdraw, but he placed his hands around her waist and held her firm.
“Torment it may be,” he said, his voice hoarse, “but that does not mean to say it’s not exquisite.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. “As exquisite as my wife is.”
“You flatter me, Andrew.”
He grinned. “Oh, flattery, is it, Lady Radham? Have you not learned by now that I am no fop who seeks to ingratiate himself via flattery? Was it flattery when I cried your name as I came undone inside you?”
Her cheeks warmed at the raw hunger in his gaze.
“Was it flattery when I parted your thighs and feasted on—”
“Andrew!”
“That’s it, my love,” he said. “It gives me great pleasure to hear my name on your lips”—he kissed her again—“and to taste those sweet lips.” Then he placed his palm on her stomach and caressed it, the warmth of his hand penetrating the material of her gown. “And to see your belly growing rounder each day with our child.”
Desire fizzed through her. Lately her appetite for him had grown insatiable, and they’d made love in almost every room in the house, taking pleasure from all manner of adventures—up against the wall of Andrew’s study, where she’d relished the feel of the hard wood panels against her back; over the mahogany dining table, after which she’d blushed at the butler’s remarks about the scratch on the polished surface. And then last night…
Last night, they had indulged in the cook’s chocolate sauce, when her husband had smeared a spoonful over her body before devouring it. Then, in a moment of wickedness, she had reciprocated, smothering the thick, sweet sauce over that part of him that gave her such pleasure.
“My wife is blushing.”
His voice, a low growl, returned her to the present.
“Is she perhaps recalling her wantonness in feasting on her husband’s—”
“Papa!” a voice cried in the distance, and Etty slid off her husband’s lap to sit beside him, smoothing her skirts.
She cast her gaze over the walled garden with the array of rose and lavender bushes, set in a pattern that appeared random, but was specifically designed to give the appearance of natural beauty. “Mr. Baxter is a talented man.”
“I believe we have his wife to thank for the design,” he said. “I would say Baxter is the luckiest man in all England, but for one thing.”
“Which is?”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But for the fact that I am the luckiest man in the whole world.” He placed his hand on her stomach. “Isn’t that right, little one?”
The baby moved inside her—minute ripples resembling light fingertips tapping against her skin—and Andrew’s eyes sparkled with joy.
“How did I deserve such good fortune?”
She took his hand and slid her fingers along his. “By being a good man.”
“Papa!” the voice cried again, and Gabriel appeared at the entrance to the garden, cantering across the path with his toy horse. “Mama, Papa! See my horse?”
The boy reached them and lifted his arms toward Etty.
“Not so fast, sir,” Andrew said, lifting the boy into his arms. “Your mother’s in a delicate state. Come sit on your papa’s lap.”
Gabriel settled, and Etty blinked back a tear at the sight of her son nestling in the arms of the man he called father.
No—the man who was his father, in every aspect that mattered.
“Did you see me ride, Papa?” Gabriel asked.
“I did,” Andrew replied. “And when you’re older, I’ll buy you a real horse to ride, then we can all ride together. Would you like that?”
“And Mama also?” Gabriel asked, turning his expressive blue gaze toward Etty.
“After the baby’s arrived, my love,” she said. “Until then I fear I’d be too ungainly for my poor horse to bear. My riding days are over for a while, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Andrew said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “We’ve already enjoyed a good, long ride today.”
“Andrew!” Etty cried, but could not suppress the laughter in her voice.
“But your horse has been in the stables today, Papa,” Gabriel said. “Florrie and I have been feeding him.
“Quite right, son,” Andrew said, winking at Etty. “Your papa is mistaken.”
“Can we all ride when the baby comes?” Gabriel asked, looking to Etty’s belly.
“Of course, my love,” she replied. “Would you like a brother or a sister?”
“A brother!” Gabriel said. “All I want is a brother. And a sister. And another brother. And another…”
Footsteps approached, and Florence appeared, panting.
“There you are, Gabriel! Cook’s been looking for you. She has a batch of biscuits fresh from the oven and has said we can have one each—you, me, and Anna. Those fruit biscuits that are your favorite.”
“Fruit biscuits!” Gabriel’s eyes lit up, and he scrambled off Andrew’s lap and picked up his horse.
“Say goodbye to your mama, sir,” Andrew said sternly.
Gabriel blushed and took Etty’s hand. “Goodbye, Mama,” he said. “Do you want a biscuit?”
“No thank you, my darling,” Etty said, smiling at the formality with which her son bowed over her hand.
The boy ran toward Florence, and the two children disappeared through the archway in the hedge.
Etty’s husband drew her into his arms. “Gabriel has the makings of a fine young man,” he said. “I’m only sorry he cannot be my heir.”
“He has your love,” Etty said. “That’s all he needs—and it’s more than most boys are given. Besides, you heard him say that all he wants is a brother.”
“And a sister,” Andrew said. “And several more siblings, by the sound of it. My dear Lady Radham, we’re going to be very busy fulfilling Gabriel’s request. But I’m sure we’ll find the work enjoyable, if a little exhausting.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “Have I exhausted you already, my lord?”
“You impugn my prowess, your ladyship,” he replied. “I find I am ready for you again, and I’m eager to explore the delights of your body in a new location.”
She squeezed her legs together to temper the thick pulse of pleasure. “Andrew, we have indulged in every room in the house, and almost every corner of the garden.”
“ Almost, ” he said, a wicked grin on his lips. “Mr. Baxter has finished the work on the gazebo overlooking the lake, and I’m anxious to test its sturdiness. Have you ever taken pleasure in a gazebo?”
“I’ve taken tea in a gazebo.”
He chuckled and placed a kiss on her lips. “I think I can promise you something hotter—and sweeter—than tea.”
He rose to his feet and offered his arm. Smiling, she took it, and he helped her up.
“Then, my lord,” she said, a thrill coursing through her veins at the prospect of the pleasure to come, “please escort me to the gazebo.”