Chapter Twelve #3
Oh, if only she could now tell him now that she loved him!
If only she could kiss his beautiful mouth and taste the word “love” on it!
Their situation, brought about by George and Lady Caroline, was not fair.
She was well aware of her feelings now, yet she was almost certain that he would doubt her.
This sweet moment would fade away in distrust and hurt and all because she happened to be in love with the man she had married.
Curse the poor timing of it all! Instead, she swallowed the words and smiled brilliantly.
“I am honoured to discover you attribute such a change to me. Now, my dearest husband, I believe you owe me a kiss or twenty to make amends for finding an utterly nude whore in our room upon my entry. You are just lucky she was not in our bed.”
Curiosity piqued; he raised an eyebrow. “What would you have done?”
“What any royal lady worth her salt would have done: Pitched a fit until the bed was destroyed and I had a new one. Oh, and I would have denied you favours until the bed was to my liking, which would have taken about a month, perhaps more.”
“That is a rather harsh punishment,” he replied. He slipped his hand beneath her breast, squeezing gently through cloth as he tried to prove his point: she could not live without his touch. “How would you have managed?”
She leaned back on her knees, out of his reach and grinned. “I would have amused myself in the public humiliation of your whore.”
“I have never known you to be a cruel woman, my sweet. You have no stomach for it.”
“You would be surprised at the anger and envy that ripped through me at the thought of you bedding that indecent tart. She seems so very happy being nude. I rather wondered if she might be more comfortable on the square in Lambton, tied to that huge tree.”
“Elizabeth!”
“Or perhaps she would enjoy standing nude under the window when the maid empties the chamber pot.”
“Do you seek retribution from Ivy or are you merely exercising your royal rights?”
“A bit of both, I should think. You are my husband, and I am a jealous woman.”
His hand slipped around her neck, cupped the back of her head, and pulled her forward.
Their lips touched lightly and, as the connection flared, were crushed together.
Tongues danced, hands roamed, clothes were loosened so Elizabeth could assert her wifely prerogatives.
He pulled back, his breath heavy and fast, and stood, offering his hand.
She followed him upward then turned her back on him and lifted her long hair, her plait long since unbound.
The buttons of her dress were undone in moments, and she took a deep breath as her undergarments were pushed away.
His lips made immediate contact with her skin, brushing along the curve of her shoulder to the nape of her neck.
A shiver went through her when his tongue trailed down her spine.
“William,” she whispered and was spun around in a trice, his face level with her belly. Her fingers were buried in the soft tangle of his hair when he worked his mouth across the expanse of her stomach.
Before he could help himself to the delights within her, Elizabeth managed to take a step away.
She crooked her finger when he stared up and he followed obediently.
His shirt was soon gone, and she had become an expert at removal of boots and breeches.
Carefully, she kissed the flesh beneath his scar then wrapped her hand around him, squeezing very gently.
For a moment it seemed almost as if he might topple over, but he regained himself.
“Vixen,” he managed, subtly guiding her toward the bed.
“Only for you.”
“Thank god for that. You might cripple a weaker man.”
She exhaled a puff or air and let him push her to the bed, where, after a brief power struggle, Elizabeth took a firm seat atop her conquered mate.
She stared down at him, wonder billowing through her brain like linen drying upon a line.
Had she really once hated him? How could that even be possible now that she loved him so dearly?
Leaning over, Elizabeth's hair tickled his chest which elicited a heavy moan. She grinned wickedly and slipped down lower to brush it along his abdomen, resulting in the desired effect. With agonizing slowness, she took him into her mouth.
* * *
Good God! Even though it was an act she performed but rarely, Darcy had no time to ponder what took place since all rational thought became a foreign idea.
His brain flared white-hot when her tongue danced over his hard, hot flesh and her teeth skimmed him ever so lightly.
Unable to constrain himself, his fingers snaked through her hair while her mouth worked him.
She was as knowledgeable about his body as well as her own and brought him just to the edge then spat him out before he found his release. Not giving him a moment to protest, she slid up his frame, holding him within her own for moments before jerking her hips violently.
“You have treated me to countless delights. Did you not think I would have learned from them? I thought it time that I show you what an excellent pupil I am,” she said on a jagged breath as she ground against him.
He was beyond words. Above him was the woman he had schemed to have and yet, he had become her slave. He was a man of power and means and did not bend easily, but for Elizabeth, he was a mere reed in the wind. His body gave in, and he found his release, soaring when she cried out at its force.
She laughed when she laid down next to him.
“What?” he asked.
“I cannot say your reaction was wholly unappreciated but repeat it and I may have to stop indulging you.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, but you surprised me. I did not realize—”
“Your power?”
“I suppose.” She giggled as she buried her face in his shoulder.