Chapter Sixteen #3
“Of course not! I just hurried to get up here and am a bit winded.” Becky yanked the chemise over Katie’s head.
“Ow! You caught my ear.”
“I beg your pardon,” Becky said, not sounding particularly contrite.
Katie caught a brief glance at Becky’s even redder face before her maid dropped her nightgown over her head.
“You should have waited until I put your gown on to unpin your hair. It is a mare’s nest.”
“You are exaggerating; it’s only a foal’s nest. So, tell me about this laundry you were doing.”
“’Tis naught,” Becky muttered, her color deepening. “Just that His Grace is somewhat particular about his bed linens. Mr. Court said he is especially sensitive to textures. And as he—” she worried her lower lip. “As he, er…”
“Are you trying to say comes to my bed?”
“Just so, Miss Saucebox,” Becky snapped, her face fiery, now.
Katie laughed.
“Oh, you go ahead and laugh, you.”
“I beg your pardon, Becky. I was just teasing a little.” Katie then spoiled her apology by laughing again.
Becky ignored her. “Mr. Court recommended I employ his method on your bedding.”
“An excellent notion.”
“His Grace does not care to sleep on bedding two nights running,” Becky added, still studiously avoiding Katie’s gaze.
“Goodness. That sounds like a great deal of work.”
“Oh, I shan’t need to do it all myself. Mr. Court just wanted to show me so that I would be able to keep a close eye on the laundry woman, who is heavy-handed with the starch if she is not kept in check.”
“Engage more help if you need it, Becky. I don’t want you run off your feet. Or getting nasty, chapped hands from doing endless washing.”
Becky finished combing out the tangles and plaited Katie’s hair into a thick rope. “Mr. Court is very knowledgeable about a great many things. I—I was wrong about him being standoffish. He is merely reserved and a man of few words.”
Katie made a noncommittal noise.
“I am extremely fortunate that he is here to advise me,” Becky added when Katie didn’t speak, her tone a bit defiant.
Katie was bemused by her friend’s attraction to her husband’s valet.
Court was the sort of man it would be easy to overlook.
He was tall and lanky with dark hair shorn close to his head, hooded eyes, and unexceptional features.
It fascinated her that Becky had become so enamored of such a dull-looking man.
Katie blinked at the thought. Hadn’t Andrew called Dulverton dull? And Katie did not see how that nickname could ever fit her husband. Perhaps dullness, like beauty, was in the eye of the beholder?
“The Duke of Chatham keeps an under valet to manage his laundry,” she added, sounding defensive.
Katie was amused. “Does he? I did not realize my brother-in-law was such a stickler. I look forward to having softer bedding and garments,” she added soothingly when she saw Becky was looking a bit ruffled.
Becky gave a low hmph and tied the ribbons of Katie’s cap beneath her chin.
“That’s too tight,” Katie demurred, taking the ties from Becky’s fingers. “Well, don’t work all night on my laundry. With Court,” a teasing imp made her add.
“No, no, of course not.” Color flooded to her friend’s face yet again, and Becky opened her mouth, but then shut it and regally inclined her head. “If that is all, Your Grace.”
“Yes, that is all for tonight.” On impulse, she seized the smaller woman and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Becks.”
“Oh, leave off, you,” Beck sputtered, scrubbing a hand over her wet cheek and giving Katie a playful shove.
Naturally, Dulverton chose that moment to open the connecting door, pausing on the threshold and regarding them with such a look of startlement on his severe features that Katie laughed harder.
Becky, however, looked mortified and dropped a curtsey low enough for a king before scurrying from the room.
***
Just when Gerrit did not believe his wife could look any more beautiful, he discovered he was wrong.
He had no idea what she and her dresser were up to that had caused such mirth, but the laughter illuminated her lovely face in such a way that his chest actually hurt looking at her.
Even her staid nightgown, tightly plaited hair, and the ugly, matronly nightcap could not dim her allure.
“I beg your pardon, Dulverton,” she said, tucking away her smile as if it was something dirty.
Her apology rankled, even though engaging in such mirth with a servant was undignified. Gerrit shut the door and entered the room. “You needn’t apologize to me for being happy, Kathryn.”
The last traces of her good humor fled. “Duly noted, Your Grace.”
“I would prefer your hair be unbound when I come to you. And I do not care to see you in a nightcap.”
She seemed to swell in size and even Gerrit could recognize the signs of an impending tantrum. “Please,” he added.
She hesitated a long moment before her hands went to the laces of her cap. Once she removed it, she carelessly tossed it onto the bench at the end of the bed.
Gerrit gritted his teeth and turned his back until the garment was hidden from view, his eyes on his wife as she pulled the thick auburn rope over her shoulder and untied the bit of ribbon.
When she would have thrown it down with the cap, he wordlessly plucked it from her fingers and slid it into the pocket of his banyan, his thumb absently caressing the smooth strip of silk.
She raised her eyebrows but did not comment.
Gerrit watched in fascination as she unraveled the strands and her hair, the color of banked coals, sprang to life.
“Curls,” he said, and then wished he could snatch the stupid word back.
She gave him a rueful look. “Yes. A great many of them.” The curls quickly built into a thick froth as she carded her fingers through the bright auburn spirals that fell to the middle of her back.
The compulsion to feel it was too strong to resist and Gerrit took a fistful. Kathryn stiffened but did not move away when he raised the curls to his nose and inhaled, pleased that he could smell the scent of woman rather than heavy perfume.
Her chest was rising and falling faster as she watched him, desire blazing in her eyes.
When she tipped her head back and parted her lips, he lowered his mouth over hers.
It was the first time they’d kissed since that night in the garden, and her body went pleasingly pliant against his, the press of her full, soft breasts pushing against his banyan.
Savage bolts of pleasure shot from his groin to every part of his body, speeding his heart and fogging his brain.
He slid his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her head, tilting her so that he could feast on her sweetness, and she was sweet, he was not imagining it.
Caramel and the faint hint of raspberries.
Gerrit normally had no taste for dessert, but he was enjoying it tonight.
He slipped his free hand between the front edges of her dressing gown and splayed his fingers over the ripe globes of her buttocks before pulling her close enough that his erection was pressed firmly against the gentle swell of her belly.
He was pleasurably surprised when her hands cupped his hips until she was mirroring his actions, her long, delicate fingers turning into claws as she dug into the muscles of his arse.
Gerrit deepened his kiss, fucking into her with slow, thorough sweeps of his tongue, his actions illustrative of what he would soon be doing to her.
His hips rolled, pulsing his sensitive shaft against her soft body.
An answering shudder wracked her tall, slender frame and she ground herself against him, jerky with need.
He steeled himself and pulled away, her lips chasing his until he set her at arm’s length. “I want this off,” he said in a gravelly voice, pushing her dressing gown off her shoulders and for once not caring that it pooled untidily on the floor.
He fumbled with the buttons on her nightgown, unfastening just enough to pull the garment over her head.
“Dulverton,” she said, staying his hands before he could lift the garment over her head.
Gerrit looked up from her nightgown to find her staring up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses, her pupils huge black pools.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice rough with need.
“May I—may I remove your robe?”
Gerrit felt positively woozy. When had a woman ever wanted to look at him? Even his mistresses—whom he had paid ridiculously well—had never been in any hurry to uncover his brutish body. He jerked a nod. “Yes.”
The syllable was barely out of his mouth before her fingers tore at the sash. Gerrit shrugged the garment off his shoulders, not caring when it fell to the floor.
It seemed it was a night for firsts.
His prick was heavy and swollen and he wouldn’t have believed it could harden any more, but when she gawked at him, her tongue peeking from between her coral pink lips, his balls clenched, and a hot bead of pre-ejaculate slid down his throbbing shaft.
“Oh,” she mumbled, the soft sound just about undoing him.
“Arms up. Now, Kathryn,” he ordered when she continued to stare at his prick, his voice even harsher. He’d be spilling on their bare feet if he didn’t get inside her soon.
She wordlessly obeyed and Gerrit dropped the fine muslin to join the pile, his jaw dropping as he reveled in her perfection. It was the first time he’d seen her completely nude, and the sight wiped every thought from his head.
He could not say how long they both stared at one another without touching, but it was long enough that the cool air caused her pale, flawless skin to grow goose pimples.
Gerrit wrenched his gaze away from her mouthwatering breasts, caught up her hand, led her to the bed, and yanked back the bedding. “Get in,” he ordered gruffly, shamelessly gorging on her plump arse as she mounted the two steps that led to the high mattress.