Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Attached to her husband’s warm, supportive arm, Elizabeth entered the Denbigh residence both flushed and bothered.
Flushed because her body was still reeling from the intense sensations she’d just been granted, and bothered because it had not bothered her nearly enough to be ravished en route to this ball.
The practicality of going without drawers had been made abundantly clear the instant that earth-shattering, final arse slap to her bare bottom had made impact.
As Milton led her inside, his seed still sticky between her thighs, Elizabeth surveyed the scene.
This home was not as grand as her husband’s, but clearly no expense had been spared.
From plentiful punch bowls to gleaming candelabras and artfully arranged bouquets, the Earl of Denbigh’s granddaughter was a fortunate debutante indeed.
Elizabeth also surveyed her husband, who looked resplendent in a dark grey evening suit and indigo cravat.
The ensemble turned his eyes a darker blue than usual, eyes which had shone brighter ever since the night of her birthday when he had offered her a ruler in place of an olive branch.
Elizabeth’s flush spread as she recalled their amorous endeavors that night and the morning after, as well as every night and morning since.
And now, God help her, a carriage.
He was growing on her, her husband, and not just his skills in bed.
He’d shockingly read Wollstonecraft’s Vindication with his tutor, Mr. Kilpert, and had even deigned to discuss the work with her one evening after dinner.
Of course their debate had devolved into debauchery, but for once Milton had worked her mind, not just her body.
Elizabeth shook off her distracting thoughts. She must steel herself for the Ton’s inevitable verbal attacks. She loathed social affairs like this one, except, of course, to dance. Dancing with an adroit partner made up for all the rest.
“Your card, Lizzie.”
“My card?” She’d barely heard her husband. “Oh yes, you must take the first dance, Milton.” She smiled warmly at him, only to be met by a deep frown.
“I do not dance, Elizabeth, but will ensure you do not lack for partners.” And the audacious man began to fill her card with names.
“Milton, you cannot—”
He continued, heedless.
“Sir, do you not know how a dance works? You cannot randomly fill a lady’s card with names! And what do you mean, you do not dance? You danced at our wedding for goodness’ sake.”
“I know how a dance works, Elizabeth.” Pain marred his handsome face. “But I’ll not have strangers dancing with my wife. You may dance with any name upon this card but no one else.”
There it was again: his incessant need to control. Though he’d allowed his entire wedding party to manhandle her during that dance.
“Milton.” She sweetened her tone. “You cannot expect me to behave properly in society yet curtail me in such unseemly manner. I cannot turn down requests to dance simply because you have not written a gentleman’s name upon my card. I shall insult half the Ton if I do.”
***
She had a point. Blast.
“Furthermore, it is a husband’s duty to dance the first minuet with his wife.”
Double blast.
“I don’t know these sorts of dances, Lizzie.” Milton dropped his voice. “I know only jigs and reels and sailor’s—”
“Husband,” she smoothed, “trust me to judge whom I dance with tonight. If the gentleman is an ogre I’ll feign a headache or request a glass of punch. There are ways to avoid distasteful partners. Believe me, I know every trick.”
And he did believe her. What he couldn’t believe was how neatly she’d argued her point. She was too clever, his wife. Too clever by far.
A vision of her in his carriage made him roughly inhale his next breath, because he’d tupped her good and well astride his lap, gripping her lush backside by the end, fingers digging into plush arse cheeks, her neckline bedecked in his diamonds.
The more he learned her body’s desires the better he might guide her toward his own—and the sooner he might master her soul.
“Very well, Lizzie, I will allow you to choose your dance partners tonight, but this evening shall be a test, like the tests I set you during courtship. And if you do not—”
“If I do not pass this latest test, sir”—she coquettishly batted her lashes—“you may punish me as you did that first time in the park, and afterward I promise to be most … contrite.” She licked her lips, making Milton’s breeches tighten again uncomfortably. Vixen!
Half an hour later, Elizabeth took the cup of punch her husband brought her and made herself drink. “Milton, they are staring.”
“Of course they are, darling, you look radiant.” He flashed an overly bright smile at an elderly lady fanning herself; she threw him a nasty glance back.
“No, that is not why they are staring.” Elizabeth knew a withering glare when she saw one.
Milton downed his own punch. “I warned you our marriage would cause a stir.” He set his glass upon a nearby table just as a stiff-necked couple approached.
“Milton.” The gentleman nodded while the man’s wife failed to acknowledge Elizabeth at all.
“Stevens.” Milton drew himself tall. “My wife, Baroness of Milton,” he introduced. “Elizabeth, may I present Lord and Lady Stevens, of Cavendish Hall.”
“My pleasure.” Elizabeth gave the lord her hand while the man’s wife eyed her with open hostility. “Lady Stevens.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile. “It is an honor. Are you well acquainted with the Denbighs?”
“Why, I should think.” The lady sniffed. “I have known their granddaughter since birth. She is most impressive.”
“Undeniably, madam.” Elizabeth wracked her brain for conversation. “Though I’ve yet to have the honor of—”
“And such promising prospects. I imagine a marquess may even be within Miss Pendrake’s reach,” she gloated.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on her husband’s arm.
“Or perhaps a duke, Lady Stevens, is not out of the question? My husband is good friends with His Grace, the Duke of Allendale, whose wife, as you know, is Miss Pendrake’s cousin.
Why, just the other day the Duchess and I took tea together. Such a lovely woman, the Duchess.”
Milton squeezed Elizabeth’s waist as the lady’s scowl deepened.
“To be sure, Miss Pendrake could well achieve marriage to a duke, what with her superior breeding,” the lady intoned. “Certainly better than a mere baron.”
Elizabeth stiffened. “Oh, I should never disparage a baron, Lady Stevens.” She let her eyes disparage Lord Stevens before pressing her body closer into Milton’s. “A baron’s ability to so wholly devote himself to his wife’s every pleasure is a benefit of marriage I cannot recommend enough.”
Lord Stevens’ jaw dropped while his wife turned red with indignation.
Elizabeth pinched her lips into a smile. “Milton, darling, shall we?”
“Of course, dear. If you’ll excuse us, Stevens, my lady.”
He led Elizabeth away, but not before she felt his hand drop and pat her bottom, in plain view of both snobs.
The moment they were out of sight, however, she slumped against his arm. “Did I offend, husband?” Milton’s face held the oddest expression. “I admit, my tongue can run away with me, but I could not stand the manner in which that woman—”
He swept her into a dimly lit corner to steal a most improper, passionate kiss, hiding her behind his tall frame.
“You were thrilling, Lady Milton.” He pressed his bulging waist into her hips.
“A perfect foil to those nasty fobs. And if we weren’t at a blasted ball right now, I’d show my gratitude by lifting your skirts and pleasuring you till you screamed my name. ”
Elizabeth nearly puddled to the floor.
“But alas, such pleasure must wait.” His face dimpled. “We’ve rounds of conversation to get through yet.” He led her back out of the shadows. “I’ll fetch you something stronger than punch to resettle you, dear.”
Elizabeth needed that drink. She needed something to take her mind off the man who’d just stolen all air from her lungs. Again.