Chapter Twelve #2
“In turn, I will choose one item as well. Once we return to Gleneden, you will reveal your choice, and I will reveal mine. But once we are home, you must promise you will wear whatever I purchase…and whatever you purchase. That is the bargain.”
Maura pursed her lips in avid consideration. Alec sucked in a breath, his gut on fire. He resisted the urge to cover her lips with his, trace that delectable pink pout into his mouth and let desire lead where it would.
He settled for tracing the pondering frown between her brows. “Is that agreeable to you, Duchess?”
“If I am to save your fortune, then it appears I must,” she grumbled.
A smile grazed his lips. It blossomed into a low, full-bodied laugh. “All right, then.” He trailed a finger down the curve of her cheek. “Madame?” he called out. “Her grace is ready for her measurements.”
When she was done, Alec got up from the chair just outside the dressing room. “My turn to chat with Madame.”
As soon as he was gone, Maura went straight to the table of silk stockings.
Picking up a pair, she let them slide through her fingers.
Madame had looked at her a bit oddly when she told her what she wanted.
And now Maura was giddy with pure delight.
She felt like whirling around and hugging herself.
Very soon she would have her very own pair of silk stockings.
Alec’s voice came from behind her. “I see you’re quite taken with those. They’re quite fine, aren’t they?”
Maura was too busy happily congratulating herself to notice that he wore a cat-who-swallowed–the-cream sort of smile.
They dined that night in the hotel dining room, a lovely room done up in hues of bronze and gold. Candlelight winked off the chandeliers.
Maura ate sparingly. She reached often for a delicately etched goblet—with a generous pour from the waiter—then chanced to catch Alec’s scrutiny as she raised it to her lips.
He slanted her a knowing grin.
Maura quickly lowered the goblet to the table.
With every moment, every second, he sensed her growing nervousness. She declined dessert, ducking her hands beneath the table. Every so often her gaze flitted toward the stairs.
Alec swirled his after-dinner brandy, then leaned back in his chair. He was well aware of the reason for her uneasiness.
“Is something wrong, Irish?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She raised the back of one hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. I find I am developing a most dreadful headache.”
He tipped his head to the side. “How curious.”
“Curious?” she echoed.
“Perhaps it’s the wine.”
She glanced at him oddly.
“Wine does seem to have various effects on you,” he pretended to muse. “If you recall, the night of Lord Preston’s masquerade, it piqued your ardor for me quite handsomely.” He trailed a fingertip down the line of her jaw. It tensed beneath his touch.
The rogue! He was enjoying this! But she admitted to herself that he was right about one thing—handsome was indeed the very word that came to mind whenever he was near, and equally as much when he was not!
“Your grace, I should hate to ruin the evening, but I fear the ache is growing quite abominable.”
Alec had the feeling she was telling him in no uncertain terms that he was quite abominable.
“Perhaps we should summon a physician, then.”
“No!” she said quickly. “A little rest and I’m sure I shall be right as rain.” She pushed back her chair. In an instant he was there beside her, a strong hand cupping her elbow as they reached the winding staircase.
“Irish, perhaps I should carry you. Your headache must surely be making you weak.”
On the sixth step, she gritted her teeth.
“Really, Maura, this is most unwise. Lean on me. Save your strength.”
She caught sight of him in the mirror on the landing. He was laughing at her, the knave!
As soon as they entered the suite, Maura realized how badly she’d misjudged him.
And how foolishly she’d underestimated him, for his hands were already at the buttons on the back of her gown.
Her head jerked up. “A maid…Surely the hotel—”
“No need for one, not when your husband is here. I would consider myself a most inconsiderate one if I left you when you most need me.”
Her gown dropped to the carpet, along with her layers of petticoats.
“There, now. That must feel so much better. He pressed a warm kiss on her nape, a kiss that made her quiver inside.
The feel of his mouth on her skin sent shivers of pleasure all over her skin.
“You’ve developed a chill? We must hurry then and get you into bed.”
Deft male fingers tugged at the laces of her corset. Maura sputtered, then gasped as he turned her. “I…you…wait!”
Her stays landed atop her skirt, her chemise tugged over her head.
No longer confined, her breasts spilled free. Some faint sound escaped her lips as she glanced down and confronted her nudity.
“Hush, Irish. Modesty is not a word that should exist between husband and wife, don’t you agree?” A kiss was planted at the rise of each breast even as he stripped her drawers down her legs. “Beautiful, Irish. Beautiful.”
His hands in her hair, he tugged the pins that held it. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, over his hands. Her shoes were next, her cotton stockings peeled away. “There, you see? No need for a maid after all, not with a considerate husband at hand. Now then, let’s get you into bed.”
In all honesty, Maura wasn’t sure she’d have made it under her own power.
She was about to swoon from embarrassment—or shock.
Perhaps both, she decided in utter mortification, just as a muscled arm slid beneath her knees and she felt herself lifted.
And then all she could think was how he accomplished it with such effortless ease.
Then he did the unthinkable. In seconds his jacket and shirt were off, revealing the powerful plane of hair-roughened chest.
At last she regained her powers of speech. “What if this malady is catching?” she cried. “Perhaps you should sleep elsewhere tonight.”
“Nonsense! Unfortunate, I admit, if that proves to be the case.” An exaggerated sigh.
“But I won’t stand accused of being an insensitive husband.
And if so, at least we can make our recovery together.
And if we are not ill, well, who knows? We may decide to stay a few days longer—our honeymoon—and languish here in bed if we choose. ”
Maura’s thoughts were a wild jumble. Oh, but he was so pleased with himself! His ploy was utterly transparent, his amusement unmistakable, his audacity boundless. Why bother to mask it behind so-called concern?
And why did she even care, when it was already done?
But it appeared he wasn’t done. His hands were at his waistband. A few swift moves and he stepped from his trousers. Her mouth grew dry. He was close enough to touch. His buttocks looked hard and taut. He turned.
Naked.
She could have looked away. She should have looked away.
She didn’t. Some crazed madness had come over her that she didn’t, and this was the most mortifying of all! Inhaling sharply, she flung herself over, pillowing her face against her arms with a moan. Imprinted in her mind’s eye was the image of raw, stark virility.
Alec extinguished the bedside lamp and slid into bed beside her.
“Come, Irish, let me warm you. Let me keep away your nightmares.”
A strong hand descended on her hip. A long arm captured her, snared her close, as close as a man and woman could be without being joined. It was as if she lay cocooned within every inch of him.
She struggled to still the frantic throb of her pulse. She was half afraid to breathe, to move, for fear of stirring the part of him that so dominated her mind.
His body radiated heat. Her heart hammered. But Alec did nothing more than stroke her arm and shoulder, a featherlike touch that was oddly soothing. Little by little she felt herself relax, drifting into the world of dreams.
Much, much sooner than Alec had hoped.