Chapter Eighteen #2
He needn’t have worried about Cordelia’s lack of experience in the saddle.
The mare was a well-behaved animal—Georgiana was an excellent horsewoman and had trained her well.
Cordelia, though a little stiff at first, soon relaxed into the saddle.
After leading them across the field at a gentle trot, James drew to a halt and his heart soared to see the delight in his wife’s eyes.
Her hair had worked loose and stray tendrils framed her face, forming a soft halo in the midday sun.
Her cheeks were pink with health, lips parted as she drew breath.
She looked like a woman well pleasured—or, at least, how he imagined she’d look when he had pictured her in his mind’s eye while fisting himself to completion at night.
She turned to face him, and his heart jolted at the intensity in her eyes. Did she want him as much as he wanted her? Or had she heard him moaning her name while he spilled onto his bedsheets?
What would she think of him if she had? Would she think him the same as the other men—a base creature merely using her for physical gratification? Or could she see that he didn’t love only Dahlia—he loved Cordelia as well?
And here, when the two of them were away from the prying eyes of the servants and the judgmental gaze of the world, he could be free to show how much he loved her.
“Are you ready to ride a little harder?” he said, aware of the tightening of his groin at his words.
“I’m happy to be led by you, my lord,” she said, and his heart swelled at the saucy smile in her eyes.
“Excellent,” he said. “You may be a little sore your first time, but I promise you’ll only feel pleasure thereafter.”
“Then, husband, let us ride.”
Bloody hellfire! The look in her eyes was enough to make him spend in the saddle, and he’d been fit to burst from the moment he placed his hands around her waist to help her mount.
He drew in a lungful of air to cool his ardor, then urged Hercules on, and Cordelia followed.
Halfway across the field, he spurred Hercules into a canter, relishing the change of gait into the smoother, undulating motion.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the mare cantering in his wake, then resumed his attention on the path ahead that led toward the woods where their picnic awaited.
Then a scream came from behind, and James turned to see his wife toppling from her mount. She hit the ground with a cry and the mare drew to a halt. He dismounted and sprinted toward her.
“Cordelia!” he cried, suppressing the surge of panic as he spotted her prone form.
She lay on her back, in the thick grass, eyes wide as she stared upward. Her face was contorted, brow furrowed, mouth twisted into a grimace, body shaking. Her hat had fallen off, and her skirts, stained with a streak of mud, had risen to reveal a stockinged thigh.
“Dear Lord, are you hurt?”
Her chest rose and fell, and a deep sound reverberated in her chest—like a wail.
He dropped to his knees and took her hand.
“Cordelia!” he cried. “Sweet love, what have I done? Forgive me for—”
He broke off as she turned her head toward him, her eyes filled with mirth.
Was she laughing?
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Forgive me,” she said. “I-I doubt a fine lady would behave so…”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
She nodded. “My pride’s a little wounded, that’s all.”
He placed his hand on her cheek and wiped a smear of mud off her skin.
“You’re not afflicted with pride, Cordelia,” he said. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Her eyes widened. “You…”
She caught her breath and stilled, her eyes darkening as the pupils dilated.
“James.”
Her voice, low and hoarse, conquered his resolve and he lowered his mouth to hers.
She let out a groan as he slipped his tongue between her lips, then fisted her hands in his hair.
Hot, hard, and hungry, her tongue clashed with his, with a fervor to match his own.
He nudged her knees apart, and she arched her back, issuing little primal grunts.
He slipped his hand into her riding jacket and cupped a breast. His breath caught as her nipple beaded eagerly against his palm.
Sweet Lord!
His manhood pulsed and he caught his breath, fighting to gain control. If she continued to make those delicious little noises, he’d spend too soon—and he’d rather spend inside her, not his breeches.
He withdrew, his chest heaving as he fought for air. The ardor in her eyes faded and she turned her head to one side.
“No, don’t look away, Cordelia.”
“But we shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what? Kiss in the middle of a field?” he said. “My field on my estate, my home? No—our home. We can do what we want when we’re alone.”
“But not when among Society?”
He brushed his lips against hers. “Out here, Society can go to the devil.” He rose and pulled her to a sitting position. “May I ask you something?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Will you let me visit you tonight?”
“You’ve no need to ask me, James,” she said. “I’m the woman who will never resist. I’m a—”
“You’re my wife,” he said, pressing a finger against her lips. “And you don’t have to lie with me out of duty or obligation.” He caressed her lips with his thumb. “Or to stay alive, or earn your keep. You must only lie with me because you choose to.”
She stared at him, her eyes flaring. Then she blinked, and the apprehension in her expression disappeared. Dare he hope that he might, one day, see trust in them?
“Then,” she said, lifting her hand and placing it on his cheek, “I choose to.”