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Firmly, he closed the door behind him when the Londoner turned to see him and took a pause.
Harriet sat stiff, seemingly disgusted with the wastrel’s words.
“I don’t like the way you’re talking about my wife.” Sam angrily strode to the other man’s chair, legs braced, hands on his waist.
Trent sprang from his seat. “Wife?” Ridicule suffused over his paunchy frame. “You married a nobody?”
Harriet came beside him as both closed ranks.
“She’s not a nobody. She is Lady McDougal to you.” His green gaze met the other man’s steadily.
Trent’s face reddened as he eyed one and the other with spiteful intent. “She must have muddled your mind!” he accused.
“No, she didn’t,” Sam answered stonily. “You are the one muddled by a wasteful life.”
“I recommend marriage, Lord Trent,” came the lady’s amused comment. “It would do you a well of good.”
“No doubt,” the professor agreed.
Trent neared her with such rage in his eyes that Sam put his arm around her. “Careful, Trent. She’s carrying my child.”
That seemed to punch him right in his fat middle. “Damned you are, McDougal.”
“I don’t allow foul language in the presence of delicate ears.” Interjected the professor. “I’d say you are done here, my lord.”
Without a word, the lordling swung to leave.
“Trent,” Sam called. The man turned in clipped movements. “You forgot to bow to the lady.”
In utter distaste, he bowed as if he would cast up his accounts. Then he opened the door and disappeared.
That night, they lay cosily in their bed, and Sam was so hard he would barely keep still. He moulded his lea
n body to his wife’s, buried his contained-by-his-undergarment hardness in her back and tried to breathe in deep puffs.
Fuck! She was carrying his child and he could think of nothing but…
“Harriet,” he rasped in her ear, dipping his face in her hair, dragging his mouth down her throat, pulling her flush to him. All of which she participated in with active enthusiasm. “I’m afraid I have to sleep somewhere else.” Having just discovered this carnal pleasure with her, waiting nine months to go back to it felt like being thrown in the remotest dungeon.
Her delicious person turned to him. “Why?” delicate brows pleated in the firelight. “Are you upset with something?” a cool hand rested right over one of his nipple. He inhaled, closed his eyes, and tried to be strong.
“No, it’s not that,” he replied, as her fingers slid down his abs.
He was discovering he was not so strong.
“What is it then?” Her nails lightly grazed below his navel.
Strong was overrated anyway.
He wanted to pull those nails where he needed, and he must run from them, from this bed. “I cannot possibly—” he lost his voice when she undid the strings at his waist.
“Possibly?” she coaxed as her fingertips played with the ginger hair she found there.
“You’re with chi—" Her palm covered his rampant cock. “Bluidy hell!” And caressed him.
Strong be damned!
He flattened her on the mattress in a swift move and dived to her mouth. He kissed her with excruciating hunger. “I have to respect your condition,” he drawled after he came up for air.
