He led her over to the chair, and she sat down. He knelt between her knees, placed a hand on her thigh, and then proceeded to do things with his mouth he’d not only never done, but never thought he’d wish to do.
Her reluctant groans were sweeter than music. The taste of her like nothing he could have imagined. Soon enough, he was drunk.
Drunk on her and near giddy with happiness. When she, at last, was shuddering, he felt almost as satisfied by her release as he would have been by his own.
Almost.
Her legs were splayed, her body, limp. He rested his head against her knee and wiped his mouth.
“Mystars, Harbury.”
Edward, he corrected in his thoughts.She should call me Edward.
Why had he never asked her to do so?
The answer was simple—because after his father died, he’d insisted everyone, including Adrian, call him Harbury. He’d thought, if he heard the title enough, he’d feel like he had a right to take his father’s place.
He wanted something very different from Cassandra. However, the request she use his Christian name caught in his throat. He’d waituntil after he told her everything there was to know about his past.
She peeked over her skirts. “Had you never done that before, either?”
He shook his headno.
She grinned. “Would you be willing to do it again?”
He couldn’t help himself. He chuckled.
“Harbury!” She sat up. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not in the least!” He pressed his fingertips to his brow. “My blood…it’s collected elsewhere.”
“I see.” She nodded sympathetically. “Problems with your piping…?”
“You know, Idohave problems”—he slid onto his back and worked the buttons of his falls—“But they aren’t anything you can’t attend.”
“Oh, my.” She giggled again. “Your sweets aredefinitelyprime, now.”
“Straddle me,” he urged. “Check page 57, I believe…if you need instruction.”
She held his gaze and her skirts as she knelt over him, one leg on either side. She leaned down over him, and he caught her tightly in his arms. Their exchange had been light, playful, but this—this joining, this special connection to her, could never be anything but sublime.
He savored every second of her expression as she sheathed him. He was so aroused, only a few, upward thrusts brought him to quivering release.
As the pounding in his ears softened, he realized her cheek was still pressed up against his still rapidly beating heart. He pulled off her cap and stroked her hair, content to feel her weight and listen to her breathe.
“I like page 57,” she sighed.
“I made up the exact page,” he confessed. “It’s in there somewhere, though.”
She propped her head on her elbow. “Are there any other books you specifically remember?”
She was teasing again but her teasing struck an unexpected chord. He craned his neck, looking for the book she had inadvertently made him recall. He rested his hand in the vacant space where the book should have been and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“On our wedding night, I remembered a woodcut I’d seen in a book that should be right here.”
“Our wedding night?”
