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The lady clapped her hands delightedly. “And so you should’ve! Well done! I’m glad you caught such a fine lady to make your wife. She looks like she has a level head on her shoulders—that should balance your foolery.”
Vale clasped his chest and swooned in his chair dramatically. “You wound me, dear lady.”
“Pish,” said his aunt. “You are a silly fool, but then most men are when it comes to women, even my dear Mr. Whippering.”
They all looked at Mr. Whippering, who tried his best to appear suitably scampish. He was somewhat hampered by the teacup balanced on his knobby knees.
“Well, I wish you both a long and happy marriage,” Aunt Esther declared, popping a bite of muffin into her mouth. “And a fruitful one.”
Melisande swallowed at the allusion to babies and looked blindly down at her cup of tea. The thought of holding a small bit of her and Jasper, of stroking baby-fine reddish brown hair, sent a bolt of painful yearning through her. Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a baby!
“Thank you, Aunt,” Vale was saying gravely. “I shall endeavor to father at least a dozen or so offspring.”
“I know you jest with me, but family is most important. Most important. Mr. Whippering and I have discussed this on numerous occasions, and we both agree that children settle a young man. And you, dear nephew, could do with a bit of settling. Why, I remember the time—” Aunt Esther cut herself off with a start and a squeak as she stared at the mantel clock. “Mr. Whippering! Look at the time. Look at the time! Why didn’t you tell me it was so late, you horrid man?”
Mr. Whippering looked startled.
Aunt Esther rocked violently, trying to get up from the settee. She was hampered by her voluminous skirts, her teacup, and her plate of muffins. “We have guests for supper tonight, and I must get ready. Oh, do help me!”
Mr. Whippering stood and pulled his wife from the settee.
She bounced up and ran to ring for the maid. “We’re to have Sir Angus, and he’s a terrible stickler, but don’t {leront let that bother you,” she confided to Melisande. “He tells the most delicious stories after he’s had his second glass of wine. Now, I’ll have Meg show you to your room and let you wash up, if you desire, but be sure to come down by seven o’clock, for Sir Angus is sure to be on the doorstep at exactly that time. Then we shall have to somehow make conversation with him while we wait for everyone else to arrive. Oh, I’ve invited some lovely people.”
o;Hush.” She lay facing his strong, broad back. Slowly she smoothed her hand over his rigid side and inched forward until she hugged against him. She inhaled his scent, rising with the heat of his body. He was warm and comforting, and she gave a little sigh, her face nuzzling his wide shoulders. He’d been stiff at first, but now he relaxed, as if conceding the moment to her. She smiled. All her life she’d slept alone. Now she did not.
Finally, she was home.
JASPER WOKE TO feminine hands sliding down his back, and his first emotion was shame. Shame that she knew he slept on the floor like a beggar. Shame that he couldn’t sleep in a bed like other men. Sha soths sme that she knew his secret. Then her hands moved lower, and lust uncurled in his belly.
He opened his eyes and found it still dark, the fire having died down. Normally he would light a candle, but at the moment, the dark didn’t bother him. Her hand crept around his side to clasp his cock, and he groaned. To feel those cool, slim fingers curiously exploring his heat was the stuff that men dreamed about late at night when they were far from home. She fingered the head of his cock and then wrapped her hand about the shaft, slowly sliding up and down. His balls were drawn up hard and tight; he could feel the press of her small, lovely breasts against his back, and it was more than he could take this early in the morning.
He turned over. “Climb atop me.”
Her hair was down, waving about her face, and in the dim glow of the fireplace, she looked like some fey creature come to lure him away from his mortal existence. She sat up and swung a long slender leg over his hips. Then she sat straight and tall and so prim on top of his throbbing prick.
“Take me inside, my lady wife,” he whispered. “Put me in your pretty cunny.”
He thought he saw her frown in the dark, as if disapproving of an inappropriate subject at tea. She might look prim and proper when at tea in the afternoon, but at night and with him she was a wanton creature.
“Ride me, my heart,” he urged. “Ride me until you weep on my prick. Ride me until I fill you with my seed.”
She gasped then and rose. He could feel her hands about him as she sank down, and it was all he could do not to cry out. Tight wet feminine heat. Holding him. Yielding to him. He arched up and at the same time grabbed her buttocks to pull her firmly against him.
She placed her hands on his chest and slid against him, her back straight, her long hair brushing his face. She rode him, biting her lip, grinding her pelvis against his. He waited, holding back, watching her expression. Her eyes were closed, her lovely face tipped back. He moved his hand to palm her breast, and she arched her back. He pinched that pretty little nipple, torturing that bit of flesh until she gasped. And then he flicked it lightly.
“Jasper,” she panted. “Jasper . . .”
“Yes, my love?”
“Touch me.”
“I am,” he said lightly, innocently, though his face shone with sweat.
She jolted against him, swiveling her hips to punish him, and for a moment he lost all coherent thought.
Then she said, “Not like that. You know.”
He shook his head gently and flicked her nipple again. “You’ll have to say it, my heart.”
