twenty-four
THE ATMOSPHERE AT dinner wasn’t the most cheerful. Not that Keith cared. He’d stored enough personal happiness in his heart to last for a whole year. After the last meeting with the count and Keith’s conversation with Paul, the count barely talked, Paul sulked, and Lady Diana did her level best to avoid glancing at Nigel, who didn’t engage in conversations with anyone. But Keith was happy to steal touches with Violante under the table.
After dinner, Violante retired to their bedroom, followed by a forlorn Mrs. Collins while he had to endure a nightcap and a cheroot in the drawing room with the gentlemen. Nigel excused himself rather quickly while Paul and the count rehashed their conversation about charity versus social order. They would never agree, and Keith was tired of hearing them talk. He went up the stairs and tiptoed into his bedroom. He shut the door gingerly. Violante should be asleep now.
The oil lamp on the nightstand still glowed though. He undressed as quietly as he could and put his folded clothes on the chair for Murray to take care of the next day.
After putting on his nightshirt, he slid under the covers, glad the bedsheets smelled like her. There was a rustle of sheets, and Violante turned towards him.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked.
“I was waiting for you, actually.” She snuggled closer, her soft, warm body touching his. “Keith…”
“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything else.
She whispered something so low he didn’t catch it.
“What did you say?” He took her chin. In the golden glow of the lonely lamp, her hair ignited with a riot of colours.
Her large eyes fixed on him, and her lips parted.
“What is it?” He stroked her chin with his thumb. “You can tell me anything. If something bothers you, please tell me. Is it because of what we did in the maze?” Perhaps he’d been too savage.
“No.” She put a hand on his chest. “It was perfect.”
“Good. What then?” A hint of worry crept into his heart.
She propped herself up on one elbow but stared at the pillow. “Will you touch me now?”
He thought she wanted to sleep. Now, that was a nice surprise.
She must have misinterpreted his silence because she waved. “Never mind. It was bold of me to ask.”
He took her wrist before she turned around and collected his thoughts because he wanted to be absolutely clear. “There’s nothing I want more than to touch you. I couldn’t think properly today because you were the only thing I could think about.”
The tip of her pink tongue darted out to run over her bottom lip. “Can we light a few more lamps?”
“You want more light?” That was a first.
She hesitated again before speaking. “I like to see and watch.”
Hellfire. A shot of sensation burned him. His shaft strained painfully, hard and ready in a moment. It was the first time he’d heard such a request, and it was more arousing than he expected. She wasn’t so shy then.
He shoved the covers aside, making a mess in his haste to do her bidding. Matches. Where were the matches? He’d seen some earlier. Why hadn’t he paid attention to something as important as the matches? He opened the drawer. Nothing. Where, where, where? The mantelpiece! He held the matches as if he’d found the Holy Grail. He burned his fingers when he lit two more oil lamps, three candles, and two gas lamps. Warm light spread through the bedroom.
“Good enough?”
She was bathed in the orange glow from the lamps. “Yes.”
That ‘yes’ would make him climax where he stood. “And now what?”
She sat up, letting the cover slide down her body. “Come here,” she whispered.
He obeyed her and waited for her next command. “What do you want me to do?”
She gave a little shrug. “Anything you want.”
“Oh, fire of hell.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t say things like that. You have no idea.”
