Page 69 of Courting Elizabeth

“Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to proceed with religious solemnity.”

“I married you without understanding what I was receiving. Allow me to do better tonight.”

Her expression softened.

I rose and took her face in my hands.

“I’m going to ask you one thing, and never again this night.”

“Ask.”

“That you remain able to send me away until the very last moment.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will know you have chosen me three times.”

“Yes.”

I kissed her.

All the restraint of the preceding weeks shattered in that kiss. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed against me, met my tongue with a boldness that held no trace of hesitation. I felt her breasts against my chest, her hips against mine, and my desire became almost painful.

I laid her on the bed without breaking the kiss.

The nightgown still covered her body. I slid my hands from her ankles to her calves, then beneath the fabric to her knees.

“The ribbon,” she murmured.

I looked up.

Her fingers touched the bow above her chest.

“You can undo it.”

I did so slowly.

The neckline loosened. I pushed the fabric over her shoulders, uncovering the skin I had only caressed through muslin. Her breasts came into view in the candlelight, full, delicate, the peaks already hardened.

I remained still.

“You told me I was magnificent when you could see almost nothing,” she murmured. “What will you say now?”

“Nothing you could hear without blushing.”

She smiled, but her smile melted into a gasp when I cupped her breast.

The sensation of her bare skin against my palm surpassed anything I'd dreamed. I caressed the curve, traced the taut peak with my thumb, then leaned down to take it in my mouth.

Elizabeth arched.

Her hands buried in my hair.

I tasted her slowly, alternating tongue and lips until her breathing became soft moans. I moved to the other breast, refusing to neglect the slightest tremor.