Page 7 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

Ethan nodded. “Poor form from the bed. Perhaps I could remind you of another talent.”

A frisson of heat arrowed between her legs, and she shivered. Even their first time together, when he’d been a virgin who knew all the theory of bedding and none of the practice, had been splendid. But since then, their lust for each other had only grown stronger and more trusting, essential when they indulged in dominant and submissive play. She especially enjoyed having her wrists bound and bottom spanked, although they hadn’t done that in a while as her skin remained a little too sensitive.

But there were plenty of other delightful activities to enjoy, and as Jessica was fed and slumbering…

“What an excellent idea, my lord,” she said mischievously. “Please do discard your clothing. Everything looks a little constricting.”

With little care for the fabric, Ethan removed his jacket and draped it over a high-backed chair. Soon after, his cravat, shirt, shoes, stockings, and trousers followed, until he stood completely naked in front of the fireplace, the orange flames burnishing his already golden skin to bronze. Not for the first time, she thanked providence for his Spanish ancestors. In her wholly unbiased opinion, nothing was more attractive than the combination of dark hair, amber eyes, and imposing height.

“One moment, sweetheart, I’ll just freshen up,” he said, sauntering over to the bowl of fresh water resting on the washstand in such a manner that she received a priceless view of flexing muscled backside.

Perching on the end of the bed, Madeline leaned back so she might appreciate him more. Underneath her the embroidered quilt was soft and cool, and when a yawn escaped, her heart sank. Oh no.

But her eyes had already begun to close, and in seconds she was fast asleep.

* * *

Madeline had succumbed.

Ethan grinned at the sight of his wife on the bed, her legs hanging over the end, one shoe dangling precariously from toes, and a symphony of sighs and lady snuffles escaping her mouth.

How he found it so alluring, was inexplicable. But he did. In fact, everything about her was alluring, from her brazen red hair, to her plump curves grown even plumper since their daughter’s birth, to her pointy little toes. As a scholar, it was enormously pleasing that his initial findings about Madeline—that she was the most beautiful, sensual, witty and warm woman in the world and no other would do—had been confirmed with just over a year’s worth of thorough investigation and journaled thoughts.

Speaking of journals…Ethan grimaced as he pulled on a quilted robe then stared at the pile of books, scrawled notes, and sketches piled high on the desk in the corner. He’d brought his work from London, with grand schemes of finishing the first chapter of volume three in the chronicles of his study and travels in Egypt.

He’d not written a thing. Not even the words ‘Chapter One’.

Slumping into a chair, he pondered the blank page in front of him for what seemed like forever. No doubt it was pondering him back, and chortling uproariously at his frozen state.

“Damned bloody paper,” he growled.

Why was writing for payment so much harder than writing for pleasure? Abroad, he’d not been able to stop writing, even waking in the night to scrawl thoughts. Now, rather than a waterfall, his mind resembled the slow and steady drip of a rusted pipe.

Annoyed at himself, he picked up his quill and tapped it against the desk.

Tap. Tap. Tappity tap.

By the gods, he’d written two books already. This process should be easy by now.

Tap. Tap. Tappity tap.

“No words flowing still?”

Startled from his thoughts, Ethan jumped a little at Madeline’s sleepy question from across the room. “What gave me away?”

She laughed and slid from the bed, before wandering over to him and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You were talking to yourself. And gouging the desk with that bloody quill.”

Drawing her down gently onto his lap, Ethan sighed. “I don’t know what to say on a topic I know well, learned from impeccable sources, Egyptian scholars who generously permitted me to study in their libraries, view ancient scrolls, and accompany them on desert digs. It is exceedingly frustrating.”

“What I know,” said Madeline softly, “is that you were making excellent progress with your notes until some twit sent you a copy of that gentleman’s review of volume two.”

He scowled. “Words now etched into my brain. ‘The youngLord Dare’s shamefully lewd content presented in a simplistic rather than academic way is nothing but chaff for the masses, bringing the field of scholarship into such terrible disrepute that it shall never recover.’ Imagine. Everyone being able to read and understand a subject, rather than just stuffy old men who wring any joy from learning because their prose is so dry.”

“I’m quite sure that is why they do it. To feel superior. And the gentleman only wrote that because he knows everything could change. Others might present papers and studies in such a way, and he clearly hates the idea. Especially in regard to lewd content.”

“Lewd content is the best content.”

Madeline kissed his neck. “I greatly admire your knowledge. But that review aside…have you also considered the recent changes in our lives for your inability to write?”