Page 80 of The Lady Knows Best

He wrapped an arm around her hip bones, nudging her backside with his erection. “Does it feel like I agree with you now?”

“I’ll admit I have limited . . . well, no experience with the matter, but it’s my understanding that the male anatomy will respond predictably to certain stimuli—Oh!”

He had lifted a hand to her breast and began to rub his thumb over her nipple, rousing it to an aching peak. His low, wicked laugh was hot against her ear. “Not just the male anatomy. Now . . .” He turned them both to face the bed. “I’m quite willing to concede that Miss Busy B. knows a great many things. Otherwise, how could she give such excellent advice? But she doesn’t know more than I do about how much I desire my—my bride.” The word sent a surprising shiver of longing through her. “Into the bed with you.”

She practically scampered away at his command, her haste a combination of eagerness and nerves. As she fumbled to untuck the quilt so she could climb beneath it, he caught her hand. “Afraid you’ll be cold?”

Heat radiated from him, warming her from shoulder to hip. He’d shed his breeches, she realized. She managed to shake her head. Still, he obliged her by reaching around and lifting the blanket for her. But as she turned to lie on her back, she didn’t cover herself with it. She had no desire to hide from him.

And he hid nothing from her. Not the need in his darkened gaze, nor the tautness of his trembling muscles as he lowered himself over her. And not his . . . cock, she’d heard it called. She’d seen them on marble statues and, once, in a bawdy cartoon. She’d not been prepared for how different it would look on a living, breathing man.

Her man.

She’d expected, quite honestly, to be a little alarmed by the sight of it. After all, it was larger than she’d imagined, though thankfully not as large as the naughty picture had portrayed. She knew it was meant to fit, somehow, inside of her. She hadn’t known it would be ruddy and beautiful, that the mere sight of it would make her pulse speed and her body ache with need.

Almost of its own volition, her hand reached for him, and this time, he didn’t stop her, though he gasped a little when her cool fingers closed around his heated flesh. The contrast between satin skin and iron hardness was fascinating.

“Far be it from me to discourage you,” he said in a shivery voice, as she would have drawn him closer. “But I don’t see any reason to rush.” His cock slipped from her grasp as he shifted the angle between them, lowering his upper body over hers so he could kiss her mouth, her throat, her breasts. “Pink as a rose petal,” he murmured as his tongue came out to tease her nipple. “Here . . .” His hand slid up her thigh to her aching center. One fingertip traced her seam, where two nights past, his mouth had been. Where she hoped he would put it again. “And here.”

His lips and his hands tormented her in concert, until she was slick and squirming with desire. “Please,” she gasped, driving her fingertips into his golden hair. The slightest bit more would send her toppling over the precipice into bliss.

Her nipple popped from between his lips as he raised his torso and reached for her hand, shifting her touch from his leg to his cock. “Guide me where you want me.”

Instinct took over, though not without a little uncertainty and awkwardness as she discovered how wide she had to spread her legs to accommodate him. He hissed as she brushed his heat against her wetness, and she almost let go, fearful she’d done something wrong, thought it felt so very right.

“Yes,” he hissed again, nudging his hips forward. “Yes.”

When their bodies were aligned, she withdrew her hand and tilted her pelvis, gasping as he entered her, inch by inch. As he surged slowly forward, stretching her, he murmured words of praise against her ear. Anticipating pain, she tried not to tense, though that part of her was already clenching around him.

Then he slipped a hand between their bodies, and his thumb began circling the sensitive spot at the top of her sex. She forgot to be anxious, forgot everything but her need as he thrust, the momentary pinch of discomfort overwhelmed by building waves of sensation.

Slowly, he withdrew and thrust again, rocking his hips to fill her over and over. “Come to me, my love,” he rasped, and she moved to join him in the ancient, primal rhythm that drove out everything else, until she knew nothing but his heat and his scent and her own wild need.

“Oh, yes. Please,” she whispered again, not knowing whether she begged for release or wished the pleasure might go on forever.

At last, the steady, skillful pace of his thrusts gave way to frantic eagerness, a climax impossible to deny—and yet, only a beginning. He stiffened, straining upward, and she felt a rush of heat at her core as he spent. Then she tumbled after him, crying out as she came.

“You see, I was right,” he declared a few moments later, his breath still ragged. “Even on the night of the Clearwaters’ ball, when you pretended you couldn’t dance, I knew we’d be good together. Although . . .” He let out a low, incredulous laugh. “Good doesn’t do this justice.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, snuggling against him as he drew up the quilt. “You were right. I did quite enjoy being ruined.”

“So, I can expect a retraction from Miss Busy B.?” he teased.

She glanced past him, toward the writing space he had so thoughtfully arranged for her. She had already been thinking about the subject of her next essay, and today’s events had indeed decided her on the topic, though not in the way he meant.

“I think,” she said, giving his well-muscled shoulder a playful nip, “I’ll need to conduct a bit more research first.”

CHAPTER 25

Daphne woke on the last of June to bright skies and a troublesome cat.

“Eileen,” she scolded as the sleek feline wove among the items scattered on Daphne’s dressing table, trying to find a way to reach the feathered headpiece hanging from one corner of the looking glass. “How did you get in here?”

“Oh, did we wake you?” Bell asked innocently from the doorway dividing their rooms. “I never imagined you’d still be asleep.”

“Why? What time is it?” Daphne pushed upright and stretched, aware as she did so of a pleasant soreness from yesterday’s adventure. Thankfully, there had been few questions about her whereabouts, and a willingness to accept her story about an early stroll that had lasted longer than expected when she was forced to find shelter and wait out the rain.

“Half nine,” Bell said, shooing the cat from the dressing table. “And I promised Lord Ryland I’d have you ready for a curricle ride in an hour.”