Page 61 of A Daring Desire

I thought I had best warn you. My father has got wind of our little misadventure. If mine knows you can lay money, yours does too. You may wish to leave the country. It’s too late for me, old friend. Save yourself.

Leo.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Larkin Weston (son of Solomon and Jemima Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn) from Mr Leo Hunt (son of Mr and Mrs Nathanial and Alice Hunt).

10th January 1850, Connaught Place, London.

Kilbane glowered up at Jones as the man dealt with the morning beard that had left red marks on the delicate skin of his wife’s thighs. “Can’t you go any faster?” he demanded irritably.

“Not if you don’t want your throat cut,” Jones replied without the least appearance of urgency. Indeed, the bastard seemed to take his own sweet time about it this morning.

Kilbane drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair.

“A good night, was it?” his impudent valet remarked, smirking.

“Hold your tongue.”

“Right you are, my lord.”

Jones proceeded to shave him with the alacrity of an overburdened snail.

“I will kill you,” Kilbane gritted out.

“Oh, don’t say so.” Jones tsked, giving his lord and master a look of reproach. “And after all I’ve done for you.”

“Jones!”

“All right, you’re all done, keep your hair on.”

Kilbane snatched at the towel Jones held out and scrubbed it over his face before flinging it back at him.

“Cretin,” he muttered, before stalking back to the connecting door and disappearing through it.

He caught himself before he closed it too hard and risked waking his wife.

Moving silently through her dressing room, which led to her ladyship’s chamber, he stood on the threshold. She faced away from him and had tugged a sheet over her. It clung to her curves, her blonde hair spilling out behind her in a sweep of pale gold. The same terrifying emotion that had struck him last night rose in his chest as he regarded the slight figure curled on the bed. The need, not only to keep her with him, but to keep her safe, to protect her from the vicissitudes of life, even from himself, was an urge he did not know what to do with, having never experienced it’s like before. He did not know how to care for her, what he was supposed to do to create a life where she might be happy, but he must start by giving her the wedding night she’d never had from him. That it was late morning did not concern him, that he might hurt her did. He had never found virgins the least bit appealing and could not understand the delight some men took in deflowering an innocent. His wife, however, was another matter. He wanted her so badly he could hear his pulse thudding in his ears, but he knew he must be careful with her. Moving closer to the bed, he could not help but smile at her indolent sprawl across the mattress. She looked like a woman who had been well satisfied, and he flattered himself she was certainly that.

“Catherine.”

She didn’t so much as blink.

He gave a huff of amusement and sat down beside her, gently taking the covers away as desire rose in accord with other parts of his anatomy. God, but she was lovely. Reaching out, he rested his hand on her thigh and smoothed it up, over the generous curve of her rump and down again to her slender waist. She stirred then, turning onto her back, but she did not open her eyes. He cupped her breast, gently tweaking the pink tip, and she sighed, arching into his touch, her eyes opening as she offered him a lazy smile.

She wasn’t the least bit shy of him, he noted with amusement, though he was hardly surprised. A woman that had made a man like him the focus of her attention and chased him so shamelessly could never be accused of being coy. He arranged the pillows to his satisfaction and moved to sit up beside her, his legs stretched out in front of him. His wife regarded him with interest and sat up.

Kilbane said nothing, waiting to see what she would do, outwardly relaxed, whilst his blood surged in his veins like it was trying to escape the confines of his body. His skin felt too tight, the throbbing need in his groin beyond anything he could ever remember.

Catherine’s gaze skimmed over him, her lips curving a little as she noticed the way the fabric of his trousers strained over his aching member. She moved, crawling up the bed, over his body and Kilbane watched, breathless, as she straddled him and sat.

The desire to reach out and touch her was almost impossible to resist, but he held himself in check, too curious to see what his innocent wife would do with him. She reached out a hand, stroking his now smooth cheek and smiling.

“Much better,” she murmured, and leaned in to press her mouth to his. Her hands braced on his chest as she brushed her lips against his, and then kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the line of his jaw, even his nose and his forehead felt the soft press of her mouth. It felt like a benediction and was oddly moving. She returned to his mouth, and another chaste kiss was pressed there before she whispered, “I love you.”

He was entirely undone.

Kilbane reached for her, holding her tightly against him, kissing her face, her throat, her lips.

“Catherine, my God, Catherine,” he murmured, knowing what it was he really wanted to say, the words burning on his tongue but somehow trapped in his chest. He had admitted it to her friends, but to say it to her seemed far more daunting.