Page 48 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

She grimaced comically, perhaps not realising he was watching. ‘If you mean the ratafia, it tasted awful.’

He grinned at the jest and turned to face her. ‘You were warned.’ He leaned back against the dressing table, casual, unthreatening.

She returned his smile. ‘Yes. I was. As for the rest of it, I enjoyed the dancing and met some interesting people. But I find that I am quite tired.’

A hint for him to go away? Not a chance. At least, not yet. She’d danced with several other men, after she’d danced with that Aldrich fellow. Mother had made sure of it, as well as introducing her to everyone who was anyone, so her weariness did not surprise him. Twice Graydon had tried to ask her to dance with him again, and had been forestalled by a previous promise to some prominent member of Society. Mother had certainly kept to her word on that score. And, as far as Graydon could tell, Florence had made a good impression all round.

Well, there was no one to interrupt them now.

He slipped the necklace into the pocket of his dressing gown. He would deal with it later. Hopefully much later.

‘I am glad you enjoyed yourself.’ He closed the distance between them, for once looming over her and not feeling guilty.

She gazed up at him, her lips parting as if on a question.

He waited.

She stood looking up, her eyes searching his face, her body perfectly still. ‘Was there something you wanted?’ she finally said.

You. The word strummed unspoken throughout his body. Slowly, gently, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, using his thumb to raise her chin a fraction higher as he bent his neck to enable him to brush his lips across hers. He always forgot how tiny she was, or how overly tall he was, until he was this close. Their bodies were within an inch of touching.

She leaned into the kiss, lifting upwards to allow her mouth to deepen the kiss, her full breast pressing against his chest.

He cupped her buttocks with his other hand, lifting her towards him, lightly massaging the deliciously soft derriere against his palm.

His wife. A fierce emotion he could not identify tightened his throat.

She pulled back with a gasp. She was breathing hard.

Shocked, he stepped back. It had never been his intention to cause her physical harm. He must have been more carried away than he realised. That had never happened before. ‘I am sorry. Did I hurt you?’

Her lips were rosy-red and her cheeks pink. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not at all. I felt a little dizzy, that is all.’

Dizzy, was it? From kissing… He smiled. Dizzy wasn’t too terrible. He took her hand and led her towards the bed. ‘I think you might be better off lying down.’

‘Mmm.’ A soft sound of approval sent heat rocketing through his veins.

By rights they should be heading to his bed, but he wasn’t going to let this moment of her being pliant and responsive slip away. He wasn’t that much of a fool.

He swung her up into his arms, gently deposited her on the bed and stretched out alongside her.

She rolled towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

All the invitation a husband needed…

Florence gazed into Graydon’s eyes, the feel of his big male body lying alongside hers making her hot all over.

Little doubts niggled at the edges of her mind. Why tonight? Why wait so many days, weeks, before coming to her, and then come tonight?

A pang of jealousy twisted in her chest. Did it have something to do with him meeting Lady Standish? No, no; she must not think such things. The woman was an old acquaintance, a friend. And married. Hopefully it was nothing at all to do with Lady Standish. Perhaps after the way Florence had comported herself this evening, proving she would hold up her side of their bargain, he was pleased. Perhaps he had been trying to be kind, letting her get used to things before truly making her his wife.

She cupped his cheek the way he had cupped hers a few moments ago. His skin was still smooth from shaving, and warm; his eyelashes were long and straight and, with his lids half-closed, it was hard to make out their colour. In this light, they looked almost black.

He turned his head and brushed his lips against her palm, a brief, erotic sensation that caused her breast to tighten and her core to flutter.

‘Wife,’ he murmured into her palm, and his teeth scraped the base of her thumb. Her insides tightened. Never before had she felt such an overwhelming sensation. Her limbs seemed to liquify. Her body hummed with pleasure. All that at a simple touch.

How wicked she must be. No wonder she had been so easily led. Certainly, Lilian had never mentioned such heady sensations as being part of the congress between man and wife.