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She gasped. Instinctively her legs opened a bit and he slipped deeper. “You’re ready,” he whispered. “We didn’t need any of those methods for ladies, whatever they are.”

“Oh,” Helene managed.

And then he was there instead of his fingers. Helene looked up at Rees. His face was dark with passion, jaw tight, and despite herself, despite the trembling pleasure she felt, she braced herself. There was no getting around the fact that bedding was something her body didn’t do well.

Rees felt that rigidity as if her body was an extension of his own, and even though he hadn’t entered her yet. “It will be all right,” he said, swooping down for a kiss. But he wasn’t sure, any more than she was. Would it be painful? By the end of the time they lived together, he was absolutely convinced that there was something about her body that prevented her from enjoying bedding. He’d heard of such things before.

She had her eyes closed tight. “It’s been lovely so far,” she said. “Go ahead, Rees. You enjoy this part.”

He didn’t move.

“Go ahead!” she commanded him, as fiercely as he told her to drink Cook’s remedy, that very morning.

And so he did, cautiously, slowly, holding himself to an agonizingly slow pace.

Her eyes popped open. “It didn’t hurt!” she said, obviously pleased.

“That’s good,” he said between clenched teeth. “Do you mind if I—”

“Oh, go ahead,” she said, with a wiggle that nearly undid him. “It doesn’t hurt a bit.”

So Rees did. There was something missing though. He was flying, plunging into her tight warmth again and again, his vision black, not thinking of anything, except—

Except he wished that she found more pleasure from it. Helene lay under him with a little smile, and the very sight of her skin gleaming in the sun coming through the branches made him feel maddened, crazed. He slid hands under her hips and pulled her up.

Her eyes opened very wide and her mouth slightly parted. He searched her face, trying to see whether she found any satisfaction in what he was doing, but the roar of raw pleasure in his own ears racked his body, driving him forward. His vision went dim and he poured everything he had into her with a groan that burst from his lungs and echoed around the empty wood.

Two minutes later, Rees was lying on his back in the flowers, trying to force air into his gulping lungs, trying to stop shaking.

Helene was eating some chicken with her fingers, and chattering about how it wasn’t bad, not at all, and if it had been like this, years ago….

Rees put his arm over his eyes. Foolish of him, to want anything else. To feel there was something wanting there. Stupid. Emotional. He had his release, and that was all that mattered. Wasn’t it?

Twenty-five

The Hunt Is On

Ambrogina Camden, the Duchess of Girton, was sitting in the garden of her townhouse, attempting to look regal. This wasn’t an overly difficult proposition: Gina had a dignity and grace that made her a natural duchess. She was sitting bolt upright, her head carefully poised atop her spine, her pale red hair pulled back into a gleaming mass, the better to frame her beautiful facial bones. “How much longer?” she demanded of the man who had been scrawling sketch after sketch in black charcoal for the last two hours.

“Hush,” the man said. And then, “Don’t move, Gina, for God’s sake!”

Gina quietly ground her teeth (duchesses do not show outside signs of irritation, even under extreme provocation) and straightened her spine again. If only Max’s nursemaid would bring him down into the garden to play, he would certainly toddle over on seeing his mama and she could pick him up and end this tedious business of sitting for her own sculpture.

“One more moment,” said the man, “this one is rather good. Lovely, in fact.” There was a tone of ripe satisfaction in his voice. “I think I’ve got it, darling. What do you think?”

Gina hopped up and went around the man’s shoulder to look. “No!” she said, on a rising shriek. “You promised, Cam! You promised!”

The Duke of Girton grinned at his wife. “What? You don’t like the shell?”

“The shell?” Gina squealed. “Who cares about the shell? You’ve done me without a stitch of clothing!” She tried to snatch the piece of foolscap from him but he held it out of her reach.

“It will look lovely on the front lawn at Girton House,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I can’t think of a better use for that pink marble that was delivered last week.” With his free hand he caught his wife tightly to him.

“I won’t let you,” she promised, trying once more to grab the sheet of paper.

“It doesn’t matter if you rip up this sketch,” he said, lowering his other arm so she was trapped in the circle of his arms, and bending to kiss her neck. “I know your body, Gina…I could take a piece of clay from the riverbank and mold it in the dark, and people would call it exquisite.” His mouth hovered at the corner of hers.

“You’re naught but a rogue, to even think of sculpting your own wife without clothing.” He smelled so lovely, and she had got up quite early to visit Max in the nursery, and her husband did have the most beautiful eyes, and his hands…“We’re in public!” she scolded him.