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“All right,” she gasped, a while later.

Silvester lifted his head, feeling dazed.

“You may unclothe me.”

He stared at her mouth, hearing the words but making no sense of them.

“Time to deflower a virgin,” she clarified.

Silvester stood up, placing her on her feet. “Right.”

She poked him in the chest. “Not that you’ll be using the skill hereafter, Duke.”

He shook his head. “We took vows. Yours. Till death do us part.” Lust seemed to have diminished his coherence.

Stella nodded and then turned around. “Buttons first . . .”

For the rest of his life, Silvester never forgot the experience of desiring his new wife so desperately that his hands shook as he removed garment, after garment, after garment. “I hate women’s clothing,” he muttered, when he finally began unlacing her stays.

At last, Stella stood before him wearing nothing more than a translucent chemise. Plump nipples stood against the delicate fabric. Freckles spread like a splattering of gilt down her neck, over the curve of her breast, disappearing behind the lace that edged her chemise.

“As I told you, they’re everywhere,” she said, apparently following his eyes. She stuck out one elegant foot, which had its own collection of freckles.

Silvester swallowed hard. He wanted to sip her like a fine whiskey. His mouth actually tingled, thinking of licking her from her ankle up.

“Your clothing?” his wife asked, cocking her head, pulling his mind back from madness to near sobriety.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Never having been unclothed before anyone but a maid or a modiste, Stella felt wretchedly awkward. She was trying to appear calm, but inside, her stomach was in knots.

Her chemise had been designed to be worn under her wedding dress. It was fashioned of transparent cotton, in the same pale pink color, with a low neck and a gold ribbon threaded just under her bosom. If she had had slim hips, the fabric would have drifted to her ankles.

But as it was, the swell of Stella’s hips pulled the cloth tight in that area. Supervising her dressing that morning, her aunt had moaned, asking whether Stella had eaten excessively since she was first measured, a question to which Stella had no answer.

Silvester didn’t seem to mind. His gaze devoured her from head to foot, but kept pausing and returning to the shadow of red hair visible under the taut fabric.

As if he could read her mind, he said hoarsely, “That chemise is a marvel.”

Happiness sparked in Stella’s chest. “Truly?” She smoothed her hands over her hips, pulling the fabric down so it didn’t bunch. “It is somewhat ill-fitting.”

A ragged groan tore from Silvester’s lips. “It’s perfect. I’ve been dreaming about your curves, but the reality is more lush than I imagined. Please, wear only that garment for the next week.”

A surprised laugh sparked from Stella’s chest. “Don’t be absurd!”

“We’ll banish your maid to the Dower House when she isn’t needed. Just think of all the washing that won’t be required, because you’ll wear your chemise and only your chemise.” His hands were curled at his side, as if he didn’t trust himself to touch her.

Stella blinked at him. Mrs. Thyme had taught her that maids were needed every moment, in every circumstance.

“Remember, I plan to debauch you in every room,” Silvester stated, as if his sentence was entirely reasonable. Meeting his hungry eyes made heat bloom between her thighs.

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you might unclothe now?”

With a rough sound of acquiescence, Silvester shed his bridal garments, tearing off his heavy coat, the embroidered waistcoat and breeches. Curiosity and desire battled for precedence; Stella had to stiffen her knees so that she didn’t sink onto the bed as her instincts suggested she should.

He was beautiful. That was a given.

But when the body he had described as brutal emerged from starched linen?