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Tired, hungry, and stiff, they at last arrived. Two rows of servants filed out to greet their new mistress. Though she was exhausted, Harriett made sure to greet each one with a genuine smile and thank them for their welcome.
When she stepped over the threshold into the rooms Roland told her belonged to the duchess, she was met with elegant furnishings decorated in cream and cool greens with accents of lavender and violet. “How lovely,” she murmured, running a hand over the coverlet on the bed. Each puffed square of cream silk was embroidered with clusters of violets.
“I’m glad you like it,” said her husband, who’d come in with her. “I had it decorated with you in mind.”
She blinked in surprise. “Me?”
Laughing, he took her face between his hands. “Harriett, don’t you know by now that I love you?”
Her heart gave a great leap. “You do? But I thought—”
“I know what you thought. I was a damned fool. I tried my best to push you away because of my guilt over wanting you for my own. Though it consign me to the eternal fire to admit it, I believe I’ve loved you since the moment you knocked me onto my arse in that cemetery,” he said with a sheepish laugh. His manner became serious again. “I know I’m not William. I’m not perfect, and I probably never will be—but I love you, and I will always do my best to be whatever it is you need most.”
Harriett answered him by kissing him with all the passion she possessed.
~ * ~
All at once, the restraints Roland had placed on his mounting desire dissolved. She was his now, in every aspect. And she wanted him.
The first time they’d come together, he’d not been himself. He remembered there had been plenty of passion, but not much tenderness. He’d caused her pain. This time, there was no maidenhead to cause concern. This time, it would be different.
He held back, gentling his embrace. It was difficult not to be overcome by lust, but he wanted to do this—for her. With slow hands, he began to disassemble her gown piece by piece, pausing here and there to kiss each bit of creamy flesh bared. When at long last she stood before him in naked glory, he began to disrobe.
Lady Manchester, however, was not content to stand idly by. Reaching out, she brushed his hands away and returned the favor, disrobing him. Pleased by her bold
ness, he let her. Remaining motionless, he gave her license to explore him. Her hands moved over him, learning his shape and texture.
Roland knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. Father had always insisted upon his sons training hard and keeping fit. It was a difficult habit to break, and one of the few things his father had instilled in him that he felt had any merit. He exercised daily, practiced his fencing with the best opponents available, and even occasionally boxed when the mood took him.
Her delicate touch sank into his skin, leaving behind a tightness of wanting. He gritted his teeth as she began to unbutton his breeches, her feather-light hands causing him sweet agony as she freed him. His eager arousal jutted out, and for a moment he worried she might be afraid.
But his fears were soon allayed. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and grasped him. Smoothing up and down his thickening length with her palms, she explored it. He shuddered as she ran a curious fingertip around his sensitive rim.
Enough was enough. Pulling her close, he reveled in her naked softness. He ran his hands down her back, over skin like warm silk. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hair, releasing it from its confines. His eyes feasted upon her pert breasts as she did so, until she leaned forward and the dark mass tumbled free, covering them.
“Woman, you are beyond magnificent,” he breathed in awe.
“Every kitchen maid has her moments,” she teased, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.
Bending, he placed a smiling kiss on one shoulder and then forged a trail of kisses up her neck. “And you are certainly no kitchen maid,” he whispered at her ear. “If anything, you are a goddess. A goddess to whom I feel very much like paying homage.”
He knelt at her feet to begin his worship. Her eyes widened as with firm hands he spread her thighs and began to caress her nether folds. Little by little, she relaxed, permitting him to touch her more fully. He waited until her eyes drifted shut before shifting forward to replace his hands with his mouth.
Her gasp of shock became a low moan, and her hands buried themselves in his hair.
He used all of his skill to give her pleasure, and it wasn’t long before she staggered against him, weak-kneed and panting. Smiling, he stood and led her to the waiting bed. His need was urgent, but his desire to bring her to a state of bliss was greater. Spreading her knees, he again knelt and kissed his wife in that most intimate way. Now that he had better access to the jewel of her womanhood, he could pay it proper tribute.
Her soft moans were a siren’s call, her writhing movements a temptation beyond compare. Still, he held back. When at last he tasted a fresh burst of dewy sweetness on his tongue, he again rose. She was ready—and so was he. More than ready. His cock was like stone. Guiding himself to her honeyed entrance, he entered her with all the restraint he could muster.
A long, shuddering sigh issued from his wife’s parted lips as he buried himself in her inch by inch. She was so tight the pleasure of it was almost unbearable. He stilled for a moment to regain self-control. Her throbbing heat pressed in around him, urging him to release. It was only with the utmost willpower that he did not climax then and there, but he was determined she should come first.
She lay beneath him, clasping him with her legs. Arching and pulling back, he bent and focused on the tempting, rosy peaks she presented for his delectation. Her broken voice cried out as he drew first upon one and then the other, licking, nipping, suckling until her hands fisted the sheets at her sides. When he paused, they rose and her fingers threaded through his hair.
Her feral growl of protest as she dragged him down again made him shake with barely suppressed laughter. To say he was surprised by the violence of her ardor was to put it mildly. He shifted up—despite her objection—to look at his wife. God, he’d never seen anything like her in all his years of living as a dedicated rakehell. She was as glorious and untamed a wanton as any he’d ever met—and far, far more desirable, for her heart belonged to him.
To think he’d once worried that a proper wife would be a disappointment! Harriett was the embodiment of everything he’d ever wanted and more. A surge of fierce, tender possessiveness arose in him as he gazed down at her. Her clear hazel eyes opened, and the love he saw in them bound him more tightly than any silken scarf or promise of carnal pleasure.
