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‘Madame must have been devastated when she heard you’d broken the engagement and gone off into the country.’
Merriment in his eye, Dom nodded. ‘Probably saw half her projected yearly earnings disappear in the dust of my departing coach. We’ll have to make it up to her.’
At that moment, the modiste returned. ‘Eh, bien, so we begin, yes? First, I must take your lady’s measure.’
To Theo’s embarrassment, Dom accompanied them to the dressing room, despite her motioning him out when the shopkeeper’s back was turned.
Settling himself in the corner, he watched avidly as the dressmaker’s assistant removed her garments, until she was standing before him clad only in chemise and stays. Her body grew tight and prickly as Dom’s gaze followed every movement of the tape being drawn against her body, his eye darkening with desire.
It was almost as if it were his own fingers tracing over her skin, rather than a strip of numbered cloth.
By the time the measuring was completed, she was feeling hot and shaky. But there was more.
Seated again with Madame to discuss style, he did touch her. Sliding his hand over her shoulder and down her arm to demonstrate a desired cut and length of sleeve...sweeping a palm over her hip to indicate a fit of skirt... And when his fingers made a leisurely transit across her chest, the tips almost but not quite grazing her nipples as he outlined the depth and cut of the décolletage, it was all she could do to hold back a gasp.
Desire pulsing through her, relieved to be almost done, she was envisioning what she would do to him once she got him back to the town house when he announced it was time to choose the materials.
Bolts of fabrics were dutifully bought in.
First, he talked of colours—peach, apricot, honey. His voice and the heavy-lidded gaze he fixed on her made her picture biting into rich, ripe fruit, its perfume filling her senses, its juice sweet against her tongue.
Her eyes fixed on his mouth, she jumped when he took her hand and ran it across the subtle texture of the lute string. He unrolled some of the honey silk from its bolt and draped the material over her neck, slowly rubbing its sensual softness against her bare skin, from her chin to the tops of her breasts.
Her nipples hardened, and a moist, urgent throbbing started between her legs.
He moved to a velvet and then a lace, her intensely sensitised skin feeling every nuance of difference between softness and texture, weight and lightness as he drew them across her—as if he were making love to her with fabric.
She thought she would go mad with frustration and impatience.
When at last the assistant finished getting her back into her garments and the modiste left them, looking immensely pleased at the number of gowns they’d commissioned, Theo leaned over to whisper, ‘What must she be thinking!?’
Dom shrugged, his heated gaze on her lips. ‘She’s French. She’ll think I was seducing you.’
Her face burned with chagrin—but the idea of him practically making love to her in public was so immensely arousing, her mouth felt dry. ‘If you ever shopped like this with anyone else, I’ll murder you,’ she finally managed to get out.
He grinned at her. ‘Only with you. Most females require no assistance to enjoy shopping.’
* * *
By the time she was released from the torture of the shop to find a hackney, Theo was almost beyond speech. She scarcely knew what she replied to the idle chat he made during their short drive back to Upper Brook Street.
When they arrived, before Dom could say anything else, Theo took his hand and marched him straight upstairs to their bedchamber, where bright afternoon sun blazed through the windows.
Good; he’d be able to see everything clearly.
Time for the boot to go on the other foot.
‘I never thought shopping would take so long,’ she said as she closed the door behind them. ‘Did you really find this garment so offensive?’
‘It’s not offensive. I rather like it.’
‘But at the shop, you said you preferred something lower cut. To better display my breasts?’
He nuzzled her neck. ‘Seeing more of those breasts is always a good thing.’
‘Perhaps I should remove the gown, then. Will you help me?’
‘Willingly.’ To her satisfaction, his breath caught, his fingers fumbling with ties and laces as he freed her from the gown. When he’d helped her out of it, she swept a hand towards her stays. ‘Are these too plain, do you think?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said promptly, obviously catching on to the game.
‘Take them off as well.’
He swept a bow. ‘As my lady commands.’
He undid them and Theo shrugged them off.
‘What of this chemise? You’d prefer a new one, of finest linen, so fine you can see my body beneath it? These—?’ She cupped her breasts, thumbing the nipples until they peaked. ‘And this?’ She slid a hand down to stroke over the dark curls at her mound.
‘Yes,’ he breathed, his gaze locked on her.
Theo untied the laces, pulled the garment over her head and let it drift to the floor beside her.
Sitting abruptly on the edge of the bed, Dom watched her intently, his chest rising and falling, his lips moist and parted.
Feeling triumphant, powerful, and oh-so-female, Theo kicked off her slippers and walked over to him, naked but for her stockings and garters.
She stopped before him and put one foot up on his knee, opening her most intimate area to his view. She took his limp hand and stroked it over the embroidery of the garter on her unbent leg.
‘These, I think are pretty enough. Don’t you agree?’
A garbled sound issued from his lips.
Tightening her grip on his hand, she drew it straight up her inner thigh, across the tight curls of her mound, and dipped his index finger into the slickness between her legs. Shuddering as his guided touch further heightened her arousal, she moved his finger to stroke her there, again and again through the increasing wetness.
‘You see what you do to me?’ she whispered.
Apparently beyond speech, he made no answer.
Guiding his now moist finger, she traced a wet path down the inner thigh of the bent leg until it reached her other garter. ‘This, too, I think is...adequate.’
With a growl, Dom grabbed her waist and levered her on to the bed. Sliding her feet up so both legs were fully bent, he parted her knees to open her to him completely, then laved with his tongue where his finger had just been.
Theo gripped the bedclothes, her heartbeat stampeding as he licked and nuzzled. She twisted under him, trying to angle him deeper, inside her, and he murmured at her to be still.
Nibbling and laving gently, he inched closer, until finally, when she thought she could stand it no longer, moving to her pulsing centre. By the time he thrust his tongue deeper, moving in long, hard strokes within, then without to caress the little nub, she was gasping. It took only a few more strokes to bring her to shattering climax.
Afterward, as she lay panting, scarcely conscious, she dimly heard the rustle of him loosening his shirt, unbuttoning his trouser flap. Uttering a long moan of pleasure, she felt the smooth head of his manhood against her slickness. So limp, she was unable to tease him further, she closed her eyes, the waves of pleasure building again as he caressed with his hardness the damp flesh his tongue had just pleasured.
Finally, as she breathed his name, he entered her. She thought he intended to be gradual and slow, but he must have been as transported as she, for after two short strokes, he thrust deep. She wrapped her legs around his back to urge him on, harder, faster, until he cried out and the hot press of his seed spilling deep inside her brought her over the edge again with him.
* * *
A long time later, after drifting on a languid cloud of satiation, she came to earth to find herself tucked against his good shoulder.
‘I’ll never think of shopping the same way again,’ she murmured.
‘If that is how you pay a forfeit, we should make wagers daily.’ After kissing her forehead, he said, ‘I thought we should make a short detour before we return to Suffolk.’
She shifted to look up at him. ‘I don’t really need a wedding trip. Nor do I want to leave the school on its own much longer. I still have some apprenticeships for the boys to set up with the local craftsmen.’
‘It would be a brief stop. Before we go back to Bildenstone, we should take Charles to Hazlett Hall to meet the viscount and his lady.’
When Theo gasped, he said, ‘Confront the ogres in their den. Or, less melodramatically, forge the agreement for how we mean to go on. You were prepared to bind yourself to a stranger with no hope of future happiness to safeguard your relationship with your son. I think it’s important that we hammer out a formal arrangement with the Hazletts now, so you can be easy about his future—and ours.’
‘You...you would deal with the viscount for me?’
‘Of course. I’m your husband, Theo. I have that right now. And didn’t I promise to defend you? I can’t think of anything you are more eager to protect than your relationship with your son. So let’s accomplish that now.’
