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Desperate for relief from the heat, Bea wrapped herself around a doric column. “Oh, it’s as cold and refreshing as a cucumber!” Wilting against it, she smiled at William’s appreciative groan as he did the same nearby. “You’re a visionary of sorts to have brought us here. Shelter from the rain. Wonderfully cool marble.” Her voice quieted. “Privacy.”
After one last caress of his hot temple across the carved, veined stone, William pushed away from it and stalked her way. She turned, pressing her sweaty back into welcome contact with the column, but most of all, allowing his body and his gaze to pin her until there was nowhere to hide.
Her eyes drifted closed as he anointed her face with slow, tender kisses. They started out soft, but by the time the first drops of rain splattered onto the temple, William was tasting Bea deeply.
Growing steadily along with their desire, the rain outside progressed, falling in pelting sheets. In the back of her mind, Bea knew enough time had passed for the children to be home safe, allowing her to relax.
Lightning flashed just outside the shelter of the temple, startling them from their kiss, followed by explosive thunder. Heart pounding, Bea smiled against William’s lips. He shifted his hips; even through their layers of skirt and trousers, his hard ridge pressed against her, triggering an intense ache.
As she arched, the tip of her tongue found his, and their mouths mated with the same force as the storm raging outside. Against that column their hands explored each other avidly, and though she wanted for them to touch each other without the barriers of clothing, she reveled in the teasing, in how they were taking their time.
But eventually, swearing under his breath with uncharacteristic brutality, William cupped her tenderly through her bodice. “Remember what I did to that nightgown of yours once upon a time? I want to shred this gown off your body,” he admitted darkly.
Laughing breathlessly, she turned and gripped the column while he undid the back of her relatively simple walking gown. The hard marble made her long to wrap her hands around her husband.
Once she stood only in her shift, she moved to unfasten his trousers, but he swept her into his arms and carried her to the tall altar. He settled her onto its edge, where she sat facing him. Standing, her husband’s face aligned with her neck.
“William,” she whispered, beset by the picture he made.
Warrior blood pulsed through his veins. His eyelids became heavy as his eyes raked over her, her nearly transparent shift hiding little. She pulled it off, wanting to save her modiste’s handiwork before it fell victim to their ardor. She knew a measure of discomfort at William’s open inspection, even though his face was tight with passion.
Glancing down in the dim light, with the soothing backdrop of pouring rain, she tried to look at her body through his eyes. Pale and soft, her belly rose as she took in a breath. It swelled gently from her hips, bearing the evidence of their four children. Round and tipped with pale-pink nipples, her breasts begged for his attention.
When his eyes met hers, he was breathing hard. “There will be more babes,” he all but growled.
She fell back onto her hands, half reclining. “Yes,” she breathed. “But William…” Forcing herself to sit up before she lost all coherent thought, she reached for his hands. “I know there will be. I want more of your children, most ardently. But not yet. Do you remember…after Miriam?”
Nearly three years had separated the births of their first two children, and though they had never spoken of it openly, that had been no accident. After reprising the marriage bed, William had pulled out of her, spurting his hot seed onto her belly.
“I remember,” he said. “I thought God himself would strike me down for my sinful ways. But I—I wanted more time with you. If we produced heirs too quickly, there would be no reason for us to continue.” Stroking the soft hair at her temple, he looked into her eyes. “But I don’t think that way anymore.”
He set to removing her hair pins, handing them to her one by one. After he took the pile from her and set it on the pedestaled foot of the altar, he stared down at the waves of chestnut hair cascading around her shoulders and down over her breasts. He circled a thumb around her nipple, where it protruded between silky tresses, until she arched, begging for more.
Then his desire-filled eyes met hers and he made a solemn pledge. “Never again will I be the Marquess who leaves his Marchioness to fuck herself.”
Her eyes widened, both at the promise of his words and their shocking nature. Of course, she had started it all…
She reached once more for his trousers, only for him to still her hands and bring them to the place over his heart.
“Loving you every which way, Bea, that is my task. I’ll be applying myself to it until the day I’m so bent and gray, neither I nor my manhood can rise again. You may take off my trousers—later. First”—he looked at the altar—“you’re going to lie back and be worshiped properly.”
Her breath hitched at the idea, its allure great, but she frowned. “I wantyou, William.”
“So you shall have me. But we have ten years of your pleasure to make up for.”
“You wish to please me?” She tugged at the fine fabric of his shirt. “Remove this.”
He inhaled long and slow, then inclined his head. “As you see fit, my lady.”
If it was wicked to enjoy the sight of her husband’s layers of muscle contract and ripple as he pulled off his shirt, Bea didn’t give a fig. She touched his chest freely for the first time, denting her fingers into his compact flesh, tracing his ribs, exploring him.
He held her head to him as she rubbed her lips over the soft hair on his chest, and when her tongue darted out to lap at his nipple, his groan joined the sounds of the storm.
“You taste even better than trifle, Lord Candleton,” she declared with an impish smile.
His lips curved momentarily, but his expression remained fierce, and his hands were gentle but possessive as they skimmed up her ribcage. She shook her hair until it spilled down her back, leaving her front entirely bare for him. With the same unrelentingness as the rain streaming down all around, pouring down off the roof and around the columns like a veil protecting them from the outside world, William plied her breasts with his fingers and mouth until Bea was squirming and her head moved from side to side. Only when her pale mounds were gleaming in the dimness, wet from his tongue, and her tips were swollen, did he let go of her—to urge her onto her back.
How many times over the years had William stared down at her gently parted legs, as he was doing now? Many. Only now she lay fully bare, and so too, had he stripped away any pretense between them. None of what they were doing was necessary under the laws of Britain, Society’s expectations, or by biblical dictate to be fruitful and multiply.
