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“A wife should never be that tired.”He lowered her to the bed, then removed his jacket and waistcoat.
“I’ll be thinking of festoons and silver platters,” she replied.
“Then I’ll make it quick.”
She scooted up on the bed and propped two pillows behind her while he removed his dancing shoes, tugged at his cravat then pulled his linen shirt over his head.
“If only I had a silver platter large enough to hold you,” he said.She laughed at the image.
“I am sure, somewhere in the annals of history, there was a platter built for such a purpose.”She lifted her chemise, pushed it around her waist and spread her legs.He shucked his trousers and small clothes and climbed into bed on top of her, settling easily.
“We should do this more often,” she said.
“If only we didn’t have arguments.”Matthew canted his hips, then reached between them, wetting the head of his cock before sliding into her.
She moaned, her lids drooping.“I’ve got several arguments brewing.”
“After the ball, please.”
They stopped talking.Matthew kissed her mouth and spread kisses along her neck before his tongue stroked her ear.She shivered and arched against him.“More,” she said.She stroked down his bare back, feeling the smooth muscles of his shoulders and the vee down his spine.
He peeled back her chemise, exposing her breast.He licked across her nipple, then blew a quick breath.The sweet pleasure pain brought a slight smile to her lips.She could, with ease, let him delight her body from morning to night.Should she admit that, when she had real responsibilities with children, husband and household?
Was she weak to want him so?Was she betraying her class and heritage by submitting to Matthew Hardy’s tradesman hands?As he cupped a handful of her breast and kneaded, she knew she didn’t care.
How she wished she had met him when she was younger!The titillating idea of running away with an unsuitable man, a year of indescribable and illicit passion as they lived on nothing but love in a seaside hovel in Italy.Where they could run naked, lollygag at the water’s edge and feed each other the food of the gods and drink from the cup of passion.
Matthew pushed harder and faster as his excitement grew.She was more tired than she thought and more distracted than she wanted to be.He arched his neck and closed his eyes for a few moments.
Primitive, indeed!The first man, surviving on his wits and strength.A cultured Philistine.A tamed wolf.Was that what happened when a duke, with the bluest blood, entwined with a woman of questionable morals?The product being a man like Matthew who was able to disrupt and rebuild.
Matthew was kissing her neck again and she smiled at the thought of morals.She?She who had slept with Cyril in hopes of retaining her position and protecting her daughters?
Instead, she ended up married, man and wife in Islington, raising children and performing the rigorous duties required of a sociable couple trying to remain relevant in society.Or the more specific things of hiding her pregnancy, healing the wounds of a traumatic childhood and dealing with the secret scheming of men in their rise to power and the manic pursuit of destroying people.That was a lot to expect of two people.
Very strange that: Matthew who was willing to protect the weak and spurn the powerful—well, until recently—compared to Cyril who worshiped the strong while scorning the helpless.It was very clear which of them should have been a duke.
Matthew rolled with her, spreading her legs over him.She braced her hands against his chest and rode him until he surged upward and groaned.She soothed her hands over his chest and waited for him to open his eyes.
“You’re still thinking of the gala?Afterthat?”
“Duringthat.Don’t overvalue your skills when we are both tired,” she said.
He laughed lightly.“At least you are honest.”
Rose bent over him and speared her fingers through his hair before kissing him.“That will teach you a lesson in planning galas.Next time you will give your wife enough time to prepare.”
She climbed from him and walked toward the tri-fold screen where her robe was draped.Matthew would be sleeping in a moment, she knew.As she came around the screen, she saw him still in bed with his hands propped behind his head.Naked as the dawn.
“Rose, how did Edmond die?”
* * * * *
Matthew watched Roseintently, waiting for a moment of vulnerability.Being tired, preoccupied and with nary a soul in sight, it was the perfect opportunity to get more of the truth.The questions surrounding Edmond Elliston’s death had bothered him for weeks even though Jack Sparling had written about the event as if nothing untoward had happened.Death by misadventure was theton’s way of saying something embarrassing had happened to facilitate the death and it would never be discussed again.
She wrapped the tie of her robe into a bow and pulled the satin ribbon tight.“Why are you asking now?”
“The newspaper was very vague.”
