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“Must we talk of her?” Alice asked.
“I suppose not, but she seemed overly adamant in her defense of our neighbor. But then, perhaps, she was the voice of reason tonight. Despite his reputation, we none of us have cause to believe him a beast.”
Alice bit her lip in shame at her deception. Ross would want to know that Mr. Scrimgeour had given Amelia a fright, and he wouldn’t take kindly to Alice keeping it from him, or swearing Amelia to secrecy. But, like Susan Claybone, Alice believed the man to be a misunderstood creature, even if he was never likely to be someone she’d welcome into her home.
Ross placed a kiss on her neck and her skin tightened in anticipation. A warm hand cupped her breast, caressing it tenderly, and he drew in a sharp breath as her nipple beaded in his palm.
“That’s it, my Alice,” he whispered. “So responsive. Are you ready to show your husband how much you need him?”
He rubbed his thumb over her sensitive little bud and a soft whimper bubbled in her throat.
“Ah…” he moaned softly. “My sweet, delectable wife.” He moved his hand along her body, caressing her swollen belly, then he dipped his hand lower. She shifted her thighs and felt his mouth curl into a smile against her ear. He knew her too well—knew when her body was calling to him.
Then he dipped his hand into the secret place between her thighs and a ripple of desire pulsed through her, as he ran a finger slickly across her flesh.
“Oh, Alice!” his voice came out in a hoarse growl against her ear. “I believe your hunger surpasses even mine.”
“Then I trust my husband will satisfy that hunger.”
“With pleasure.”
