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“Good. I am not afraid to challenge you to a duel should you ever try to dishonor me with that harpy or anyone else.”
Her husband laughed, the sound low, heated, and so very masculine.
Prue combed her fingers through his hair and pressed the lightest of kisses at the corner of his mouth. “I can tell you doubt the veracity of my claims,” she whispered against his lips. “However, your countess is very skilled in fencing, boxing, and in using a bow and arrow. I can also drop you on your perfect arse, my lord.”
His entire body had stiffened. “My arse is perfect, is it?”
She loved how close their mouths were as they whispered to each other. It was intimate and evocative. “Very muscularly so. And I should be the only woman admiring it, my lord.”
A pulse of silence, then he said, “I am a man who takes my vows seriously. Believe in that, my countess.”
“Then I will.”
She wriggled on his lap, trying to get closer even though they were already fitted so tightly together. Prue felt like she wanted to crawl into his skin and then invite him into hers.
“Bloody hell.” He shifted her as if he did not want her to know his body was aroused.
“Too late,” she murmured.
“Where have you learned such skills, countess?” he asked in a strangled breath.
Instead of answering, Prue shifted her mouth to his ear, surrendering to the chaotic hunger crawling through her body for her husband. After taking a steady breath, she whispered her desires.
The muttered cursesthat spilled from Oscar should never be uttered in the presence of a lady. Especially someone as sweet and delicate as his wife. The words that were just whispered from her innocent lips were simply the product of his very aroused and carnal imagination.
It must be.
“What did you say, countess?”Sweet mercy, let it be my fevered lust playing havoc with my mind.
His wife wiggled on his lap, leaned back so he could see her face clearly. The corner of her eyes crinkled with her smile, her lips parted. “Lay me down on the cushions and lick my quim.”
Good God, she really had said it the first time. And his body reacted with a wicked pulse of hunger. Lick her quim, something he had dreamed about but had known he would never be able to indulge in with his shy wife. Their gazes locked, and in the depth of her emerald eyes, he spied the dare. Take me, it said. He pressed his fingers against her stocking-clad leg and stroked upward to the edges of her garter. He allowed his fingers to tease its edges before slowly skimming the soft underside of her thigh. At the base of her throat, her pulse fluttered madly, and her eyes grew heavy-lidded with desire. Her instinctive response to him was so powerful it rushed to his head…and to his cock, which swelled with pulsating need.
He tried to recall the reasons he stayed from her bed and drew a blank. The silence lengthened until finally, he said, “You are foxed.”
She slipped a hand from his shoulder to hold up her gloved hand to his face, her fingers positioned as if she were pinching salt. “Only a little.”
Taking that hand to her mouth, she bit the tip of the glove and tugged it from her hand. Those bare fingers settled across his mouth, tracing the curve of his lips.
“I can just imagine how soft these will feel against me. Will I like it, I wonder…you tasting and licking me…there.”
Oscar was torn between throttling his countess and kissing her senseless. Nothing about her in this moment made sense. His wife was a shy innocent miss. Where did she get this provocative knowledge? Something cold and heavy settled into his gut. He was not a man prone to excessive emotions, but the feelings that slithered through him then scared the hell out of him. They were too unknown, as if they belonged to another gentleman entirely.
“Where do you draw your information from?”
Prue yawned but made no reply.
Oscar stared at his wife and repeated his question once again in a calm, modulated tone. He loathed that his gut was knotted with jealousy. This time she blinked sleepily. Too much libation. “You are exhausted,” he murmured.
A sheepish smile bloomed on her mouth, and once again, she appeared the sweet ingénue. His longing only increased. Oscar gently rearranged her so that she sat sideways onto his lap. With another yawn, she snuggled low into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. The ease at which she fell asleep told him of the trust she now had in him.
Then do not betray that trust with ugly suspicions, he silently warned himself.
The carriage arrived at their home in Mayfair only a few minutes later. Gently rousing her, they exited the equipage and made their way inside their townhouse. They climbed the stairs in silence, and he escorted her to her chamber. At the door, she peered up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. The boldness had been tempered, and the soft vulnerability in her gaze abated the cold feeling winding in his gut.
“Good night, countess. We shall speak in the morning.”
She hesitated briefly, her gaze lingering on his mouth for fraught seconds before she tipped onto her toes and brushed a soft kiss onto his jaw. It was as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wing but no less arousing. It really shook him how easily she stirred his longings.
