“Come here,” Chauncey growled, grabbing her by the neck.
Pulling her to him, as if she weighed nothing, he claimed her mouth with a wild kiss that she felt down to her toes. Her back pressed against his chest as his tongue captured hers so thoroughly she wondered if he would ever free her. Arching as far back as her neck would go, she needed more of his hot, fervent kisses.
Pippa moaned into his sweet mouth, her body quaking as he hit a particularly delicious spot that caused quivers to runrampant through her. Heat ran up her spine as she cried out in ecstasy, not caring who heard her.
“Chauncey!”
Grasping her neck firmly but gently, he plundered her mouth, hindering her movements. Pippa’s body answered to the absolute control he had on her, and her sex clenched around him with wave after wave of her release flowing out of her.
“Fuck, Kitten,” he groaned, thrusting once, twice, three times before he stilled, his release so powerful that she could feel the quiver of his cock inside of her.
Pressing her weight against him, she basked in their lovemaking, wanting to be his for eternity and not care about a looming deadline of her own design.
Chauncey peppered her face with kisses. Her body tingled at every brush of his lips, her heart continuing to pound wildly. She tightened her arms around him, needing him closer. Closing her eyes, she let the love surround her as she basked in its rich overwhelming decadence.
With one last tender kiss to her temple, Chauncey released her, fixing her undergarments before allowing her skirt to fall. Pippa straightened her bodice, looking at her husband as he removed the French letter and began restoring his own clothing.
Once they were both presentable again, Chauncey pulled her abruptly to him, pressing a passion filled kiss to her lips. She wished that they could stay that way forever… that was until she remembered he needed to speak to her.
“What did you have to talk to me about?” she asked, looking up at him.
The light from his eyes dimmed until he shook his head before pressing his lips to hers again.
“It can wait.”
CHAPTER 22
Dear Chauncey,
I was thinking about my mother today, and I realized though I only had eight years with her, she would be with me forever. So perhaps your family’s shame shall follow you, but your mother’s love was real. I believe that in my heart because I know it is impossible to know you and not love you.
Yours,
Kitten (The Chemist)
St. Clara sat at the rather large dining room table with his hand grasped in his wife’s. Pippa sat beside him, not complaining over his need to constantly touch her. For the first time since arriving at Archer, he was carefree and happy. He was no longer weighed down by the sins of the past. Nothing would hinder him as long as he had her by his side.
The dining room was decorated in dark wood furnishings with a long table that could feed twelve positioned in the center of the room. The window faced the orangery, and St. Clara kept staring at it, replaying their escapades in his mind. He wouldhappily stay in the castle forever if it meant his wife would crave him as much as he craved her.
“I would have rather preferred having dinner in our room,” he said petulantly, wanting to spend the rest of the evening in bed with his wife.
“I know, but Mrs. Morris looked so despondent that we are leaving in two days. I believe it’s Newton whom she really is going to miss. Apparently they haven’t seen a mouse, and we’ve only been here a day.”
“I knew he was a vicious killer. It’s the way he looks at me,” St. Clara teased before he placed a piece of trifle into his mouth, savoring the sweet.
It had been ages since he had tasted anything like it. His cook in London wasn’t the best, but that was what he could afford.
“He is not!” Pippa hit his arm playfully, laughing at his reaction. Her laugh and smile were infectious; he wanted to always see her this way. “Are you sure we can’t stay longer?” Pippa asked. The sadness in her eyes over leaving Archer Castle moved him, and he wanted to stay more than anything.
“No, we need to find Maggie and the child.” He took a drink of wine, preparing himself for her reaction.
“You’re certain she was carrying Randall’s child?” Her voice shook. And St. Clara thought that perhaps she still did not trust him.
The doctor had come from the village to see Randall in the middle of the night, working tirelessly to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder. The coachman would survive, and once he was well enough, hopefully he could reconnect with Maggie.
“No.” He turned her hand over, staring down at long, elegant fingers. “I believe the child she was carrying is my father’s.”
After their tryst in the orangery, they had walked back to the castle together, where he had informed her of his plans to return to London and search for Maggie and her child. St. Clarahad spent hours after their rendezvous pondering the past. He couldn’t fathom why his father would pay both Pippa’s uncle and Maggie such large sums. There was only one reason.
