Estwoodwantedto kiss her.Andbed her.
How unexpected.
The skin along Lucy’s arms started to…hum. “Not…properly.”
“Hmm.” The tip of Estwood’s tongue licked just below her ear, as if she were an ice purchased at Gunter’s, in danger of melting in the sun. A soft sound passed between her parted lips when his teeth grazed along the skin.
“The thought of a blacksmith’s son bedding you might fill your mind with disgust, but I do not think”—his finger left her beating pulse to trail along her collarbone—“the rest of you agrees.” His thumb rubbed gently over her bottom lip, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he tilted his chin, breath stirring the small hairs at the base of her neck, mouth skipping along her skin. “Should I stop, Lucy?”
No,she didn’t want him to stop. For the first andonlytime in her life, Lucy felt…desirable. Wanted. Beautiful, even. The sensation of Estwood was so intoxicating,she dared not move lest he cease his torture.
Please don’t stop.
How Lucy wished she hadn’t been wed for only Marsden, an ironworks, and revenge.
He lavished the slope of Lucy’s neck with adoration, never once moving to her mouth, no matter how she silently willed it. No attempt was made to touch her otherwise, though Lucy, gasping and making soft sounds, would have welcomed it. He was right. Not about finding him unappealing because he was a blacksmith’s son—that was patently ridiculous. But that her body ached for him.
Oh, it always has.
“You should know, Mrs. Estwood”—he pulled back, enough so that Lucy could see the heat hovering in his eyes—“that I want you with or without Marsden attached to your bloody skirts.” The rare, blunt words sank into her bones. “I did then. I do now. No matter the circumstances.” His tone lowered until it was barely a whisper. “Do you believe me?”
Lucy inhaled softly as warmth dripped slowly between her thighs. “Yes.”
“No matter who your father happens to be. Or how far beneath you I am.” He cocked his head. “You’re my wife now.” His features seemed once more cut from stone, as if he hadn’t just unsettled her to a startling degree.
Estwood was so terribly hard to read.
“Shall we go up?” He sat back and grabbed the bottle of scotch by the neck, holding it up. “In case you wish a nightcap.”
Lucy came, somewhat unsteadily, to her feet.
He took her hand. “Don’t forget your glass.”
17
“The house is lovely,” she offered, nearly lisp free, as Harry led the new Mrs. Estwood out of the drawing room.
It wasn’t lovely. He didn’t have the patience or the eye for drapes and cushions. Color palettes. Choosing the proper paintings. But Harry appreciated her attempt at a compliment all the same.
“You may decorate as you see fit.”
Except for his study and bedroom, the house was sparsely furnished. One would think that having grown up poor, the first thing Harry might have done with his wealth would have been to purchase the largest home he could find and furnish his residence in an extravagant manner. But ostentatious displays of money had never impressed Harry. The neighborhood where he lived was respectable but not fashionable. He rarely entertained, unless it was for business reasons. Didn’t have a wife?—
She smells of lemon. I could eat her up just as I did the cake.
—to preside over dinners and the like. Or to add a feminine touch to the drawing room, which was sorely lacking in any sort of real decoration. Harry’s only indulgences had been thefireplaces, which he’d had enlarged because as a child, he’d been forever cold. A well-stocked library because after learning to read properly, he’d hungered for words nearly as much as numbers, and the bloody feather mattress on his excessively large bed, which he’d never shared with another human being.
No more sleeping on straw or random elbows in the nose for Harry Estwood. He’d shared a bed with his siblings.
“This way,” he gently directed her.
“Upthtairs?” The blue of her eyes blinked up at him.
Harry dragged his thumb along her bottom lip. “Breathe.”
The lisp’s return, no matter how slight, told him Lucy was somewhat distressed despite the scotch. She had every right to be unsettled, after running through a modiste shop and an alley, marrying him in a bit of a rush, and then having Gerald Waterstone appear in time for dessert. But Harry didn’t sense she felt any fear of him.
Maybe she should beafraid.
