“Who is Stephan?”
“You saw him this morning,” she replied. “He is the young man with the long blonde hair. We have known each other since we were children.”
Davyss thought back to the morning when they had toured the place; he remembered the blonde man, alright. He remembered that he was young and strong and handsome. A bit of jealousy flared in his chest, a surprising reaction.
“Then perhaps Stephan will tend it while you are in London with your husband.” He didn’t know why he made a point of reminding her that he was her husband, but some odd possessiveness prompted him to. “I will leave him with plenty of coin so he will be able to procure food and whatever else he may need.”
She looked at him, curious. “Coin?” she repeated. “But… why would you do this?”
He looked at her as if she was mad, although it was gently done. “You are my wife,” he said as if she needed reminding, again. “The House of Hope is your charity and it is my duty to support it and you. Do you disagree?”
She was astonished; the thought had never occurred to her. “Nay, Davyss, I do not,” she peered at him. “Are you sure you want to?”
It was the first time she had used his Christian name; he liked the way it rolled off her tongue, spoken in her soft and sultry voice. “Do not be ridiculous,” he chided softly. “The place does look rather run down. I noticed that the roof was much worn.”
“Aye, very.”
“Then I shall leave enough money to have it thatched while we are in London. In fact, I shall leave enough money to have the entire structure reinforced. Would this please you?”
She gazed up at him with her bottomless gray eyes, shocked beyond the ability to express it. “You would do this?”
He smiled warmly into her lovely face. “I would do it for you.”
Devereux had never had someone speak so sweetly to her. The first sweet words out of the man’s mouth had been contrived and practiced; that was what she expected from him. But this day seemed to have erased all of that from her mind because the words coming forth now were sincere and kind. She could only pray he really meant them; as much as she wanted to believe him, there was still a small part of her that was suspicious. She simply couldn’t help it.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “You are extremely generous.”
His smile faded as his eyes took on a hungry glow. Devereux watched as he dipped his head low, closing her eyes as his warm lips captured hers. As she remembered from the afternoon, hewas musky and gentle and titillating. She had enjoyed it quite a bit. She was enjoying it more now.
Davyss’ hands were caressing her, giant appendages that were gentle and warm as they touched her. Devereux remembered his touch from their wedding day, hands that had caused her to momentarily forget all of the hatred and frustration she was feeling. His musky scent overwhelmed her nostrils, his heated palms overwhelming her nubile body. But this time, his kisses were far more gentle and passionate as opposed to lustful and powerful. She responded to his touch, timidly at first, but with increasing ardor. As much as he was tasting her, she was learning to taste him as well. The path of discovery had begun.
The first thing Devereux realized about Davyss was that he had a distinct scent and taste; both were very musky and very manly, something like leather and pine and earth. And his skin had a distinct texture as well; it was warm and smooth. His mouth moved to her jaw and neck, allowing her a moment to breathe. It was more like a ragged gasp. Her hands were on his enormous shoulders, feeling his warm skin beneath her palms. Soon her fingers were in his hair, acquainting herself with the thick inky strands. They smelled like leather.
Davyss’ hand moved to her breast and Devereux started; he froze, lifting his head from where he was feasting against her collarbone. His hazel eyes were hazy with lust and concern.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “Nay,”
She was fearful to tell him what she was really thinking but he could read it in her expression. Cupping her cheek with one big hand, he kissed the side of her face.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he murmured. “If you do not wish for me to continue, I will not. I do not want you to be uncomfortable.”
It was a far cry from the man who had so willingly taken his right on the eve of the marriage. She gazed intently at him.
“You are my husband,” she said. “It ’tis your right to… to touch me.”
He lifted a dark, well-shaped eyebrow. “I am well aware of my rights, madam,” he said. “I was trying to be considerate of your feelings.”
She looked into his eyes, trying to determine if he was simply humoring her or if he really meant it. But her gaze ended up moving from his eyes to his handsome face, to his thick neck and broad shoulders. His naked chest was her next destination, smooth tanned skin with a soft matting of dark hair. He had an exceedingly muscular chest and her female instincts, as naïve as they were, began to swamp her. It made her feel hot just to look at him. He was a glorious example of a man and naïve or not, frightened or not, she was not hard pressed to admit that she found him extraordinarily attractive. Embarrassed at the new feelings consuming her, she averted her eyes.
“I… I am not uncomfortable,” she muttered. “I will not protest if you wish to continue.”
Davyss fought off a smile; he couldn’t help but notice she wouldn’t look at him. He would have thought her disgusted with what was happening had he not seen the faint mottle to her cheeks. He dipped his head, trying to look her in the eye.
“Am I to understand that this is pleasurable for you, my lady?” he teased her gently.
She lowered her head further and he laughed softly. “So you will not admit it, you little fox?” he pushed.
