He shifted on the mattress to move between her knees. She spread her legs, neither knowing nor caring what he intended to do to her—so long as he did not stop. Wade nestled his head between her thighs, burying his face in her petticoats and drawers.
When he joined his mouth to the heart of her, Cassandra arched and called out his name. She was sweet, and warm, and so, so soft. He used his lips, teeth, and tongue to bring her to the brink. She moaned. She writhed and strained against him as he swirled her toward release.
Wade felt her hand atop his head. Fingers plunged into his hair, and she guided him to where she needed him. Once there, he stayed there—until Cassandra found her bliss with one aching, shuddering cry.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Something profound had happened to her. Cassandra had found immense pleasure with none of the pain she’d been taught to fear. Whatever delicious thing Wade had done to her—for her,with her—had caused no discomfort at all.
If this was what passed between a man and a woman, what on earth had she been waiting for?
Cassandra sat up, glancing down at her slackened thighs and creased skirts, and felt rather pleased with herself. She’d never been frigid at all, but had needed only the right man to come along—one who was not afraid to think outside the box, so to speak.
What they’d done together was not the usual thing, she knew. She had certainly never heard of it, yet Wade was creative, skillful, and utterly shameless. He would not have felt demeaned to go to his knees for a woman.
Forhiswoman.
Forher.
He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head. He looked flushed and strained. Even a virgin could see what they’d done together—as wonderful as it was—had not sated him.
Cassandra curled against his chest. She felt his heart thrum in her ear. Two strong arms wrapped around her, cradling her.
“Scandalized?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, even as she buried her face in his shirtfront.
“Satisfied,” she replied. “And you?”
Wade stroked lazy circles across her shoulders. “I’ve never been happier, buttercup, for I’m a man with an embroidered handkerchief in my pocket and the taste of you upon my lips.”
She blushed. If she kissed him now, would that be so?
“You ought to ring for your maid,” he said at last. “She’ll be wondering what is keeping you.”
“Will she…know?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Cassandra pulled away, feeling the pearls bite into her flesh. They were heavy and threatened to give her a neck-ache. It was time they returned to their vault.
She let Wade unfasten the gold-and-diamond clasp at the back of her neck. He lifted the pearls free, and Cassandra felt a chill without their warmth. The tops of her breasts felt exposed, and she tugged vainly at the low bodice of her evening gown.
Wade slipped through the gilded door panel that separated her bedroom from his. She’d learned that this was the duchess’ bedchamber, and—had they been man and wife—the duke would’ve visited her discreetly through that break in the wall. It was inappropriate for even a husband to prowl outside his wife’s apartments. It would have been scandalous to catch the master of the house creeping from the mistress’ bedroom.
Cassandra’s parents had shared a bed. As far as she knew, all married couples slept together. But society matches were not made for love, and perhaps dukes and duchesses only shared beds when duty demanded.
She was glad not to havethatsort of relationship with Wade.
Wenna came to undress her. She clucked and tutted over the rumpled state of her mistress’ skirts, yet said nothing of the ruinedcoiffurethat had somehow come loose of its pins.
Cassandra washed, though she claimed to be too exhausted to bother with a bath. She ducked behind the privacy screen to tend to her needs, thankful for the ewer and basin filled with fresh, warm water.
She ran the soapy flannel over her bare skin, letting her mind wander to the profound moment that had taken place only a short while ago. Wade had kissed herthere. Cassandra touched her fingertips between her thighs, feeling flushed, damp, and terribly inappropriate.
Wenna had disappeared into the dressing room, leaving her mistress to wash in peace, but Cassandra was not truly alone. The maid could return at any time and catchherin an unladylike situation.
She let her head fall back against the screen. There was no use pretending, for she had found herself in this pose before—for years she had stolen quiet moments to touch, to dream. To desire. She’d always pulled back from the shame, before the pain that would surely follow.
But tonight, she wanted to be greedy.
