“You like my hands on you,” he murmured warmly.
With him above her, she felt her world narrow to him and him only. Arching, she leaned up and kissed him squarely on the mouth, slanting her lips across his in the way she knew he loved. She let out that breathy moan as her lips touched his.
There was no taking it back. Not that she wanted to. Goodness, no. His mouth felt exquisitely warm against hers, and the soft, bristled hairs of his stubble abrased her skin in a sensual way. A delightful heat welled within her as William deepened the kiss.
Again, he switched their places smoothly, spinning them with her straddled atop him—his hands framed her jaw, holding her still for his kiss. His mouth possessed hers with firm, arousing authority and she parted her lips for his tongue, moaning as he plundered her softness.
As he licked inside, saturating her senses with his masculine flavor, his hand, rough with calluses, slid up her outer thigh, up under her nightdress, and cupped her bottom. Her woman’s place was throbbing, aching, shockingly wet already.
Good Lord, he was potent. He lifted his mouth from hers, and the loss of contact momentarily broke her reverie.
Awareness jolted her just then—it was daytime already, and while the under-curtains were drawn, the morning light filtered through the thin material, tinting the room with a golden glow.
William shifted them so they lay on their sides, as his hand smoothed over her silk nightdress. “As much as I would like to stay with you and tumble over this bed, I must see my uncle.”
“Should I come with you?” she whispered.
“I think it is best if you stay here,” he kissed her cheek and sat up to ruffle his hair. “Explore your new home, you may even visit or invite your friends if you’d prefer.”
She leaned on her elbow as he slid from the bed and headed to the door. William paused, hand on the knob, “Would you like to sleep together again?”
Falling to the pillows, Bridget gave him a soft smile, “I’d love nothing more.”
CHAPTER 23
“Iwas expecting you this morning,” Ambrose said calmly as William stepped through his door. “So, I prepared.”
Upon seeing the other man in his uncle’s study, his later father’s solicitor, Lodge Needs, sitting in a wingback and sipping a cup of coffee, William murmured, “I see that.”
“Before we get into the proceedings, I am profoundly insulted that I did not merit an invitation to your wedding,” Ambrose dropped that morning’s edition of the Times on his desk, the headline, in bold black,Beast of Brookhaven Marries Seamstress.
William took the paper and skimmed over it, then casually dropped it again. “I apologize. But it was nothing spectacular. I doubt you would have even enjoyed it. Anyway—” he pulled a folded document from his inner jacket, “—my marriage license, if you need proof.”
“If I may, Your Grace,” Lodge took the paper from him and unfolded it.
While he read it over, William apologized to his uncle again. “The night before, I was drinking with company, a last hurrah to my bachelorhood, and I apologize for not paying attention to detail.”
Ambrose lifted a brow, “You got drunk before your wedding day?”
“No,” William shook his head. “I wouldn’t disrespect her that way. It was simply a last salute to my single days.”
“Ahem,” Lodge cleared his throat. “May I have your attention, Your Grace, and my lord?”
As they joined the solicitor, the man withdrew a document from his valise and opened it. “Before we begin, may I give my felicitations, Your Grace. I wish you a long and delightful marriage.”
“Thank you,” William replied, choosing to stand instead of sit. He simply wanted to hear seven words;your inheritance is now available to youso he could move to the bank.
“…That being said, according to your late father, and this is his direct statement,my son, William Hartwell, upon his marriage to whichever lady he sees fitting, is to be issued his million dollar pound—”
His heartbeat increased.
“—uponbeing married and staying married to the lady and residing in the same domicile for a consecutive two months. Only when such time has passed, and upon approval of my brother Ambrose Hartwell, will the sum be issued.”
William flinched. “What?”
Lodge folded the paper. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but these are your father’s words and until these terms are met, your inheritance will still be withheld by your uncle.”
Even from the grave, you have bested me, father.
