And it was true. She had no desire to travel to the Continent. Having him as her husband at last was gift enough.
“Ah, Ara.” His hands slid from her waist to her bottom, cupping and squeezing and settling off a delicious waterfall of sensation skittering through her.
Want.
Need.
Desire.
All she wanted was this man: his taste, his touch, the scent of him, his broad chest, his muscular arms, his long legs, powerful thighs, his lean waist and barely suppressed strength. All she wanted was him. Now. Forever.
“You are mine,” she told him, reveling in the words. In the truth of them. “Mine, Clayton Ludlow.”
“I have always been yours, my darling,” he said, walking with her in his arms to the bed. “Always.”
He laid her down as gently as if she were made of the finest Sèvres porcelain. She wasted no time in opening the knot on her dressing gown and spreading it wide. He shucked his and she had a moment to admire the beauty of his body before he joined her on the bed.
His mouth was everywhere, delivering heated kisses to the bare skin of her legs, belly, breasts, and throat before settling upon her lips at last. She sighed into his mouth. He tasted sweet, like the wine he had consumed at their wedding breakfast. Their tongues tangled.
His hands took up where his mouth had left off, stroking and caressing. He found her nipples and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. His heated touch skimmed over her belly, and knowing fingers parted her folds.
“You are so wet for me, Ara,” he whispered against her mouth. “So perfect.”
She was desperate for him, her hips seeking more. Ara kissed him everywhere she could reach—his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his lips—and still it was not enough. Restlessness built within her. She was starving for his touch, for the fulfillment only he could bring her.
“I need you so much, Clay.” She reached between them, taking his thick, hot length in her hand.
“Put me inside you,” he ordered lowly.
His directive made the slick flesh between her thighs throb. She didn’t hesitate, guiding his cock to her entrance. He thrusted as she arched, and he was seated deep inside her. So deep. So good. She was full, stretched.
His mouth slammed back down on hers as a growl tore from him. He moved, slowly at first, but as the pleasure built, he increased his pace. They made love frantically. Mouths, tongues, hands everywhere. She reached her pinnacle, her inner muscles contracting on him as pure ecstasy shot through her. In the next breath, he was coming undone too, and with a low moan he spent inside her.
He collapsed atop her, his breathing heavy, their skins slicked with sweat. They kissed again, slowly, languorously. His heart beat against her chest. She held him to her, and there was no need for words.
She was home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clay woke happyand sated as he had not been for as long as he could remember. He woke to soft red curls tickling his chest. To a warm, feminine body draped over his. He woke to Ara, naked. To Ara, his wife.
Ara, hisnaked wife. It was a blissful combination. He would never grow weary of Ara and her capable mind, her sizzling wit, her loving heart, or her delectable body, it was certain. They had spent the entire day following the wedding breakfast inside her chamber and his, alternating between making love and holding each other and talking. They had not even left for dinner, taking trays in their apartment instead.
But as he lay there in the early morning light, reliving the heaven of the day before, a troubling sense of disquiet entered his mind. He thought of the governess. Of her spilled wine. Of how odd the timing of it had been, just after Leo’s revelation regarding the Fenians who had murdered Burghly. Of the pallor she had displayed.
He could not sleep, thinking of it. Could not rest. Could not allow himself to give in to the desires burning in his blood for his wife. He would love nothing better than to wake her with kisses, tease her until she quivered with need, sink home inside her.
But questions and misgivings churned in his mind, unrelenting. His ardor was eclipsed by his concern, that niggling voice inside him telling him something was wrong. Something about the governess was somehow off, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that his instincts were not failing him.
Dropping a kiss on his sweetly sleeping wife’s lips, he extricated himself from her embrace and left the bed, tucking the bedclothes over her before he hastily dressed himself. The misgiving built as he left his chamber and headed for the nursery, all the while praying he was wrong.
Taking care to be quiet lest he wake Edward, he opened the door. And was met by a loudly meowing Sherman. The feline raced out the door and into the hall, as if spooked. Inside Edward’s chamber, his fears were realized when he discovered the lad’s empty bed.
“Edward,” he called, his fears mounting.
Panicked, he rushed to the governess’s chamber, knocking loudly at the door. “Miss Palliser?”
Sherman followed, brushing against his ankles, meowing again. There was no answer from within. He rapped once more. When he was met with silence, he entered. Though it was the height of impropriety, the swiftly rising tide of fear within him would not allow the time to locate a female domestic to perform the task.
