For now, she had felt nary a draught. Nor had she spied a mouse. The furnishings were elegant and sturdy, the castle itself rich in history and Montgomery family relics. Complete with newly discovered Roman ruins. It was Clementine’s fondest wish that all her friends would join them here for visits. The ruins would prove an excellent lure for Olive. The rest…well, Clementine had no doubt they would visit as well.
“A house party,” she said, seizing upon the same idea as Miss Julia. This time not for matchmaking purposes, but for socializing.
Ambrose buried his face in her throat, kissing her there where her heart was beating so wildly, she feared it might leap from her skin and gallop away. “Mmm. To the devil with house parties.”
Her feet were still dangling above the thick woolen carpets. Giddiness descended as his wicked mouth trailed a path of sin along her neck. “I was thinking we might host a house party of our own here at Tildon Court. Next summer, perhaps, after we have had the chance to restore the east wing’s roof…”
Her words trailed off as his mouth opened over her skin, sucking.
“Oh,” she said then, more moan than intelligent addition to the sentence she had never completed.
But how could she be blamed? Her husband was a handsome rogue, and he was waging war upon her senses and mind both.
He bit the cord of her neck gently. “Yes. No talk of house parties just yet. The night is ours, and I intend to enjoy it—and you—to the fullest.”
He settled her on her feet, but she did not remove her arms from around his neck. Instead, she remained as she was, body pressed to his, the thinnest scrap of linen and the rich silk of his dressing gown the only barriers between them. He was rigid, stiff and thick against her, pressing into her belly. She had touched him there before, to give him relief during the course of their seemingly endless engagement on the few occasions when they had possessed enough solitude.
Feeling bold now, she reached between them to caress his length again. “How shall you enjoy me?”
Her husband was nothing like Walter had been. He was not proper, not a perfect gentleman, and yet, he loved her endlessly. He made her happy. He had taught her there was no shame in pleasure, but that together, they could revel in their connection and bring each other to the heights of satisfaction. The shame she had been taught to wear like a mantle by her mother, lest she bring shame upon the family, had long been shed.
“Careful, Lady Dorset,” he said, even as he thrust against her seeking hand. “If you drive me too wild, this night will be over before it has begun.”
She stroked him, ignoring his warning in favor of the rush of power she felt whenever she was able to make this tall, powerful man go weak for her. It was frightfully easier than she had ever imagined.
“Shall I stop?” she asked—her hand stilling—already knowing the answer.
“Christ no,” he growled, the sound low and lusty. “Open my dressing gown. I want your bare hand on my cock.”
His raw words, steeped in longing, landed between her thighs, where she pulsed and ached. She was already wet and ready for him. Although he had never taken her completely over the course of their betrothal, he had most certainly taught her a great deal. His fingers had been incredibly delicious and…exploratory.
She knew where she wanted them, and she knew where she wanted the rest of him, too.
“Ask nicely, my lord,” she said, giving him another stroke and circling the broad tip with her thumb.
She wondered if a pearled drop of his mettle was leaking there. She knew from experience what he tasted like, musky and tangy on her tongue. Knew, too, the slide of his manhood in her mouth. None of the books she and her friends had stolen from the library at the Twittingham Academy had taught them aboutthat.
But Clementine had found herself delighting in the act just the same. She liked making Ambrose come apart. Liked the way his breathing grew harsh, the way his hips jerked toward her. Loved the curl of his fingers in her hair, the guttural growl as he spilled inside her mouth. Just as much as she loved his tongue on her, in her, bringing her to her release with his clever fingers.
“Please,” he gritted when she continued teasing him.
She sought his mouth, kissing him deeply as she released her hold on his cock and found the knot on his dressing gown instead. As their mouths moved in unison, the kiss deepening, she tugged at the belt, and the robe parted, gaping open. The heat of his bare skin was a welcome warmth radiating into her own body. Her fingers encircled him.
He groaned into their kiss before breaking it and looking down at her, a beautiful man filled with love and drunk on pleasure. “Damn it, Clementine, you are not being fair.”
“Am I not?” She clasped him as she knew he liked and stroked once, twice, thrice. He was thickening. Growing larger. Longer.
“I taught you too bloody much,” he growled.
“We shall see,” she returned teasingly, before dropping to her knees. She glanced up at him, admiring every bit of his strong, masculine body on display for her. Met his eyes. “I love you, Ambrose.”
And then, she took him into her mouth.
* * *
Well,this was a hell of a development.
His wife knew what he liked. And she was using it against him. He could not lie. He loved it. He lovedher. And now, she was his in truth. No more bloody furtive meetings attempting to keep from her mother’s hawkish eye, and no more zealous country party hostesses to keep them apart. No more waiting. They were husband and wife, inextricably bound.
