Louisa’s smile expressed sympathy. “I should like to have met her. Did she live long enough to see your success?”
“Not quite. She died not long after I left university. She always told me I’d be successful, though.” Maxwell shrugged. “My parents were strict, but not unkind. I have fond memories of both.”
Other conversation had followed; shared tales of childhood and family, which mostly served to demonstrate the difference in their social statuses, and how little they knew of each other. There had been no animosity, but not too much lightheartedness either. Maxwell’s sober personality had shown little sign of wavering.
Yet, despite that, or maybe because of it, he continued to affect Louisa in a way she couldn’t quite fathom. It was not due to any single attribute, but rather a collection of things.His baritone voice, with its delicious accent, had the ability to lift the hair on her flesh. She liked how he gave her his full attention whenever she spoke. The way he moved, with purpose and confidence, excited her. And the rare bestowal of his smile—hisgenuinesmile—made her feel as though she’d succeeded, somehow, in reaching a guarded part of him.
As for his eyes… at times, when he looked at her, they seemed to darken, as if reflecting on something she had yet to experience. As they had when he’d questioned her shortly before they’d arrived at the hotel.
“Do you know what will take place between us tonight, Louisa? Have you been told what to expect? What you will see and feel? I know what you saw in Richmond’s study, but the sexual act depicted in a painting does not necessarily demonstrate the pleasure of it. Unless, of course, one has had previous experience.”
The raw candor of his remarks sent her unprepared and innocent mind into a dither. “I’m aware of whatoccurs, Maxwell,” she managed at last, her cheeks burning. “But I have no notion of what to expect from it. How could I?”
“Then it would appear you have never pleasured yourself,” he replied, “which surprises me, frankly.”
Her blush of modesty turned to one of indignation. “Should I be offended by that remark, sir?”
“Absolutely not, my dear.” Amusement edged his voice. “It is simply that you are, by nature, curious, so I assumed, therefore, you’d be somewhat aware of what your body is capable of.”
For reasons she couldn’t begin to define, his response offended her even more. “Well, given the lack of my awareness,” she said, “I trust I can depend on you to show me exactly what my body is capable of.”
And then it appeared. The genuine smile, one generated by emotion rather than mere obligation. “Aye, lass,” he replied, a slight huskiness to his voice, “I think I can manage that.”
The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled Louisa from her reflections. Maxwell entered, followed by two young men, one carrying a tray of food, the other, a bottle of champagne, and two glasses.
“On the table, if you please,” Maxwell said, and gave the lad a coin for his service.
*
Less than anhour later, the simple platter of local cheese, freshly churned butter, warm bread rolls, ripe strawberries, and succulent melon had been reasonably demolished. The champagne bottle had likewise been emptied of its cellar-chilled contents and Maxwell suspected his new bride, having consumed three glasses of the stuff in rapid succession, was just a teeny bit tipsy.
“That, Mr. Harlow—” Louisa sucked strawberry juice off her finger, making a deliciously provocative, if slightly indelicate, slurping sound as she did so—“was absolutely perfect.”
Maxwell, who had endured numerous erections since leaving Highfield, groaned inwardly as his cock stirred anew. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mrs. Harlow.” He rose to his feet and held out a hand. She took it, a blush rising in her cheeks as she stood.
“Mrs. Harlow.” She giggled and hiccupped. “Oops, excuse me. I suppose I shall have to practice signing my new name.”
“Aye, but not tonight.” Maxwell traced the pad of his thumb along her jawline and then tipped her chin upward. “May I kiss you, Louisa?”
Surprise showed in the widened of her eyes, as if she had not expected to be asked for permission. His considerationwas acknowledged by a subsequent appreciative smile. “Yes, Maxwell,” she said, “you may kiss me, of course.”
Keeping his touch light, he cupped her cheek with one hand and bent to caress her lips with his. He applied gentle pressure at first, moving his mouth tentatively over hers, barely controlling a growing desire to coax her mouth open. As desire grew, he coiled an arm around her waist and anchored her against him, while teasing the seam of her lips with his tongue.
To his delight, Louisa responded with enthusiasm. Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, fingers burrowing into the curls at his nape as her lips parted. Maxwell deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness of strawberry on Louisa’s tongue. The little sound she made turned his cock rigid against her belly, their bodies shielded, of course, by several layers of clothing.
Unwantedclothing.
Still kissing her, Maxwell slid his other arm around her waist, both hands working in unison to unhook the fasteners on her gown. He frowned.Silly, fiddly little hooks. Why so many of the damn things?That would be something to invent, he thought, fasteners that took seconds to open and close, rather than bloody hours.
Louisa broke the kiss. “Wait,” she said, and, with remarkable adeptness, proceeded to finish what Maxwell had begun, shrugging off both gown and petticoats and kicking them aside. Now, clad in only her stays and underclothes, she arched her brows and gazed up at him, innocent, yet brazen. “Shall I remove the rest of my clothing, Mr. Harlow, or will you?”
Maxwell regarded the woman he’d married and secretly thanked God for the blessed ramifications of scandal… and perhaps the three glasses of champagne she’d consumed. “I will,” he said, casting off his jacket with all haste. “But you have to do the same for me.”
An impish smile appeared, her top teeth digging into her bottom lip as she reached for his cravat.
Not even five minutes later, breathing hard, they stood naked amidst a careless scattering of clothes. Only one thing remained undisturbed, and Maxwell’s deft fingers soon took care of that.
With a little bit of manipulation, the dispersal of a few hairpins released a silky cascade of mahogany curls that fell to Louisa’s waist. Silhouetted against the sunset’s fiery glow, she looked not unlike some mythical goddess.
