“Teasing me all morning, then running off,” he said, advancing slowly as I turned to face him.“And what you did at the breakfast table—utterly scandalous, Lady Wulverton.”
“I’m a bad girl,” I replied, reaching for his white cravat and tugging him closer.“What are ye going to do about it?”
“Well now,” he drawled, his voice low and unhurried,“since your brother is away working with Callum, you may scream as much as you like—but you will be shown no mercy.”
His finger traced a slow path from my throat to the edge of my bodice, deliberate and knowing.
The English dresses left very little to the imagination—an appalling lack of propriety, really.
But my husband?
He seemed to adore them.
“Sit on the bed, Lady Wulverton,” he murmured.“It’s time for an inspection.”
A ragged breath slipped past my lips, a frisson of excitement unfurling low in my belly like a slow, warming wave.
He unravelled his cravat with unhurried precision, sliding it free until it fluttered to the floor. I stepped back instinctively, unable to tear my gaze from my husband—my mate.
Our mate, Madadh, hissed before huffing and turning her back on me.
The pregnancy weighed heavily on her. She had grown fiercely protective—of our mate, our child, even my young cousins—guarding us all with sharp-edged vigilance.
“The longer you make me wait,” he drawled, fingers working deliberately down the buttons of his shirt,“the longer you will wait for my knot, my love.”
All thoughts of menus, cleaning, and preparing guest rooms vanished at once. Heat surged through our bond—blazing, fierce, undeniable.
I edged back as he shrugged out of his jacket, my tongue sweeping over my lips when his bare chest came into view—no wonder he hadn’t bothered with a waistcoat this morning.
“Remove your undergarment,” he said evenly, his gaze never leaving mine,“but leave your stockings and slippers on.”
Oh. He meant business.
Madadh snickered.
The sound made me smile. We remained interchangeable. The pregnancy made us emotionally wrought at times, yet we soothed one another gently until the moment passed.
My legs struck the edge of the bed, and I reached down to gather my skirt and petticoat in my hands, lifting the layers with a frustrated huff. I found myself wishing I’d chosen a simple skirt and blouse instead—it would have made reaching my undergarments far less clumsy.
“Do you require some assistance, Lady Wulverton?” he asked, his voice smooth as he closed the distance between us.
His shirt was gone now, leaving only dark brown breeches and his boots. My breath caught as my gaze traced the hard lines of his body—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, powerful arms corded with muscle from work and strength rather than vanity. A dusting of dark hair spread across his chest, thickest at the centre, trailing downward in a tempting line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his breeches.
He looked solid. Unyielding. Made to hold and to protect.
I nibbled at my lower lip and nodded, unable to drag my eyes away from him, from the quiet confidence in the way he moved—as though he knew precisely the effect he had on me.
I felt his feral restraint through the bond the moment he knelt before me—tight, coiled, deliberate. His dark head dipped as his palms slid up my legs, slow and possessive, until his fingers hooked into the fabric of my bloomers.
His head snapped up.
Golden eyes flashed, bright and intent, locking onto mine as he peeled the cloth downward with infuriating care, baring me inch by inch until it pooled at my feet.
“Oh, my,” he murmured, lips curling with a knowing smirk, a devilish glint sparking in his gaze.“I can smell your need. Naughty girl.”
I didn’t need the bond to know it.
He fully intended to ruin me this morning.
