Chapter Sixteen
Those words proved to be prophetic for both Harriet and Paul
It got better once they reached the warmth of the hall, where the Yule log continued to burn, lighting and heating the area. It got even better after they had made sure all was secure, and retired to their room. The Earl had returned earlier, said the one footman still awake, and the others had gone to their rooms over an hour before, at the end of what had been a rather noisy evening.
Oh, and could Mr. Paul please bring up more brandy from the cellar on the morrow. They’d nearly run out.
Paul, anxious to take his wife to bed, hurriedly agreed, thanked the lad profusely, and told him to turn in.
Harriet was already there when he entered, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, heaving a huge dramatic sigh. “I refuse to leave this room, unless the house is burning down.” He glared fiercely at Harriet. “I’ve waited long enough, wife. Let’s to bed.”
Harriet chuckled and turned her back on him. “A romantic and appealing invitation. In that case, husband, be my maid and unfasten my gown for me?”
He groaned. “With pleasure.” Shedding his jacket, he crossed the room and began to unfasten the few ties that held the back of her dress snugly against her. And as it slipped free, falling from her shoulders, he saw that his surprising bride had chosen a fragile and insubstantial lightweight undergarment, which revealed the curves of her body all the way down to her beautiful bottom.
He groaned. “Don’t move.” His hand trembled a little but could not keep away from the rounded curves and he smiled at the little sound she made as he cupped her buttocks through the fabric and stroked them gently, running his fingers along the crease then smoothing down over the sides and back over the soft swell once more. “Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward and nipping her shoulder. “Beautiful.”
She sighed. “I want to see you, Paul.”
How could he refuse?
Paul struggled from his clothing, shedding waistcoat, cravat and shirt in seconds flat and dropping them into a pile beside him. Neatness counted, but not at times like this. He unfastened his breeches and managed to free one foot from boot and sock. Hobbled by his breeches, he hopped, staggered and reached for the other foot, until finally he was forced to sit on the edge of the bed and curse beneath his breath.
He kept his gaze on Harriet, who still had her back to him, her body all but naked under the flimsy stuff.
She was a true work of art.
Then she turned, easing the straps from her shoulders, letting them fall, the slow slide of her chemise revealing her delicious body inch by inch. As soon as it hit her waist, she raised her hands to her hair and removed pins, letting it tumble down, the movement thrusting her breasts toward her husband.
Paul gazed at the magnificent orbs, their tips tinted with deep rose, the nipples hard buds crying out for attention.
And if he could ever get hisdamnedfoot out of his boot and breeches, he’d be glad to oblige.
Unable to resist the lure, he stood, ignoring his sartorial manacle.
Reaching for her, he pulled her close, hearing her gasp as for the first time, his bare skin met hers. She gazed at him, the love in her eyes shining bright, licking her lips and driving him slightly insane. He was hard, pressing against her, and yet she had not pulled back or flinched. She was a virgin, but showed no modesty or hesitation, but met his exploring touches with ones of her own.
Her hands roamed his chest, learning his muscles, toying with the flat discs of his nipples and making him shiver for so many reasons he wouldn’t have been able to count them even if he had been so inclined. She reached for his head and pulled his mouth to hers, tentatively at first, and then with more passion, more desire than he could have imagined.
Then she moved away from him, licking her lips and eyeing the rest of him.
His cock thickened even more as her gaze lingered on it, then finally swept to the floor.
“It seems you have a slight problem with your boot, my Lord.” She glanced up at him then back down to the offending boot. “Perhaps as a good wife, I should offer to help.”
And then, to Paul’s utter and total astonishment, his nearly-naked wife of a scant two hours, lowered herself to her knees and proceeded to help him extract his foot from his boot and slide off his sock and breeches.
“There,” she said, tossing the clothes on the growing pile. “That’s better.” Harriet lifted her head, looking him straight in the cock. “Much better.”
If her movements thus far had surprised him, what she didnextpoleaxed him.
*~~*~~*
Harriet couldn’t resist the chance to put into practice some of what she’d read in Letitia’s shocking book.
While astounded at first, she had read on, finding that the descriptions—the details—all combined to send most delightful sensations through her body.
When confronted with the real thing, how could she not seize the opportunity to learn if it was as pleasurable in reality as it had seemed on the page?
