Oh! There was an invitation she could not refuse. Patience began to echo his movement, rising and falling atop him and watching the need grow within him. It was thrilling to watch his desire grow, to see his pulse at his throat, to feel the tension of his body beneath her own. It was potent to feel that she had some command over this man, that she was not the sole one lost to the sensation conjured between them.
With each stroke, she became bolder. With each move, she knew better how to continue. She watched him and repeated what gained the greatest response, finding her own desire grow along with his. She rocked atop Arthur, seeing his nostrils flare and his eyes glitter, feeling his grip tightening upon her hands as he gave her free rein to torment him. She gasped aloud as her pulse thundered in her eyes, felt her skin flush as the tumult rose within her. He felt larger and harder with every stroke and she bent impulsively to touch her lips to his, sliding her tongue between his lips to kiss him as fervently as he had kissed her.
And with that caress, Arthur lost his composure. He locked one arm around her waist and seized her nape, rolling her to her back to bury himself inside her. His hardness rubbed against her in the most perfect way and she cried out in ecstasy, clutching him as she shook in her release. She felt him shudder and the spill of his heat within her, then he murmured her name and caught her close, rolling to his back and cradling her against his chest.
“Arthur,” she whispered, her cheek over the thunder of his heart, and he chuckled.
“Temptress,” he accused, letting a fistful of her hair spill over his fingers and pool on his chest. She lifted her gaze to find his warm and filled with stars, his smile making her heart flutter anew. He bent and captured her lips once more, kissing her so sweetly that she thought her heart might break. “And so it is done, Mrs. Beckham,” he said, clearly content with that.
“It is not done, Mr. Beckham,” she replied, feeling audacious. “You have not shown me my beguiling spot.”
“I have located it.”
“But you promised to show me.”
He rose with purpose, carrying her from the bed and sat down on a stool before the mirror. As she watched with wonder, he parted her thighs and caressed her boldly. Once again, his touch made everything jump within her and she writhed on his lap. “Look at you,” he growled, and she stole a glance at the disheveled and flushed woman reflected in the glass. “Ah, Patience, now we can begin to discover what you like best.”
“What do you like best, sir?”
His smile twisted. “I begin to think it might be you,” he whispered, then stole another slow and thorough kiss. She was beginning to think his thumb was what she liked best, but she had no chance to confess as much. This time, the tide rose quickly and consumed her, leaving her clutching Arthur as she gained her release.
He grinned down at her and stood, holding her in his arms. “A bath,” he whispered and when she might have argued, his eyes shone with devilry. “Together, Patience,” he added and she flushed from head to toe at the very suggestion.
It was a sight that evidently gave him great satisfaction, for he laughed aloud and did not relinquish his grip upon her as the bath was summoned. Patience found herself wrapped in his nightshirt and held fast in his grip, and truly, there was nowhere she would rather have been.
* * *
It wasa shocking thing for Lady Beckham to be so completely aware of the pursuit of pleasure beneath her own roof. She heard Arthur’s roar of satisfaction repeatedly that afternoon, and even the delighted cry of his new bride. The springs of first one bed and then the other could be heard to move in a rhythm that could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. Feet scampered down the hall as fires were built up then as a bath was summoned, then later yet as hot water was delivered to two chambers once again. She was certain she heard a tray being delivered to sustain the lovers and ground her teeth that matters should have gone so far awry.
Not only had he wed the daughter of a tradesman, but that match was consummated so surely that everyone in Mayfair must know the truth of it.
Perhaps the girl would conceive soon—there was no reason she might not, given their enthusiasm for each other—and die in childbirth. Lady Beckham took some reassurance from that possible means of removing the unacceptable bride from Arthur’s life.
She supposed the chit was better than the other one, but only just.
Why were men such ridiculous fools?
She had no reply to that question by the time she descended for dinner, uncertain whether she would be dining alone or not. To her dismay, her brother had arrived, having invited himself to dine.
“I gather your luck has not changed,” she said by way of greeting. “It is a sad day that you must visit me only to ensure that you have a good meal.”
“Yvonne, how can you doubt my devotion?” Reynaud demanded, striving for charm and missing his target completely. He bowed and she surveyed what had to be a new waistcoat. She shook her head and proceeded into the dining room as Arthur and his new wife appeared.
They both looked so delighted that she almost forgave him for his matrimonial error. He seated her with a consideration that filled Lady Beckham with envy. She was not to be revered or teased or honored in future. She was only to be a means to an end, a source of funds, a treasury for his indulgences.
The girl was wearing a necklace and earrings that Lady Beckham wagered had been purchased by her son.
“Are those sapphires, Arthur?” she asked, knowing she sounded waspish and not caring.
“They are indeed, Mother,” he said smoothly, taking his own place. “Patience has no gems so I saw fit to repair that with a wedding gift. I thought the hue of the stones would favor her eyes.”
His bride blushed prettily, her eyes sparkling as she held his gaze.
Arthur stared at her like a man besotted.
Had Lady Beckham chosen the gift, one that she surely paid for, she would have been less generous. “Amethysts might have suited as well,” she found herself saying and Reynaud chortled.
“Ever frugal, my dear sister,” he said. His words might have been teasing, but there was an edge to his tone that hinted otherwise. “But Arthur has been confoundedly lucky of late at the tables. Doubtless, he could have stretched to diamonds and tiaras to adorn for his wife, without concern for the expense at all.”
