Humor flickered in his darkened eyes. “Imagine I’m a wall to climb, love.”
Portia laughed and dashed under the covers. He immediately pulled her crushingly close. “I love you. Deeply, irrevocably. Remember that.” He looked into her eyes. “I meant my wedding vows. This is for all time.”
She kissed him. “For all time, this life and after…”
As they kissed, he eased her on top of him, his hardness nestled between her thighs.
Portia pulled her mouth free so she could shower kisses all over his face, his neck, his shoulders. “I love you, too. I’ll try not to be so rash.”
His touch was gentle, cherishing skill. “Oh, some forms of rashness I like,” he teased.
She grinned and twisted to delve beneath the covers and assault the River Thames, but he seized her. “No, not today. This is our marriage bed, and today is for simple love. No tricks, no cleverness, just you and me in blessed harmony.”
Even in her inexperience, she could tell his touch was just that—an expression of love, not an attempt to dominate her senses. Portia allowed herself to do the same. She explored his body with no intent other than to satisfy her desire to know, her need to touch him—learn him—with mouth, hands, and every portion of her skin.
She pushed back the covers so that her eyes, too, could feast. “You are so beautiful.”
“As are you.” His lips played on her breast, and she stilled to take in the pleasure he could bring.
“That feels wonderful,” she murmured.
“Mmmmmm.”
She was laughing when he sucked, and the sweet pleasure became wild. Portia squeaked, then stopped the noise.
He grinned at her. “Just one squeak? Surely we can do better than that.”
And he proved he could.
“What if someone hears?” Portia gasped.
“You’ll be supporting my reputation as a mythic lover.”
“What?”
“Our demonstration at Mirabelle’s was much admired. I had to marry to avoid a pack of salivating ladies.”
Portia had other questions, but he was demonstrating that he could raise wild cries by touch as well as mouth. “This isn’t fair,” she gasped, her body dancing beneath to his tune. “I want to do this to you.”
He smiled into her eyes, his own dark, his cheeks touched with the color of desire. “You will. If you don’t discover how by natural genius, I’ll teach you. But let me pleasure you now, love. I’ve never done this before—lain with a beloved in innocent joy and trust.” His hand slid firm between her thighs. “Rise up my beloved, and open to me. And that,” he added with a smile, “is almost from the Bible, too.”
So Portia did rise up and open to him, closing her eyes to savor his skillful touch, then the blessed relief when he slid in to ease her desire. He was slow this time, so slow she moved restlessly to meet him, to hasten their joining.
“Open your eyes, love,” he whispered.
She did, and gazed breathlessly at him as he filled her with heat and power.
“To think I could have lived my life without this,” he murmured and moved subtly in a way that made her gasp.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said. “But with even greater fervor.”
They burst into laughter as he moved in her, and the laughter blended with their release, so they rolled together afterward, still chuckling as they kissed with joy.
Epilogue
“So, the canal will go through to the Mersey, Francis?” Bryght poured coffee for the duke, who had just arrived at Candleford Park, which lay some four miles west of Winchester.
“Aye,” said Bridgewater with satisfaction. “But it was a devil of a trial to get the Bills passed and the money raised, particularly when Walgrave took a hand.”
