His abdomen pulled tight. “Practical? Yes, I’m sure practicality is a useful trait (in a woman.” He licked a bit of juice off his finger, and her gaze followed his movements. The tightness spread to the rest of his body, his muscles feeling too large for his skin. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t feel some trepidation.”
She gave a curt nod. “I’ll admit I have the same apprehensions most women surely feel, but you don’t need to worry about missish behavior on my part. I will perform my duties.”
Duty. The word rolled through his head. He knew all about duty. He stalked forward, circling his wife. And conceiving an heir was surely one of his biggest ones, but it didn’t feel like an obligation. And he didn’t want it to be one to her, either.
The knuckles of her fingers whitened, and her shoulders set, but otherwise she showed nothing as he prowled around her.
Surely, she was not like most women. The thought pleased him even as a compulsion gripped him to discover why she felt the need to hide herself.
He curled a loose lock of her hair around his finger and stopped behind her. He tugged, and smiled when she sucked in a sharp breath. Fingering the top buttons of her gown, he leaned close and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.
“This is a very serviceable travel gown.” He sucked her lobe into his mouth. “Do you have any particular attachment to it?”
“To the dress?” Her voice was a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat. “Of course not.”
Of course not. Not for his practical, impassive bride.
He gripped the neck above the top button and tore the back open.
Winnifred clutched the sagging bodice before relaxing her arms so the gown could slip from her shoulders.
He shoved the fabric past her hips and to the floor. “Step out.”
She complied.
Grabbing her about the waist, he turned and tossed her on the bed. She squawked as she bounced. Rolling to her side, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him.
Good. His bride could be roused, even if it was only with irritation at him.
He toed his boots off and shucked his outer garments until his shirt hung loose around his thighs. He padded to the bed.
She looked everywhere but at him.
“Problem, lass?” He crawled onto the bed, the mattress sagging beneath his weight.
“Um.” Her gaze fell to his face then shot to the top of the bed again. “You don’t, you aren’t wearing smallclothes?” Her tone rose at the end of the sentence, making it a question.
“They only get in the way. It’s more efficient this way.” He glided his finger up the stocking on her calf. She still wore too many underthings. Damn nuisances they were.
She swallowed. “And you like to move fast.”
“I’m taking a cue from my practical wife.” He circled her ankle with his fingers and tugged off her slipper. He pressed the sole of her foot to his thigh and raised her shift until the ribbon that held her stocking was exposed. “My father used to say it was best to start as you wish to go on. I don’t think you need a sweet seduction that won’t reflect how our future marriage bed.”
His cock twitched. He could do soft, but he didn’t like it. And something about Winnifred made him want to be very, very hard.
He tugged the knot on the ribbon free and slid the stocking down her leg. He made quick work of the other stocking and slipper.
She fingered the top of her stays. “I don’t suppose you wish me to leave my chemiseon this time?”
He swung his head from side to side and pulled his shirt over his head.
“All right then.” She pulled on one end of the bow that held her short stays snug against her breasts. As undergarments went, her stays were the most practical, least filly set Sin had ever laid eyes on. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away as the ribbons loosened, as one of the straps slid down her shoulder. Winnifred let the garment drop to the bed. With her chin tilted up, she hooked her fingers under the hem of her shift. Slowly, she raised it/shift, revealing, inch-by-luscious-inch, her bare flesh.
Despite her disavowal of any finer feelings, he knew it was nerves that slowed her hands. And he was grateful for it; the unintentional stripping exhibition was erotic as hell.
Her thatch of brown curls dragged free from the linen, looking tantalizingly soft. The tiny button of her navel was exposed next. By the time her rosy nipples popped into view, Sin was as hard as a pike. He dug his fingers into his thighs. His palms itched explore every inch of his wife. His mouth watered with the need to devour.
Finally, the shift was off her body. She tossed it to the floor and settled back upon the pillows, her expression measured.
