The thought sent heat pooling into her stomach.
Charles turned the handle to his bedchamber and gestured her inside. A fire roared in the fireplace, banishing any lingering chill, while heavycurtains shut out the darkened world beyond. And there, dominating the space, loomed a great four-poster bed.
“I spend little time here, typically.” Charles wrapped his arms around her waist, his mouth finding the curve of her neck. “But I think I might be persuaded to change my mind.”
“Oh?”
“The room looks far lovelier with you in it,” he murmured, turning her to face him so their bodies were flush, his back against the closed door. Yet though he had manoeuvred them into this position, she felt as though she was the one to have pinned him in place. A thrill ran through her.
“Charles,” she said.
“Yes, Evie?”
“Can this be real?”
He brushed his knuckles down her cheek, his expression patient and tender. “It feels too good to be true, doesn’t it?” His voice was low. “But I am here, and you are here with me, and you are my wife.” He took her hand, holding it against his chest, where his heart thudded steadily. “And I love you.”
The gentleness in his eyes made her breathless. “Then can we begin?”
“Tell me what you want.”
She wasn’t used to such openness, such honesty, but Charles had always expressed himself so easily—telling her what he wanted and how she made him feel—and she would learn to do the same. Shewould.
“I would like you to finish what you started the last time,” she said.
His grip on her hips tightened. “I’m very glad,” he said huskily, “because that is precisely what I had in mind.” Bending his head, he kissed her. Softly, at first, then deepening as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted closer. Under her dress, beautiful as it was, her skin burned—overheated, restless, too sensitive. Charles remained against the door, fingers working deftly at the buttons of her blouse. He peeled it off, tossing it aside. She made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, and he chuckled.
“Always so eager,” he murmured, kissing a hot line down her throat to her collarbones, newly bared as he stripped away her layers. The diamond lay there, and he paused, looking at it for a long, unspeakable moment.
Evelyn touched it, suddenly self-conscious. “Your mother gave it to me. She received it when she married your father, and she thought I should receive it on my wedding day, too.” Her fingers lingered on the gold and diamond, warmed by her body heat. “I have heirlooms my mother left me, but this is . . .”
“Precious,” he supplied.
“Yes.”
“Then you shall wear it every day, if you would like.” He unpinned her braid and ran his fingers through the twisted hair, watching as it tumbled over her shoulder. “But I think we should remove it for now. I would hate for it to be damaged.”
“Damaged?” Her heart thumped. “Precisely what do you expect to happen?”
“Mm.” His voice dropped as his fingers trailed along her throat, finding the clasp and undoing it. “I am going to make love to you. And then, when I wake beside you later tonight or tomorrow morning, I’m going to make love to you again. I do not intend to emerge from this room until we are both sated—and I warn you, Evie, that it may take a very long time.”
Her stomach clenched, but not in fear. He thought he had waited a long time, but she had been waiting since she was fifteen years old, since he had returned from fighting Julian Trowbridge with bloodied knuckles.
“Do not make me wait any longer, Charles,” she begged.
He carried the necklace to the dressing table, and when he returned to her, it was with his eyes alight with an almost feral intensity. This time, when he undressed her, he near ripped her skirts with his urgency. Hedidrip her chemisette and petticoats, stripping them from her with indecent haste. Only, as she watched the way he removed his frock coat and waistcoat and shirt, she found nothing indecent about the man in front of her.
The male body still held so many secrets, but she would uncover them, one by one.
“The bed,” he rasped.
She obeyed, lying with her legs closed. Charles bent over her, one hand on her knee, easing her legs open, baring her fully to him. His finger trailed down her inner thigh, and she shivered.
“You’re already wet for me,” he said, one hand going to his erection and gripping it firmly. At the sight, she ached, wishing she could feel his silky skin beneath her fingers; she wanted to be the one to make him fall apart. Come undone. Just the way he had done for her.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a plea.
“I would like to taste you. May I?” He looked up at her from where he positioned himself, kneeling on the floor before her, his head between her legs. “Say you’ll let me, Evie. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”
