Chapter Twenty-nine
The day had been feverish in its activity. The entirety of the afternoon had been spent planning, replanning, and then modifying said plans. Samantha finally understood why weddings took months to take place; the event itself was quite the undertaking and not to be done in a few hours’ time.
But accomplishing the impossible seemed to be the order of the day, and they approached the dinner hour with not a small measure of success in planning the morning wedding.
As they gathered in the parlor while they awaited dinner, Heathcliff and Lucas brought the news that a vicar had been procured to officiate the service. Samantha couldn’t help but admire Heathcliff’s wind-teased hair. Her fingers burned with the memory of its texture, and her lips grew warm with desire for his kiss once more. And while, earlier, she had wondered why weddings took months to take place, she now, conversely, wondered how women waited so long to taste the passion of their husbands’ embrace.
She thanked God that tonight was the last night she’d have to exercise patience and restraint. She’d tried to approach the topic of marital relations with her sister earlier, when they were alone. Her sister hadn’t offered any insight. Rather, she’d given Samantha a secretive smile and told her that her heart would know what her body needed to do. As far as advice was concerned, Samantha found her sister’s sorely lacking; she’d quite expected far more information. So, though she’d given her best effort, she still wasn’t certain what would transpire in the marriage bed. However, she didn’t fear it. Rather, she anticipated it wantonly. She blushed as her scandalous thoughts filtered through her mind and was quite thankful no one could suspect them.
Or so she thought. Heathcliff met her gaze, as if he knew what she was thinking, and gave a wicked grin that heated her very bones. Who knew that a look, a mere glance, could feel as intimate as a kiss? But it did, and she felt the power of his regard down to her toes.
Someone cleared their throat, and Samantha flicked her gaze away toward the noise. Lucas was grinning wildly, watching her with an amused expression. Heat flooded her cheeks once more and she looked down.
Sother came in then, to announce dinner. Heathcliff strode up beside her and offered his arm. She took it readily, and they proceeded from the parlor to the dining room.
“How was your afternoon?”
“Productive,” she answered, collecting her wits. He was so very apt to scatter them with just a touch.
“Mine as well.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I do believe I mentioned it,” he remarked, smiling down at her.
As they walked into the dining room, he pulled out her chair and, when she sat down, scooted it into place. He then took the place beside her, at the head of the table.
The first course was served, and while Samantha took a sip of the beef and barley soup, she felt the slightest pressure on her foot. She paused, the soupspoon partway to her mouth, as the pressure disappeared. After taking the sip, she set her spoon back in her bowl, only to feel the pressure again, only this time it was more of a caress down the length of her slipper. Her gaze shot to Heathcliff, who was watching her with a bemused expression. The touch lingered up by her ankle and pulled the hem of her dress slightly away from it, giving the slightest draft on her lower leg.
He winked.
She gasped slightly.
“Is something the matter?” her sister asked, giving her a curious look.
“No, nothing. It was just . . . hot,” Samantha answered, making a show of blowing on the soup on her spoon and then tentatively taking a sip.
A low chuckle rumbled from Heathcliff, just enough for her to hear and understand it.
Sure enough, a few moments later, his boot ever so gently brushed against her slipper, but this time she was prepared. Two could certainly play that game, and, she assumed, slippers would be far more agile at it than a boot. She withdrew her foot from his and, concentrating, edged her slipper forward till she came in contact with his boot. To keep up appearances, she took a slow sip of the soup, and then as she put her spoon back in her bowl, traced her slipper up the length of his boot to the hem of his trousers, then caressed higher, feeling the outline of his calf muscle against her toes.
The sound of metal hitting china startled her, and she jumped in her chair, her foot withdrawing from his person. She glanced in the direction of the noise, seeing Heathcliff muttering something quite ungentlemanly as he wiped his shirt with a napkin. The spoon that had dropped had been his and was sitting quite awkwardly in his bowl. The sudden drop had sprayed him with broth.
Samantha bit back a grin, then, when that failed, tried to hold her laughter in check, attempting to cover the noise with a delicate cough.
Heathcliff gave her a teasing glare, arching a brow as if issuing a challenge. She replied in kind, enjoying the dare.
“What am I missing?” Liliah asked, and Samantha glanced to her sister, seated directly across from her.
“Don’t ask, love,” Lucas remarked helpfully, suddenly seemingly quite interested in his soup.
Liliah’s eyes widened, then she gave a broad, knowing smile, and followed the example of her husband and was quite captivated by her bowl of soup.
Samantha gave a delicate giggle and turned back to Heathcliff. No sooner had their eyes met than she felt the same pressure on her foot from his boot, only this time he immediately slid up her ankle, then calf, pulling away her skirts.
She pulled away, deciding that part of the game should be evasion.
He gave her a mock glare.
