Since all of his limbs had gone numb, she easily withdrew her hand from his and then covered her face with both of hers. “I want to have… I want to know...”
“Go on.”
Watching her fingers tapping silently, candles flickering, Chase waited through the silence.
Until finally, she burst out, “I want you to bed me.”
Thick silence followed her declaration and then disbelief replaced the frozen feeling that had taken hold of him. For a moment, he’d thought she wished to lay claim to a love match—not that it was something anyone, let alone him, could summon on demand. He wriggled his toes inside his boots, pleased that sensation was returning.
Dealing with his mother was apparently taking its toll on him.
He studied what he could see of this petite woman hiding behind her hands.
His wife.
Her hair was different than it had been the day before, he realized as he skimmed his gaze over her shining chestnut curls. A softer style. Had he always missed these sorts of details about her?
And then his gaze lowered to what he could see of her décolletage. He’d barely floated his hand along the underside of her breasts while kissing her that afternoon. God help him but his fingers itched to explore both mounds more freely.
And then there was the memory of her bottom—her plump, inviting, delicious bottom.
She wants me to bed her.
By God, this was something he could easily come on board for.
Although judging by the fact that she’d yet to remove her hands from her face, and despite her declaration, perhaps she hadn’t managed yet to wrap her own mind around the idea.
But he could work with that.
“Done.” He spoke matter of factly, reaching for his dessert. “Following the ball, if you’d like.”
She peeked out from behind her hands and stared at him while he collected the perfect amount of fruit and berry and sauce onto his fork.
“Tonight?”
He nodded.
“Yes. Yes. I suppose that would be best.” And then she made a choking sound. “And now I have given myself two things to fret over.”
Westerley would surely demand satisfaction upon his return when in truth, the blighter ought to thank him profusely. Chase was going to make his sister a very happy woman, indeed.
He hovered a large bite of pastry at his lips. “Not much different than kissing.”
She was nodding, a little too fast, a little too exuberantly. “So we shall attend the ball and then…” She pinched those lips of hers together again and damned if he didn’t find himself wanting to soften them with his. “Will you do the spanking thing then?”
The bite Chase had just begun to swallow sucked into the wrong pipe when he literally gasped. Choking, coughing, he pushed back his chair and bent over, struggling to catch his breath.
It was the second time in two days that she’d tried to kill him. He hoped this didn’t become a common occurrence.
Had she really asked him that?
Bethany had risen from her chair and come around to pound him on the back. Tears streamed down his face. Holy hell, if this marriage didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would.
Upon collecting his composure, after what felt like far too long, he dabbed at his eyes with a napkin and when his vision cleared, met her concerned stare.
“Is that something you… might enjoy?”
She shrugged. “Well, if it was something Lady Starling enjoyed, wouldn’t any woman want to try it?”
