He might profess otherwise, yet Meredith felt very strongly that her husband was not emotionally indifferent to her. Though he might try to deny it, his actions both at the theater and during the night proved that one fact undisputedly. Trevor cared about her, worried about her, and was firmly committed to keeping her physically safe and mentally calm.
Yet she was uncertain if his feelings had developed and matured to the state where they matched her own feelings of love. And that haunted her.
Easing her head back on the soft pillow, Meredith stayed perfectly still and simply watched him. Trevor’s breathing was deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm. She wanted very much to press her cheek to the reassuring strength of that chest, but feared the gesture would wake him.
In sleep, the chiseled lines of his jaw, straight nose, and sculptured mouth had a peaceful, boyish quality about them. With a blush she remembered the wicked things he had done with that mouth and tongue. His hair was mussed, and a golden lock hung over his forehead, yet it hardly detracted from the raw beauty of his face.
He stirred, then opened his eyes. Meredith held her breath. For a moment the silence between them was strained and horribly uncomfortable. She worried frantically that Trevor would withdraw from her, would hide himself away, would reject all outward signs of affection and love.
Though she knew she was a strong woman, capable of doing just about anything she set her mind to, Meredith grew fearful. She had made a vow to herself sometime in the early morning hours that she would not abandon the hope that they could one day achieve the type of loving relationship she so desperately wanted.
Yet as she stared at her beloved’s handsome face, Meredith desperately wondered if she would have the strength to endure if everything reverted back to the way things had been—the neglect, the distance, the formality. How would her heart and spirit ever survive such a blow?
The marquess gave her a slumbering smile, and her heart turned over. For the first time she noticed the tenderness touching his eyes, tenderness meant for her.
“Making love in the morning is a singular delight,” he said in a serious tone. “Did you know that, my dear?”
Meredith moved her leg restlessly against his thigh, discovering the rampant strength of his growing desire. Her interest was more than aroused. “It feels like a joy I would very much like to experience,” she replied, spreading her fingers idly on his chest.
“Then you shall, my lady.”
Trevor’s voice was husky with awakening desire. He closed a hand on the nape of her neck, tipped her head back, and kissed her as if he were starving. Meredith turned her body to receive his kiss fully.
Her senses were alive to his touch, his nearness, the solid warmth of his bare flesh. His hands raced over her as if he were greedy for the touch of her skin. Meredith felt ensnared in his mesmerizing sensuality, a willing prisoner of his insatiable appetite.
There was nothing delicate or gentle about his lovemaking. He lifted and pulled, thrusting into her mercilessly, pounding her tender flesh, giving her all she could take. It was raw and real and honest, exactly what Meredith craved.
When the last pulse ripped through them, they collapsed against each other, sweating, breathless, and utterly satisfied. In the cozy aftermath, Trevor kissed her shoulder and neck tenderly, then curled himself around her, his chest to her back. Meredith stifled a yawn.
“I have ridden you hard, love.” He clenched his teeth gently over her earlobe and she shivered. “Close your eyes and rest for a few minutes. You have earned it.”
The wicked delight in his voice made her smile. She wiggled her bottom suggestively against his groin and he moaned mockingly. “Sleep,” he commanded.
She nestled closer and clasped the hand he had placed across her waist tighter against her middle. Trevor pulled one of the blankets over them, wrapping them together in a private, warm cocoon. Meredith sighed with contentment and allowed her eyes to drift shut.
When she awoke the second time, she was alone and in her own bed. Trevor had obviously carried her here, yet she had been sleeping so soundly she had not noticed. Meredith stretched, then sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed, wincing a little at the soreness. Though it was a decadent indulgence at this hour of the day, Meredith rang for her maid and requested a bath be prepared.
She soaked languidly in the hot water, letting it soothe her sore muscles. Rose bustled about the room, her head buried in the wardrobe as she selected Meredith’s clothes for the day. Since it was already past noon, a more sedate afternoon gown had been decided upon by the two women.
Rose had just finished fastening the many buttons down the back of the dress when the marquess sauntered casually into the room. He was dressed for riding and even carried a crop in his left hand. Meredith assumed he had just returned, though he appeared to be wearing a freshly tied cravat and neatly pressed coat.
His gaze swiftly scanned her from head to toe. Blushing, she sat at her dressing table so Rose could arrange her hair, still reeling from the shock of seeing her husband in her chamber. The moment Meredith was settled he moved in, leaned over, and brushed a chaste kiss to her cheek.
“You’ve had a bath,” he said, his deep whisper tickling her ear.
Meredith’s brow lifted in surprise. How had he known? The tub was shielded by a decorated screen, hidden from view. Then she inhaled a deep breath and realized the chamber still carried the floral scent of the steaming water.
“I have just finished bathing. I imagine the water is still warm, if you would like to enjoy it. Or I could order some fresh water to be heated for you.”But only if you allow me to wash you.
Those wicked words were not spoken aloud, but formed in her thoughts. Meredith caught her breath at the erotic images that invaded her mind. She could easily picture Trevor naked, sliding into the steamy water of his bath. Next she saw herself massaging him, as she had last night at the theater. However, this time his flesh would be bare and she would be able to touch far more than his shoulders.
She would not use a cloth, but her hands, lathering them until they were soapy and slick. Then, slowly, teasingly, she would circle his upper torso until his muscles were straining, his back arching in desire.
His movements would cause the water to slosh up the sides of the tub. Fearing her lovely gown might be ruined, Meredith would next carefully peel down the bodice and her chemise, baring herself to the waist.
She would then lean into his strong back and wrap her arms about him, pressing her naked breasts against his wet warmth. Her hands could now easily reach across to the front of his chest, soaping the golden hair and rinsing it clean. She would cleanse him a second time, paying special attention to the sensitive peaks of his nipples.
Her questing fingers would then move downward to his waist. Such a delightful position would place her hands in a most interesting location—directly in front of his penis.
