My grin felt wicked. “I’m going to wring so much pleasure from your body, you’ll never walk straight again.”
His laugh was bright and pleased. “I look forward to it. Need I pack anything?”
“Bring the whiskey,” I commanded as I grabbed his half-burned candle. He snatched up the bottle and rounded the desk, following me down the hall. I may not need light to navigate, but Kit and I both liked to see during our intimate moments.
“Where are we going?”
“Slough,” I retorted.
Kit chortled.
“Shh, we do not want to wake the girls.”
“Or your mother,” he muttered, not particularly trying to hide the words.
“Or my mother.”
“I’ll build the dower house with my own two hands if they don’t start hammering faster.”
“My hero.” The addition of my mother into our lives was, perhaps, the least enjoyable adventure Kit and I had ever been on, but my husband was far too kind to do more than grumble—grumble and pray for summer when we might foist her upon Xander.
“Yes, yes.”
My husband trailed after me past the dining and breakfast rooms to the darkened kitchens. There, on the counter across from the low-burning hearth, sat two unfrosted fairy cakes awaiting our attention.
I didn’t bake often. I’d never mastered the activity—almost certainly due to lack of effort and not Mrs. Ainsley’s instruction. But on special occasions, Kit deserved a reward for abandoning his old life and easy access to pastries. These would barely beconsidered a reward—I wasn’t certain they were cooked all the way through, but Kit would gift me a smile all the same.
The moment I set the candle down, his hand wrapped around my waist and tugged me back against his familiar frame.
Kit’s nose nuzzled my neck, his forehead jostling my hat. “For me?” he asked as he leaned forward to set the whiskey beside the candle.
“I never abduct anyone without provisions, sir. Do you think me a novice?”
I felt his smile—a full one—ghost along my shoulder before he nipped playfully, the strands of his beard catching my skin pleasantly. “I do not know. You seem sweet enough to eat. Perhaps sweeter than that fairy cake.”
“Christopher… I have plans.”
“Mm, so do I. And you’ve always so enjoyed my plans.”
“But—” A broken moan rumbled from my throat as his fingertips grazed the edge of my shirt and darted below for a quick pinch, interrupting my token protest.
“Just a slight detour…” my husband teased.
“But—”
“Davina,” he grumbled, his other hand working at my hip to tug the hem of my shirt free from the breeches. A little noise of triumph escaped his chest when he succeeded before his hand slid beneath the falls to test my response. His groan as he felt the dampness of my entrance left me weak-kneed. “It seems my abductress is in need of attention.”
My will failed me. It was a predictable outcome—I could deny him nothing that gave us both such pleasure.
He must have sensed my submission because he immediately set to work on the buttons of my falls. “I have far more experience undoing someone else’s breeches than I ever would have expected.”
“And you love it.”
“I don’t know. There’s something to be said for your pretty frocks. Easy access…”
“You love a challenge or you wouldn’t love me,” I retorted, then a whimper overtook me as familiar fingers slid between fabric and flesh toward the cleft between my legs.
“Loving you has never been a challenge, Davina. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
