Argyll pressed Daria against the wall and kissed her—slowly, deliberately, as though reminding himself she was real. That she was his.
One delightful discovery from their visit to Madam Amalie was that his wife was not prudish. As freely as she spoke her mind, she luxuriated just as freely in pleasure. The sound she made now—soft, unguarded—undid him.
Argyll’s cock throbbed from the need to be inside this woman.
“I’m going to carry you upstairs, love,” he rasped against her ear. He sucked the delicate shell.
Daria tossed her head back. “Gregory,” she pleaded.
His temperature flared. “I’m going to have you under me, in my bed,” Argyll tenderly bit the path that delectable vein traversed—as he’d been longing to do forever. He’d known her forever.
Argyll’s mind stalled, and he thrust aside everything—except this ravenous hunger for his wife. It’d only be tamed when he had her.
Argyll moved his steel-hard erection along the flat of her belly. “I’m going to take you above stairs now.” She moaned and undulated to meet his gyrations. “And take you in every way.” The grind of her hips took on a frantic rhythm.
His breath grew shallower. “I’m going to—”
Daria grabbed him by his lapels. “Gregory,” said, panting hard. “Will you please stop telling me what we are going to do and take me upstairs and do them?”
Grinning, he swept his free-talking bride up into his arms. “With pleasure,” he purred.
Footsteps approached.
Groaning against her throat, Argyll relinquished his hold, letting his wife slide to her feet.
He let go of her skirts and steadied her against the wall just as Colhoun got back.
“Your Grace, they insist you are needed now.”
Bloody hell.
“Can you not tell them a man is busy—”
“Mr. DuMond asked I inform you that there is time for ‘that’ later, but you are needednow.”
Daria leaned up and whispered into his ear. “I think you must go,” Daria said gently.
“It appears that way,” he muttered.
“I shall be waiting inourbedchamber.”
His nostrils flared; his lust even hotter.
Our bedchamber.
The phrase alone sent fresh heat surging through him. “That is right: our bed.”
Before he could reconsider—again—voices intruded.
“What in hell is keeping you?”
Kilburn.
DuMond joined him moments later.
“Your Grace.” DuMond bowed to Daria. “A pleasure.”
“At least one of you remembers his damned—” Argyll broke off at the seriousness of their expressions.
