They were hosting the party to celebrate their new home—or rather, the renovation of Beatrice’s former manor. After she’d sold her property to GLNR, Wick had been determined to help her find the perfect new situation. As it turned out, they didn’t have to look very far.
Squire Crombie had cocked up his toes, leaving his unentailed property to a distant and indifferent heir who promptly auctioned it off. Bea snatched up the land at a bargain of a price. With the help of the surveyors, Wick was able to redraw the lines of Bea’s new estate to include her old manor house.
Thus, Wick had his railway, and she kept her home. Her tenants had been delighted at the short distance of their move. And the grass was truly greener on the other side: according to Ellerby and the other satisfied farmers, the new land was fertile pickings indeed.
“I’llnotice,” Beatrice said now. “It’s bad form, darling.”
“I’ll show you bad form.” He tossed off his domino, revealing the urgent state of matters down south. “If I get any harder, I may burst a seam and then we’ll have a true scandal on our hands.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “You haven’t been like that all evening, have you?”
“From the instant I saw you come down the stairs,” he said solemnly.
Beatrice had kept her costume a secret from him until the last minute. Just before the arrival of their guests, she’d come down the stairs, and his breath had lodged in his throat: she’d dressed up as a Common Blue butterfly. Not that there was anything common about her. Her shot-silk gown of periwinkle blue clung to her flawless figure, filmy wings of silver-blue at her back. She wore the jewels he’d given her: the butterfly brooch glittered on her bodice and her engagement ring, a lavender sapphire surrounded by diamonds, winked on her finger.
She hadn’t bothered with a mask.
Instead, she’d applied face paint, exotic swirls of blue, purple, pink, and silver framing her luminous gaze. She’d integrated her scar into the pattern, highlighting her unique beauty. As she’d descended to him, like a goddess to a mere mortal, he’d never been prouder.
Or randier.
He pulled his lass in close. “You’re the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and I want to screw you senseless.”
“Likewise.” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Your desk or mine?”
“Mine. It’s closer.”
Her laugh washed over him as he swept her off her feet and onto his desk. This wasn’t the first time they’d christened the furnishings—the benefit of sharing a study with one’s spouse. He placed her in one of his favorite positions: on her back on his blotter while he sat in his chair. Tossing up her skirts, he feasted on her pussy, loving the way her fingers clutched his hair, her slippered heels digging against his shoulders as she reached her crisis.
Rising, he flipped her onto her belly. He ran a possessive hand over the smooth hills of her bottom while he freed himself with the other. His nostrils flared as he brought the dripping tip of his rod to her pretty pink cleft. He pushed in slowly, enjoying the sight of her hole stretching to receive him, the wickedly lewd delight of sinking his shaft inside his wife.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned when he held inside her, balls-deep.
“You’re right, angel. It isn’t polite to make our guests wait, is it?”
He lunged inside her. Her tight cunny massaged his prick as he slammed his hips, his stones slapping her dewy lips. She writhed against him, leaving a wet stain on the leather blotter that he knew would make him hard every time he saw it.
Feeling the precursory sizzle at the base of his spine, he panted, “Frig yourself, love. Make yourself come and take me with you.”
With a whimper, she obeyed, sliding a hand beneath her. The sight of her slim fingers rubbing her pussy brought him to the edge. Luckily, she was already there: she soared over with a cry, her silver-blue wings fluttering, her rippling sheath drawing his fire. He bit back a shout as he found his fulfillment inside his beloved, the hot waves of bliss rocking him to the core.
When he caught his breath, he tended to her with his handkerchief and helped set her to rights. Reluctant to let her go just yet, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Enjoyed the simple, profound pleasure of holding his wife close.
“Wick?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
The thread of uncertainty in Beatrice’s voice was uncharacteristic. He tipped his head back to look into her face. Sure enough, a hint of anxiety shadowed her eyes. Since they talked frequently, he could take a stab at the cause of her concern.
“Are you worried about Fancy and Knighton?” he asked.
Shortly before he and Beatrice had wed by special license, Fancy and Knighton had showed up in London. Knighton had read the papers blaming Beatrice for the demise of GLNR’s plans, and Fancy had insisted on rushing to aid her friend. Luckily, all had been well by then…and that was when Fancy had shared her own shocking news.
She and Knighton had wed; the tinker’s daughter was now the Duchess of Knighton. From what Beatrice had gleaned from her friend, the marriage had been one of necessity and was off to a rocky start.
Bea chewed on her lip. “Iamworried about Fancy, and I plan to corner her once she and Knighton arrive. But that’s not what I was referring to.”
