Chapter 6
Three weeks later
“Yes, you can use this tool to loosen the thread from the back,” said Peter, lifting one of his prized drizzling tools to demonstrate for Lucy. “And don’t forget the scissors.”
Lucy looked up from her work, surprised by what he’d said. “But I thought drizzlers preferred to minimize cuts?”
Peter’s cheeks might be hotter than the logs in the fireplace near their worktable. They’d adjourned to the drawing room after dinner and putting mama to bed, as was now their custom. A custom he enjoyed very much indeed.
“That’s correct,” he said slowly, “but concessions might be made so drizzling remains enjoyable for you.”
The look of delight Lucy cast him across the table made any cuts to the silver and gold thread inconsequential. Here he was, in a home rapidly growing more comfortable thanks to his wife’s outsized dowry, reveling in the quiet pleasure of companionable drizzling.
And she was a true companion, now that he’d realized that they might bring their differences to all the rooms of the house and grow together. Lucy, schooled in business management by her papa, quickly helped Peter untangle the ducal estate’s debts. In this drawing room, they drizzled nightly, shared amusing talk of the day, and speculated on which pieces in Peter’s collection might tempt even Prince Leopold.
And in their bedroom each night — for it had becometheirbedroom now — they opened books from the growing cache of pornographic literature Peter was buying with abandon and finding new ways to fit together. To bring each other pleasure.
Lucy pulled her chair closer to Peter’s and looked at his tapestry.
“Oh, that’s lovely work, dear,” she said, sliding her hand onto his thigh. The heat of her palm felt heavenly through the weave of his pantaloons. If only she would… “Have you heard the latest about Lady Maria Courtenay? Ghastly girl, but I find myself moved to compassion after she maneuvered herself into a scandal of tremendous proportions. I think she’s even more ruined than I was!”
“Lady…Maria,” choked out Peter, “hadn’t heard. Bad business, no doubt. Likely struggling since losing her brothers.”
And then Lucy Sidwin opened the buttons on his falls, moving so carefully that her ministrations wouldn’t be detected by someone walking by the open door of the drawing room.
“What are you doing, my darling?” he asked in a low voice, fighting the urge to yelp when he felt her cool fingers slip into his smalls.
“I thought we might continue our training,” she said, gently taking possession of the part of him that was positively leaping to meet her.
It was the most pleasurable torture he’d ever experienced, rather like the pain in his neck and shoulders when he drizzled too long. Peter had confessed to his wife that he wished to delay his inevitable explosion when they coupled, and she’d proposed an unorthodox, but highly exciting solution: he’d simply need to grow more accustomed to the excitement of erotic touches. By being touched often. By Lucy, of course.
And what a touch it was, he thought, his head falling back when Lucy slid her hand on his cock. “Does it feel good?” she whispered.
“Like heaven,” he whispered back.
At the door to the drawing room, there was a scratch, and a footman appeared bearing a small glass on a silver tray.
“I thought you might like your Madeira now,” she said with a sweet smile, her hidden hand continuing to work him ever so gently under the table.
“I would enjoy, yes, the wine, I, oh,” he said, finding it difficult to concentrate on keeping his cock in check while also speaking.
The footman deposited the glass with a bow and showed himself out.
“Lucy, are you trying to end me?” he hissed. He tried and failed to contain a laugh.
“It’s just that you’re doingso well, Peter, that I thought we might make your training more challenging.”
He reached for the small glass and noticed that his hand shook. “You see how you undo me?” he asked, not bothering to conceal the fondness in his voice.
“I certainly hope I undo you, husband mine,” she said, bringing her fingertips to his sac to test him just a little more.
Peter gave in to the urge to let his head drift to her gold-thread hair, which he nuzzled while enjoying the feel of her hand in his smalls. This was truly a bliss he could never have imagined, and he felt a jolt of emotion for the first time that, having found something so perfect, it might be his forever. Overcome, he took a sip of the Madeira.
“We’ve been working all this time and you haven’t glanced at my tapestry,” said Lucy. The playful note in her voice suggested she’d beenup to something, and Peter grew alert. His wife was a curious minx.
“What have you done, Lucy?” he said, affecting a stern tone.
She wiggled in her chair, clearly delighted with herself. “It just happened because I was thinking thoughts.”
