The formality of the question, the careful seeking of permission, made her heart squeeze.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He moved closer, slowly, as though afraid she might startle and flee. As if she were a doe, and he were the hunter. When he stood directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, he asked a single question.
“May I touch your hair?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Morgan reached up then, his fingers finding the pins and small combs Carrie had so carefully arranged just hours ago. One by one, he removed them, his movements gentle and unhurried. Each pin clinked softly as he set it aside on the nearby table.
Eliza’s hair began to fall, cascading down over her shoulders in waves. She felt the weight of it, the freedom of it, and realized she was trembling. Morgan’s hands moved through her hair, running through the long strands, his touch reverent. Never had she felt so revered, so wanted.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to see it down like this for longer than I care to admit.”
Eliza’s breath hitched. “Morgan, that feels so nice.”
“May I kiss you?” His voice had dropped lower, rougher. His eyes searched hers, asking, seeking, waiting as he pulled her closer. She nodded. Morgan cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.
“Kiss me, Morgan,” she whispered.
This kiss was different from their first. It was different from the chaste brush of lips at their wedding ceremony. This was deeper, slower, full of heat and promise. His lips moved against hers with a skill that made her knees weak, coaxing responses from her she didn’t know she was capable of giving as she moaned against his mouth. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. She had no idea how much time had passed, whether a minute or a lifetime.
“God, Eliza,” he breathed against her lips. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been thinking about this? About you? That kiss we shared has haunted me for weeks. I’ve been desperate to feel you again. To taste you again. You are like my personal wine, intoxicating and rich.”
“I… Oh Morgan…”
“No secrets, wife,” he said.
She swallowed hard, her face flaming. “I’ve thought about it too. More than I should have. More than I wanted to admit.”
His eyes darkened with desire. “Good. Because I intend to make sure you never regret saying yes to me. You will always say yes to me.”
“Yes,” she sighed and he kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. The sensation made her gasp, made her clutch at his shoulders for balance. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. Shecould feel the solid heat of him through the thin fabric of her dress, could feel the way his body responded to her nearness.
“Morgan,” she breathed when he finally released her mouth to trail kisses along her jaw. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never…”
“I know.” His lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her shudder. “I know, darling. We’ll go slowly. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
His hands moved to the fastenings of her dress, and he paused, looking at her questioningly. She nodded once more, and he began to work the buttons free with ease.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as the dress loosened. “Relax for your husband like a good girl.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with. If you want me to stop at any point, you just have to say the word. We will not do anything that you do not want.”
The dress fell away, pooling at her feet. Eliza stood in her chemise and stays, feeling more exposed than she’d ever been in her life. Morgan stepped back, his gaze traveling over her slowly, appreciatively.
“You’re breathtaking,” he said simply. “A rival to any painting the Louvre.
Then he guided her toward the bed, his touch gentle but so sure. He helped her sit on the edge, then knelt before her to remove her slippers as if in prayer. His hands traveled up her calves, over her knees, finding the ties of her stockings.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He rolled them down slowly, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that made her breath catch. When both stockings were removed, he stood and shrugged out of his coat, then his waistcoat, then his cravat.
“May I?” He asked.
