Matthew stood before her, arms hanging at his sides, and waited.
Purity swallowed the lump in her throat. Since he’d untied his neckcloth, she captured one end and drew it from him. Realizing he’d tossed her gloves onto the chest of drawers, she put his blue silk cravat there, too.
Then she unbuttoned his cream-colored waistcoat, before pushing it down his arms. She went around the back of him to slide it off completely, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of his broad back. She even paused to lay her cheek against his back and breathe in the sensual fragrance that suited him perfectly.
Her womanly parts throbbed from the sensual act of being close, and she moved away to lay his waistcoat over the chair by the window.
“Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to the same chair.
His commanding tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she did as he said. In an instant, he crouched at her feet, wrapped his fingers behind her ankle so he could lift her leg, before sliding off her soft shoe of the palest-pink kid leather.
Purity closed her eyes at the sight of his bent head and the feel of his fingers cradling her heel. Then he removed her other shoe and rose again, drawing her up beside him.
“Now yours,” she said.
He shook his head. “I cannot allow you to put your hands on my boots. You are my wife, and thus I shall be pleased to do it.”
In the shake of a lamb’s tail, Matthew had tossed his ankle boots to the side of the room.
“Turn around,” he said, an edge to his tone.
Far more swiftly than she could manage, he undid the buttons of her white satin dress purchased specifically for their wedding day.
When he whipped it over her head, she hoped it was undamaged and watched him drape it over his waistcoat. Their garments mingling made her stomach flutter again.
Purity stood in her finest satin corset, two horsehair stiffened petticoats, her best silk chemise, and her stockings.
With his gaze taking her in from top to bottom, her skin quickly came up with goosebumps as if she was cold.
She was anything but. In fact, as soon as he had pulled off her dress, she would swear her body became hotter.
“My turn,” she said.
“I’m all yours,” he said, his glance resting on the tops of her breasts.
She slid her fingers under his braces going over each of his broad shoulders.
“These are one item,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, then nothing more as she drew them down his arms until the braces hung at his sides.
Unfastening the buckles that were clipped at the waist of his trousers, she removed the suspenders with a sense of accomplishment at having handled the unfamiliar task. These she put on the top of his chest of drawers, returning to stand in front of him.
Purity reached out to finger the fabric of his white lawn shirt, even though it was his turn to remove something. Swiftly, he captured her hand under his, pressing it atop his chest. His strong heart pounded under her flattened palm.
Taking his other hand, she placed it over her bosom so he could feel her answering beat.
Their gazes locked, and her mouth went dry even as other parts of her dampened.
“Your petticoat,” he said.
“Petticoats,” she corrected, emphasizing the plural. They usually were a little heavy, but all day, she’d been floating on air, not even noticing their bulk.
Matthew untied them at the back, and both layers fell from her hips. After helping her step out of the pile, he kicked it a little viciously to the side.
She chuckled. She’d often wanted to do the exact same thing.
“Your shirt,” she murmured. “Oh, but the collar.” She eyed the detachable garment with doubt.
