“Very well.”
She did not release him as they moved toward the hearth and, purportedly, the armchairs situated near it.
They took their time getting there. He wasn’t exactly sure who controlled the pace, but he was in no hurry. Not that he precisely required her support.
It was more that she smelled quite nice, emanating that ever-presenteau de rose, and for some reason, the tightness in his shoulders he hadn’t been aware of eased, as did the pain in his head.
“I’m sure I’ve soaked your dress through,” he murmured.
“Think nothing of it,” she said, in that breathless way that revealed she was not unaffected by him, despite her words to the contrary.
“You’ll have to take it off, no doubt,” he added, mainly to see the deepening blush that followed the pronouncement, currently climbing up from the edge of her bodice. “I might require a bit of help myself, stripping.”
She stumbled. “Let us start with your boots, shall we?” she asked in an arch tone.
A start implied a continuation, did it not? “As you wish.”
She slanted him a knowing glance.
And just like that, his groin tightened. He nearly laughed. He felt wretched, though admittedly less so, now. But did that stop his cock thickening with arousal?
He did snort, then, considering he seemed to have been aroused, practically since his arrival. Had he always been this randy, he wondered? Or was it just his wife that elicited this ever-present carnal hunger?
She guided him toward the armchair nearest the hearth and untwined her arm from his waist. “Here, now. Sit.”
He mourned the loss of her warmth in an instant. Eyeing the satin covered cushion, he hesitated. “I hate to ruin the furnishings. Lord knows when I can avail myself of the funds necessary to replace anything.”
She gave him a crooked grin and a playful shove.
Charmed, he allowed himself to be manhandled into the chair.
Still grinning, she crouched before him and set to unbuckling the first boot.
The warmth from the grate felt good. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back.
The image of Georgina, kneeling beside the picnic basket at Hampstead Heath returned to him. He said nothing, fearing any utterance on his part would chase it away, again.
“Shall I fix you a plate?”
“If you like, pet.”
The man, Drake, bending to whisper something in her ear.
The woman’s call from behind him. “Teddy, you aren’t even listening. I’m just coming to the best part.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
That last bit was new—and not as he would have expected. He tried to recall more. Nothing came.Damn.
She wedged the first boot free, and started on the second, as he replayed the last seconds of his memory—for it must be a memory.
“…I’m just coming to the best part.”
“Patience, sweetheart.”
Was that normal, he wondered, his referring to his mate’s intended in such a familiar manner? He went back further in the vision.
Drake bending to whisper in Georgina’s ear.
