He focused totally on her peak, his fingers going over the spot that he saw she needed him the most, the angle that was justright to make her stomach constrict. He carried her through that sensation, his kiss relentless, his fingers deft and capable.
“Oh, I can’t…” she sobbed.
“You are doing so well,” he praised. “Breathe, Arabella.”
She inhaled and let out a deep moan, as he kept circling her, faster, more insistent. He felt the tide rising inside her. It was in her hazed look, the half-opened mouth, the way she shook uncontrollably, and how her fingers dug into his shoulder.
“Let go, Arabella,” he whispered in her ear, licking the skin there.
She snapped. Her body arched violently. He felt her core taken over by ripples of pleasure.
“Gerald!” she moaned.
To hear her call out for him in her moment of release was almost his undoing. He bit down on his lip to keep himself from taking her on her back on this sofa. Instead, he focused on her, his fingers slowing down but not stopping, bringing her down softly.
“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear. “Such a good girl.”
Arabella sobbed at his words, a needy, breathy sound that was poking holes in his control.
As he watched her come down from the high of her release, he realized something with dreadful certainty. Keeping his distance had been the plan. But plans, he now understood, were never prepared for Arabella. And neither, truly, had he.
CHAPTER 17
Enlightened Stages
“Listen to me,” Bridget was looking sternly at Arabella. “I am telling you this is the best solution.”
“I am not sure that this will work,” Arabella replied.
“If you want to achieve your goal, you must have some faith in me. Being a wallflower has its perks.”
“Is that so?” Arabella said and smiled.
“It is absolutely so,” Bridget said. “It gives you the opportunity to observe others, and I am telling you what I observed.”
Arabella was currently in her dressing room along with her sister. It was a few days after her wedding. Arabella welcomedthe distraction of her sister’s visit. She was in dire need of a distraction.
First, she needed to take her mind off her wedding night. It was a hard task, an impossible feat, because it had surely been a memorable night. And one that hadn’t been repeated in the days that passed.
So Arabella was caught in a place where her body remembered and chased and craved that feeling, while the reality remained that her husband was daily occupied in his study after dinner. At least, in the meantime, he actually had dinner with her.
And the other thing, the one that Bridget was currently referring to, was that tonight it was the night they would go out with the Pembletons. It was the first night of the agreement that she had with Gerald, one of the nights he had requested her role as a Duchess, and she was understandably nervous.
She was again reminded by the Duke of the paramount importance of winning Vera over and her role in this direction. So Arabella’s task was trying to win a notoriously snobbish lady, while also attempting to ignore the inconvenient sensations her husband had awakened in her, sensations he seemed in no hurry to indulge again.
“Trust me, Arabella,” her sister’s voice brought her back to reality. “The Countess of Pembleton fancies herself as a fashionable woman. And despite the many flaws of her character, I’d say that in this department she manages to be absolutely flawless most of the time.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Arabella agreed. “Perhaps it’s that constant face she has, the one that speaks of a woman who permanently has the taste of lemons in her mouth, that distracts you from looking at the rest of her attire.”
“And yet she’s never seen in anything less than beautiful and elegant. Everything she wears, the rest of the ton copy. Look chic, compliment her appearance not with a generic way, but as if fashion savvy and you have your opening.”
Arabella looked at herself in the mirror. Even before her wedding, Gerald had approved a budget for her wardrobe, wanting to make sure that she had the appearance of a Duchess that befitted his station. Arabella finally had an unlimited budget for her appearance and, not from vanity but because Gerald was right, she made full use of that budget.
She still remembered the day that she entered Madame Claire’s shop. Never before had she dared to even set foot in that exclusive place. But now she boldly went forth and asked Madame Claire for her designs.
And here she was, dressed in one of the three gowns designed by this exquisite modiste. And she realized why this taciturn French woman charged as much as she did for a single gown. Arabella had never looked better.
While others tried to hide her ample curves into what was considered the standard of fashion, Madame Claire highlighted them in the most subtle of ways, and in the most tasteful manner.
