She didn’t reply, but a look passed between them, one reminding him of yesterday.
He bent, pushing aside the frothy mountain of her garments to unfasten each shoe.
“Step up,” he said.
Veronica put her hands on his shoulders for balance, lifted her foot so he could remove her shoes, one at a time.
She sighed, and he glanced up to see her eyes close, a smile curve her lips.
“Your shoes don’t fit properly,” he said, wondering why he hadn’t noticed yesterday.
She looked down at him. “They aren’t actually my shoes,” she admitted. “They belong to my cousin, Anne.”
He sat back on his heels. “You don’t have shoes?”
“I lost mine at the Society, remember?” she said.
“Along with your spare shift?”
She nodded.
“But I gained a husband,” she said, before he could speak. Her glance encompassed the sitting room, the view beyond the darkened window. “And a palace in which to live. What’s a pair of shoes?”
“Gleneagle had its share of seamstresses,” he said. “No doubt Doncaster Hall does as well.”
“And cobblers?”
He nodded.
Her garters were next, lacy little bits of silk. He untied them, pulled them from her legs, slowly pushing down her stockings one leg at a time. Only then did he stand, to see her face had flushed, reminding him that his bride, despite her response to him, was only one day removed from her virginity.
She flattened her hands against her thighs and fisted them.
Her knees were so perfectly formed that he stroked his hands over each, his fingertips delicately tracing a pattern behind them. She moved her leg, and he looked up, to find her lips curved in a smile.
“Ticklish?” he asked.
She nodded.
His palms made a leisurely path down her legs to the delicate curves of her ankles, fingers playing across the top of each pretty foot. Her toes clenched in the carpet, inciting him to smile. He rubbed his fingers over the red spots on her toes, wishing he had noted her ill-fitting shoes before this.
Sitting back, he allowed his gaze to travel up her body, taking in the sight of Veronica being seduced.
Reaching up, he pulled at the drawstring of her pantaloons, then stripped the garment from her. The shift was entirely too modest, coming almost mid-thigh. He wanted her naked.
Without standing, he reached up and tugged at each corset string, grateful this knot, at least, was easily untied. When the corset was loosened, he grabbed it, hefted it in his hands, wondering why he hadn’t noticed a day ago how heavy it was. Her shift was a well-washed linen, so sheer he could see the red marks around her waist. Standing, he pulled her shift over her head, tracing each line the corset had made.
Her breasts were perfect globes, with large coral areolas surrounding beautiful long nipples.
Bending his head, he kissed an angry-looking mark trailing from the center of her breasts to just above her navel.
Her swift inhalation of breath made him smile.
Her eyes widened, and her color mounted as his hand trailed down to cup her gently. Her lips parted as she made a movement against his hand. The fluid slide of his fingers was enough to make her tremble. He turned his head, kissed her softly on the temple, and murmured her name. Her hand gripped his arm, and he stilled the action of his hand, waited to see if she would pull away. She remained where she was, her eyes closed, lips parted, and a pink flush coloring her cheeks.
He didn’t say a word, merely bent his head to kiss her lips lightly. Her mouth opened as she leaned toward him. He indulged himself in another kiss before pulling away. He had other things planned first.
He took her hand and walked her through the sitting room to his chamber. She pulled away at the door, returning to her room and extinguishing the lamp on the table before returning to his side.
