Lady Macbeth jumped on the mattress up from the bench at the foot of the bed, her aim true. Right for the scones. Gabby caught her just before she stepped on the tray.
Huntley poured out a cup of steaming chocolate and traded it for the dog. His hair was damp and brushed back from his forehead.
“You took Lady Macbeth out?”
“You were dead to the world.”
Gabby was unsure how she felt regarding this new development of her husband barging in at will. Huntley swooped a scrap of linen off the sideboard next to her wash basin and rubbed Lady Macbeth down.
“There’s a treat there for her ladyship,” he said.
Gabby dropped herself atop the coverlets, still shaking somewhat. “When did you and my dog deign to become such great consorts?”
“This morning while you slept. You sound aggravated.”
Irritation flooded her. “Well, I’m not.” Though he was right. She did sound aggravated.
“Ah, good. Now, tell me. What is on your agenda for today?”
What was on her agenda? “Correspondence,” she murmured. “And a fitting with the modiste.”
He shifted the tray to the bedside table and lowered beside her, leaned over, kissed her neck. “I may not be able to distract you from shopping, but I’m certain I can do much better than writing letters.” His words and lips raised her skin in gooseflesh.
Shock filtered over her. “But it’s daylight out. Is that permitted?” she breathed.
The heavy bedcurtains absorbed his bark of laughter. “It’s a requirement.” His mouth covered hers in a sensual assault that left her muddled and boneless. And relieved. Most definitely relieved. He was safe.
Seventeen
James’s lips melded over Gabriella’s, and she melted under his touch like a pot of butter in an Egyptian summer sun. The rain pelting the windows only heightened the intimacy. He pushed the wrap off her body, cupped her breast and squeezed. Her nude delectable body was a beacon he couldn’t turn away from. Lady Macbeth would have none of it. She danced about until James broke away in a huff of frustration mingled with laughter. “Down, pooch.” His low tone out-growled Lady Macbeth’s. He scooped her up and removed her to the sitting room, effectively shutting her away. Her small whine sounded, bringing Gabriella up from the pillows. He was quicker, jumping on the bed, securing his place, and trapping her within his elbows. “Not so fast, wife.”
“But—”
His mouth swooped over hers and he swept his tongue into her mouth, rasping it against hers. It was hot, erotic, and all sensation that set his nerve endings afire. Yet, he still wore his damp clothes from escorting Lady Macbeth to the garden.
Gabriella pulled back and fumbled with the fasteners at his neck. Her impatience filled him with a warmth that quickly shifted to active volcanic. “Not so fast, my lady. We’ve all the time in the world.”
“But, I want—” She stopped and her face turned an engaging pink.
“You want?”
“You know what I want.”
He sat away from her and lifted her chin. “This is an excellent lesson for you.”
Her gaze shot to his, sparking with fire. “Lesson?”
“For you to tell me what you want.” He dropped his fingers from her chin.
She tilted her head, surprise replacing the spark. “Tell you? Out loud?”
“It works best that way,” he said, a smile tugging at him.
Her eyes fell away and she pulled the coverlets tightly up under her arms. She picked at nonexistent threads. “All right, then… I want you to take off your shirt.”
He waited until he caught her watching him covertly, then whipped the fine lawn over his head, renting a tear down the center seam. He held it at arm’s length to his side and dropped it. “Like that?”
Her gaze flew to his, wide and unblinking.
