Could he?
The instant cockstand in his trousers told him he could.
But the gentleman in him said he ought not, even if the servants had been dismissed for the evening.
He broke the kiss, staring down at her upturned face, falling into her hazel eyes. “How was your day, my love? Have you settled your work room to your satisfaction?”
They had converted the library to become her new space. The shelf-lined walls were filled with books of her choosing, and there were plenty of tables, good natural light, and places to store her herbs and other healing materials.
“I have.” She smiled. “Will you come and see?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Of course.”
Taking his hand in hers, she led him down the hall to her work room. She had certainly put her mark upon the chamber. It was neat, tidy, and it smelled of lavender just as she did. On one of her work tables, she had pots lined up, some filled with unguents she had perfected.
“What do you think?” she asked as he made his way about.
“I think it is perfect,” he said, taking her in his arms again.
The subtle swell of her belly, small but growing subtly larger with their child each day, brushed against him, reminding him of how very blessed he was. He was going to be a father, and he could not be happier.
“How was your first day at the boxing academy, my love?” She caressed his jaw, down his throat, finding the knot in his cravat and plucking at it.
“It was excellent.” His cravat was undone by his wife’s wicked fingers, and she was undoing the three buttons at the neck of his shirt so she could torment him by caressing the slice of his chest she had exposed. He swallowed. “Teeming with lords ready to learn from the old champion.”
He had not fought another match. Recognizing he would likely never regain the full strength of his wounded arm, and in the wake of the disaster with Jones, Gavin had retired from the sport. But using his fame to attract young aristocrats desperate to practice the art of boxing had proven a boon. He had no doubt his academy would thrive, and he could not be more pleased with all the future held.
“You are happy with the academy, my love?” Her touch slid beneath his shirt, over his collarbone. “You do not wish to return to prizefighting?”
Her hand settled over his madly beating heart.
“I am happier than I could have imagined,” he reassured her. “I do not want to fight any longer. All I want is to earn my keep and love my wife.”
“I am glad. I want you to be happy, Gav.” She pressed her mouth to his.
“I would be happier if I were making love to you,” he murmured against her lips.
“No dinner?” she asked, breathless.
“Dinner can wait.”
* * *
Caro tookher time admiring her husband as she helped him to shed his clothes. She kissed the inking he had added to his biceps. A loneCto represent her name and her place in his heart. His body was as beautiful as his heart, his chest strong and broad, covered with a light dusting of dark hair, his abdomen taut and sinewy. She kissed her way to the puckered scar of his wound, thankful for the pink, healing flesh, grateful anew that she had found him that day, and that he had lived.
They had been through so much together. But she would gladly weather all those storms again, just to have this man at her side.
“You undo me, butterfly,” he said in a low voice laden with desire.
A welcoming warmth unfurled within her, settling between her thighs. “Good.”
She kissed down his chest, helped him from his trousers and smalls. His cock jutted forward, long and thick and ruddy. Ready for her. She grasped him, stroking the silken length until he groaned.
“Why are you still wearing your gown, love?”
She would shed it soon enough, but first, she had another activity in mind. Caro sank to her knees before him.
“Caro,” he growled.
