“Not too sore?”
A fierce blush covered her cheeks. “A bit. Are you?”
He barked out a laugh. “No. Thank you.” She really knew nothing of the act. And yet…she’d stolen his ability to think, to breathe, like the most experienced courtesan.
He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one. “Hungry?”
She cocked her head, then affected a look of surprise. “I am.”
“Good. Feel free to start with the chocolate milk pudding.” He lifted the lid covering the bowl and handed her a spoon. “I like watching you enjoy your dessert.”
A slow smile curved her lips. She scooped up one large dollop of dense chocolate and slid it into her mouth. A low moan sounded in her throat.
Sterling’s erection, which had subsided while he awaited their dinner in the antechamber, returned with a vengeance. He shifted in his chair. “Now then, as to our sleeping arrangements.”
Dipping the spoon back into the bowl, she slanted him a watchful look.
“Once we are back in London, we will move into my family home on Hanover Square. My parents reside in Worley Park, so it will normally be the two of us, plus Caroline, until she weds.”
A shuttered look crossed her face, and he wished he had not mentioned his sister and a future marriage. The last thing he wanted to do was remind her of Gaston at the present moment.
He went on. “We shall have adjoining bedchambers—on the same floor. I do not wish for my wife to inhabit a chamber on another floor. Do you have a problem with this arrangement?”
She shook her head, and he was absurdly relieved. “Good. Additionally, I do not know how other couples manage their affairs,per se, but I see no reason for a husband and wife to sleep in separate chambers. I…er…assume you will spend the majority of your nights with me.”
She hesitated as if absorbing this new information. Then she nodded and drew her spoon through her chocolate with intense concentration. “As you wish.”
Her reply vexed him. “And what doyouwish?” he asked, feeling instantly foolish for posing the inane question.
“I…I rather enjoyed sleeping with my head on your arm,” she admitted, not looking his way.
A sudden ache in his chest, for lack of a better description, made it hard to swallow.
Annabelle scooped up another spoonful of chocolate.
He looked to the plate of cold collation rather than continuing to watch her eat. His cock, already screaming for his attention—or, more aptly, hers—would only grow more insistent the longer he observed her innate sensuality.
He selected a piece of hard cheese and took a small bite, then, helpless to resist the urge, slid her a look only to see the pink tip of tongue dart out to lick at a glob of chocolate on the underside of the spoon.
Torture.He glanced away. “While we remain on the island, you shall maintain your bedchamber for privacy, but your nights will be spent here. Tomorrow Babette can see your bed clothes and such are moved. And find you a morning gown.”
When she made no reply, he turned to find her blue gaze locked on him.
“Is that agreeable to you, Annabelle? I…er…rather liked having your head on my arm, as well.”
A tremulous smile curved her mouth as if what he’d said both shocked and delighted her. She was so damned sweet. So different from what he’d first believed. He’d labeled her conceited in the way of a woman who estimates her own value as far exceeding what anyone else might claim. In Annabelle’s case, however, she seemed only aware of her outward beauty, while not at all cognizant of her many other appealing traits. This clever, curious, kind, compassionate, and courageous woman had no notion how utterly exceptional she was.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her expression growing anxious. “Have I got chocolate on my nose?”
He was frowning. He cleared his expression and unfolded from the chair. “Indeed.”
“Oh, dear.” She reached for the serviette.
“No need,” he murmured, waving her hand aside. “I’ll get it.” Hauling her to her feet, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his.
“Are you sure you got all of it?” she whispered, lifting her face in invitation.
“Hm. I think not.” He slanted his lips over hers. Once. Twice, lingering on the second pass to savor the chocolatey sweetness on her breath, the lush, inviting plumpness of her lips.
