Page 53 of Maid for the Marquess

“I adore your hands.” In demonstration, he turned mine over, exposing my palm where the damage was worst, and kissed me reverently there. “They are beautiful and soft, and they most definitely belong to a lady. To the finest lady I am privileged to know.” He kissed me again, his eyes burning into mine. “I especially love them when they touch me.”

Longing hit me. “Then perhaps they should touch you now.”

A slow, wicked grin curved his lips. “Why, Lady Wheaton, you do surprise me with your offer. What am I, your humble servant, to do but accept?”

“Surely you must be hungry from your travels this morning,” I suggested thickly.

“I am starving, Maddie mine,” he murmured, drawing me into his arms and holding me against his big, broad chest.

I felt safe. Comforted. I also felt desired. I wrapped my arms around his neck, the lingering sadness gone. I may have lost the old life I once had, but this was my new life, and it was brimming with hope.

“Then you must have your repast,” I told him, tilting my head back and offering him my lips.

“Oh, that I shall.” His mouth teased mine in a gentle kiss that left me yearning for him. “Come to my bedchamber with me, and I’ll have my fill.”

“In the midst of the day, my lord?” I feigned astonishment.

But in truth, we didn’t relegate our lovemaking to the nights, and I didn’t mind one bit. My husband’s appetite matched my own in that regard.

“I can’t wait another minute.” He kissed me again.

“But what will the servants think?”

“That I cannot resist the incomparable Lady Wheaton.” He nuzzled my throat. “And they would be correct. Now, come with me, wife. I don’t think that piano bench is robust enough for what I have in mind…”

I laughed, feeling giddy, and allowed my husband to lead me from the music room, our hands entwined. We made our way through the main hall and up the curved wooden staircase to the floor housing our adjoined rooms. It occurred to me that Lydia might be within my bedchamber, sorting through some of the laundry that would have been brought up from the washhouse. But Alexander led me to his room, sparing me the need to fret.

We made our way over the threshold, and the door had scarcely even clicked closed before I was in his arms and his mouth was on mine. We undressed each other with trembling hands. Buttons and hooks and tapes opened. It didn’t matter that we had been married and making love for weeks now. I was even more caught up in my feelings for him. I knelt on the floor and helped him to tug off his boots. He rolled down my stockings, his lips trailing a reverent path over the bare skin he newly revealed.

At long last, every last stitch of clothing had been removed, and Alexander guided me to the bed.

“Sit, Maddie mine.”

The bed was high and my legs were short. A stool had been discreetly placed by the bedside for my use. I used it now, leveraging myself onto the mattress and turning to face him. Although I was growing ever more comfortable in my nudity and the passion between us, I nonetheless felt a bit shy, pressing my thighs together as I devoured my husband’s form with my gaze. If I had thought him magnificent in the moonlight, he was ten times more glorious by daylight, with every inch of his powerful body lovingly illuminated by the sun shining in the windows.

His chest was broad, his arms strong, his legs lean and muscular. I remained fascinated by the dusting of masculine hair covering him, by the way it felt against me. And also by his cock, which stood proudly erect, a pearl of moisture already seeping from the slit at the tip.

He approached me slowly, his eyes frankly admiring in a way that made me feel boundlessly beautiful, as if I were the loveliest woman he had ever beheld. I didn’t know if it was true, but when he looked at me thus, it was easy to imagine that it might be.

“How sweet you look, sitting naked on my bed, waiting for me,” he said, stopping before me and bending down to press his mouth to mine.

I kissed him with a moan, my own need for him already embarrassingly acute, opening for his questing tongue. His hands moved to my aching breasts, cupping them, his thumbs moving unerringly over my stiff nipples. I kissed him harder in response, threading my fingers through his hair. They caught in the leather thong he had used to tie his dark locks back, and I pulled it away, casting it to the carpet. He kissed a path down my throat and then lower, over my breast until he found the peak, his lips fastening over it to suck.

I watched him in fascination, this handsome man who was somehow mine. His eyes were closed, his lashes fanned out, his cheeks hollowing as he suckled the other breast. The pleasure was so sharp and wondrous that I moaned, arching my back. He withdrew to run his tongue over the pink tip, licking and teasing until I felt an answering wetness between my thighs.

But instead of returning to my lips as I had supposed he would, Alexander continued kissing down my body, over my stomach. He sank to his knees before me, gently caressing my thighs to part them as he went. His lips fluttered over my navel, then pressed to my hip bone. He was alarmingly close to my center in a way he had not been before.

“Alexander,” I protested. “What are you doing?”

He kissed my thigh and glanced up at me, the heat in his eyes enough to take my breath. “I want to taste you. Will you let me?”

Taste me? I didn’t know entirely what he meant, but my body was thrilled by the notion, my cunny clenching at his words.

“How?” I managed breathlessly. “Where?”

His left hand guided my thighs apart a bit more, whilst his right tenderly caressed my mound. “Your pretty cunny. I’ll put my mouth on you here.”

Liquid desire pooled deep within me. His suggestion certainly felt sinful, but Alexander was a patient, attentive lover. He had shown me how to find my pleasure, how to revel in the things we did together in the marriage bed, all of it so new to me and yet so incredible. I trusted him. Trusted him with my body, with my heart.