Page 94 of The Music of Love

Portia eyed his nipples; something about their diminutive size was irresistible. She lowered her mouth and suckled one for a moment while his body stiffened and she considered his question.

Stacy groaned. “I’m an old man, darling. I need some time.”

She reluctantly released the hard pebble and rested her chin on his chest. “Your brother is lovely. Warm, handsome, amusing, intelligent—”

“Thank you, that is quite enough,” he interrupted, punctuating his point with a sharp spank on her bare bottom.

“You didn’t let me finish, my jealous husband.” She wiggled her bottom against the hand now resting there. “I was about to say that, despite all that, he could not hold a candle to my own Harrington male.”

“That’s better,” he grumbled.

“You are happy we came?”

“Yes, I am happy. I am enjoying getting to know Robert and my sisters—although that is not easy given their reserved natures.”

Portia smiled at that, thinking of her husband’s reserved nature. “And Frances? Have you forgiven her?” She felt him stiffen at the question, and not in a good way.

“I’m trying, Portia.”

She let the subject be.

He tilted his chin down until their eyes met. “And you? Are you glad you came?”

“I am. I like your brother and sisters, very much. Although your father . . .” she stopped.

“Yes, let us agree to avoid speaking of my father.”

Portia knew it was cowardly, but she was grateful to leave the subject of the earl untouched—for now.

“And Lady Pendleton?” Stacy asked.

“Ah, the viscountess . . . I believe she is trying to be accommodating and welcoming but I think the experience is novel. I can only suppose her life as the daughter of a duke lacked any training in the area of pleasing mere commoners.”

“I think you’ve accurately summed up our proud sister-in-law. I don’t think Robert and his wife like each other, sometimes it feels as if it might even go beyond dislike.”

Portia thought they hated each other but kept that thought to herself. “I believe that is common among the aristocracy. If you’d been raised within your father’s grasp then you, too, would most likely be wedded to the appropriate article.” She ran a single finger from his nipple to the tantalizing line of white hair that ran over the taut muscles of his abdomen toward his slumbering organ. She lightly dragged a finger over the astonishingly soft skin on the crown and he leapt against her hand and she laughed.

He plunged a hand into her hair, wrapping a length of it around his fist and forcing her to meet his eyes. “And what type of article are you, Mrs. Harrington? I’ll bet you were the kind of little girl who enjoyed teasing all the boys. Did you? Did you eat sweets in front of them without sharing? Promise them kisses and then run away? Yes, I would wager that you reveled in such diabolical and wholly female behavior.”

She gave him an innocent, wide-eyed stare. “I was the ideal child. Perfect in every way.”

“Just as you are the perfect wife?” He laughed and she nipped his chin.

And then she lowered her mouth over his swiftly hardening shaft and showed him—yet again—just how ideal and perfect she was.

When Portia woke the following morning, she was alone in bed. She was also sore in places she’d never realized could be sore. They’d been like a pair of starving castaways who’d stumbled upon a banquet, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from each other’s bodies and then returning for second and third helpings. In between bouts both savage and tender they’d talked as they’d never done before, neither of them sleeping much in their eagerness to make up for lost time.

Portia was smirking to herself and reliving the evening when Daisy entered. The state of her bedroom spoke louder than words and Daisy gave her a huge smile; well, at least the servants were happy again.

“Mr. Harrington said I should let you sleep, ma’am. Would you like breakfast in your room?”

Portia glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was almost eleven. She was to meet Rowena for a tour of the castle at one.

“I’d better be up and about. Do you know where Mr. Harrington went?” She stepped into the robe her maid held out for her and went to sit at her dressing table so Daisy could untangle her hair before she bathed.

“Powell said the master left earlier with his lordship.” Daisy began the long, painful process of brushing out the knots. Her hair was quite coarse and Portia had hated it until lately, when Stacy couldn’t seem to resist playing with it and wrapping strands of it around parts of his body.

“I think I’ll wear the new burgundy dress, Daisy. Have you heard anything about who will be arriving today?” Portia had spent enough time hovering between the servants’ hall and the upper levels of various houses to realize servants always knew the comings and goings better than the master or mistress of the house.