Page 54 of A Perfect Gentleman

“How odd.” Fortunately, his grandmother seemed to feel no explanation of Abigail’s oddity was necessary. “Well, it is time for tea. Lady Theresa and Sir James are joining us.”

“Who?”

“Your aunt and cousin.” Lady Eugenia narrowed her eyes. “Montclair, are you ill?”

“No. Course not. I’m fine.”

“You are rather flushed.” His grandmother took a step toward them.

“No! No, I am perfectly well, I assure you.” He could feel Abigail shaking with laughter, her hand in front of her mouth to hide it, and he pressed his fingertips into her sides, whispering, “Stop that!” But his own lips began to twitch.

Lady Eugenia frowned. “Really, Montclair. You are acting most peculiarly.” A quick cut of her eyes toward Abigail revealed where she thought the peculiarity came from. “Do get cleaned up. You look a fright. Your hair is every which way. I’ll tell Norton to hold the tea for ten minutes.” She walked away.

Abigail turned to him, both hands clasped to her mouth to control her laughter, her eyes dancing above them.

“You will be the death of me.” Graeme strove for a stern voice, but the teasing laughter on Abby’s face sent the fire in him leaping even higher.

“Oh, dear, we wouldn’t want that.” She cast him a provocative look from beneath her lashes.

Graeme grabbed her wrist and swept her down the hall, pulling her into his room and locking the door behind them.

“What are you doing? Lady Eugenia’s holding tea for us. We haven’t time.” Abby backed up as he advanced on her.

“What I want won’t take much time.”

“Graeme!” Abby’s eyes lit up. “What are you suggesting?”

“This.” He looped an arm around her waist and picked her up, setting her down beside the bed, facing it. As she turned her head to look back at him in surprise, he took her by the wrists and set her hands flat on the bed.

“Graeme . . .” Intrigue turned her voice throaty, and the sound sent shivers through him. “What are you—oh!” She broke off as he shoved up her skirts and reached under to pull down her pantalets. “Oh, my.” Abigail stepped out of the undergarments, widening her stance.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of her and ran his hands slowly over her soft white buttocks.

“But I still have on my shoes,” she protested.

“I know. I like it.” He slid his hand between her legs, finding the heat and the flooding moisture there. He smiled. “I think you like it, too.”

He slid his finger over the satiny nub, and the soft moan that escaped Abby ratcheted up his hunger. His own flesh was throbbing, pressing against his trousers, but he clamped down on his desire, continuing to stroke her until she was moving against his hand, her breathing as harsh and ragged as his own. Only then, when he felt as if he might explode from the need knotting within him, did he unbutton his trousers and shove them down.

He buried himself in her with a deep groan of satisfaction, pausing to keep from hurtling to a climax right then and there. Sliding his hands up to cup her breasts, he began to move, reveling in the tight heat that surrounded him. Her body shifted with the power of his thrusts, and he moved one hand to her waist to hold her steady. His other hand slid down to the exquisitely sensitive flesh between her legs, and she moaned again when he found her.

“Graeme . . . Graeme . . .” She repeated his name in a low incantation, and the sound of it stirred him more than he would have thought possible. Then she gasped and shuddered as she reached her peak, tightening around him. With a low cry, Graeme let loose the reins of his own desire, hurtling into deep, dark ecstasy.

chapter 19

Unsurprisingly, they were late to tea. Lady Eugenia frowned in reproof as she rang for Norton to bring in the tea cart. From the amusement in James’s eyes, Graeme thought his cousin suspected the reason for their tardiness. Graeme could not find it in himself to care. He politely introduced Abigail to his aunt and cousin, then joined James, standing beside the mantel.

“I see you are adjusting to married life,” James murmured, and Graeme shot him a quelling look.

“When did you return to the city, Aunt Tessa?” Graeme asked. It was the surest way to deflect conversation away from himself, for his aunt loved nothing better than to talk about herself. It allowed Graeme to while away the visit watching his wife.

He thought somewhat smugly that Abigail looked the very image of a well-satisfied wife. After their lovemaking, he had had some qualms that she might have been repelled by his raw need and the swift, even animalistic way he had taken her, but the relaxed contentment in her face, the warmth of her gaze when she glanced at him, were enough to dispel that worry.

“I came back yesterday,” Tessa said, answering Graeme’s question. “One can only ruralize for so long.”

“Two weeks, apparently,” James added.

His mother flashed a grin at him. “I’m sure my absence wasn’t long enough to suit you, dear boy, but I noticed you lasted no longer than two days at Grace Hill.” She turned toward the dowager countess and said in an explanatory aside, “James’s cousin Maurice was visiting.”