Page 22 of The New Earl’s Convenient Wife

Stars seemed to be twinkling in his head when he was finally able to take a shuddering breath, Juliana lying limp against his chest. He hugged her close, kissing the top of her damp head, utterly spent.

Disjointed thoughts sparked and skittered through his mind, while from deep within awe and a profound tenderness welled up. His mind finally coalesced around the realization of what an amazement his wife was turning out to be, possessed of a strong and completely natural eroticism he’d never suspected. Unselfconscious to be naked before him in their chamber, seeming to have no reservations about pleasuring him in the middle of the afternoon in his own library, she was Rousseau’s child of nature, reacting not with artifice or determination to seduce, but from the depths of her unique and sensual being.

He’d expected a competent helpmate. An engaging friend. He hadn’t imagined possessing a siren.

He would never have wished for his brother’s death. But he was finding himself unexpectedly grateful for the tragic circumstances that had gifted him this most surprising bride. One who could amuse him, pleasure him—but as a friend, one who would never, as Thalia had, evoke the fierce emotions that had once torn his heart asunder.

Though she wasn’t proving entirely amenable, he thought, recalling her strong objection to his urging her to accompany him to London. Despite her immediate apology, having her compare him to her detested mother still rankled. But, he reassured himself, her sharp response simply represented how much she dreaded being on display to Society. He’d have to give her more encouragement—surely she valued his opinion more than her mother’s.

If she continued to be intransigent, in the end, he could go to London without her, especially if Hart were in town to host him. He would miss her—especially given the delightful surprise of their physical compatibility—but friends didn’t need to live in one other’s pockets.

But that was a matter for another day. For now, he would enjoy their partnership at Thornthwaite.

She must have dozed, Juliana thought muzzily as she drifted to consciousness sometime later to find herself, skirts still ruched up to her waist, perched on Rafe’s lap.

Marveling at the intensity of the release they’d just shared, she reached up to brush back the damp hair shadowing his forehead.

Just as she’d dreamed of doing so many times, years ago when she was a starstruck girl.

It felt just as wonderful as she’d imagined. A wave of emotion overwhelmed her, bringing tears to her eyes and closing her throat.

Oh, this would never do. Struggling to suppress it, she sat up straight and kissed Rafe on the forehead. Think only of the pleasure you can give and take, she reminded herself sternly.

When Rafe opened his eyes, looking as content as she still felt, she said, ‘You truly will permit me to do…that? I haven’t displeased you with my…forwardness?’ she added, voicing a sudden doubt.

‘On the contrary! You have pleased me very much—as you are surely aware.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘My shy, quiet, retiring little Mouse. I would never have imagined.’

‘I was never truly shy,’ she replied, relieved. ‘And only quiet and retiring so as to draw as little notice as possible to behaviour that was likely to get me reprimanded.’

He chuckled. ‘You’ll get no reproof from me for this behaviour.’

She smiled, glad that he was still accepting and approving. If he truly liked her sensual overtures, she would allow her imagination full rein. Back in the dim past, she’d dreamed of being able to touch him without restriction, without restraint.

Now, with his permission, she could indulge herself.

She intended to take full advantage.

Acting upon the sensual inspiration of the moment would help her restrain any further undesirable outbreaks of emotion.

Along with concentration on work, of which there was much to be done.

‘Much as I delight in my current position, there is dinner and housework to supervise,’ she said, regretfully disentangling herself from him and rearranging her crumpled skirts. Catching sight of herself in the pier-glass mirror over the sideboard, she chuckled.

‘I’d better go repair myself first. With my hair coming down and my skirts all creased, Baxter will think I fell backwards through a hedgerow.’

Her experienced maid would probably know exactly what her charge had been up to—and would approve. Her former nursemaid was delighted that the odd child she’d mentored and protected from a disapproving family had found a husband who seemed to appreciate her. She’d already begun dropping none-too-subtle hints as she helped tidy her mistress after her wedding night that she hoped Juliana’s marital activities would soon produce a new child for Thorne Hall’s nursery.

Another wave of warmth went through her, one Juliana allowed herself to fully indulge. She might have to guard her mind and heart against Rafe. But a child she’d be free to love with all the passionate abandon she desired.

What a miracle it would be, she thought as she bid her husband good day and meandered up to her chamber. A part of Rafe she could openly cherish forever. She’d be able to transfer all the pent-up emotion she’d bottled up years ago when she learned he’d fallen in love with Thalia and lavish it on Rafe’s child. Her child. Their child.

A child to love would change their whole relationship, eliminating the hovering risk of an emotional lapse and giving her an acceptable outlet for her emotional passion while it cemented her place in Rafe’s life and her position at Thornthwaite as mother to the heir.

Having a child to safeguard would give her an even better reason to remain in the country, far from the foul air and congestion of the City. Allowing her to avoid London and the disapproval of a Society led by matrons like her mother.

She hugged herself, wondering if even now, Rafe’s seed might be growing within her. It couldn’t happen soon enough.