Page 51 of The New Earl’s Convenient Wife

She looked back to see Rafe watching her, wine glass abandoned, his eyes smoldering, his rigid arms clutching the coverlet. Robe trailing behind her, she walked to the bed, urging him to stand up so she might pull the shirt over his head.

She scanned his now-naked body with a hungry glance, halting her gaze at his erect manhood. ‘Ah, that is as delicious as the feel of this robe. Shall I show you?’

She pulled him closer, wrapped the robe around them both and leaned up to kiss him.

After a shocked moment, he seized her, binding her close, kissing her hard and deep, his tongue scouring hers as he reached down to cup her naked bottom and tumble them back onto the bed.

Sometime later, sated, she nestled at his side, for long moments lost in bliss. At length, she opened her eyes to see him gazing at her, a bemused expression on his face.

‘I suspect, should the law ever learn of it, we might be prosecuted for that bit of sacrilege against the Crown,’ he said, pointing to the robe lying crumpled on the floor. ‘A symbol of British power yielded to the superior force of my wife’s sensuality.’

‘No one need ever know. I won’t tell if you won’t.’

Chuckling, Rafe shook his head. ‘You’ve complicated it, you know. I’ll never be able to don that ceremonial robe again without thinking of you, naked, under it.’

‘Have I spoiled your image of it?’ she asked, concerned. ‘That was certainly not my intent.’

‘Oh, no. The image I have now is far better. But it’s going to be hard to keep a fatuous smile off my face during what should be a solemn ceremony.’

She gave him a saucy grin. ‘I like to imagine you distracted into thinking of me in solemn places.’

Rafe sighed. ‘You are incorrigible, minx. Siren. Nymph. But I wouldn’t have you be any other way.’

‘You wouldn’t?’

He shook his head. ‘You bedevil, beguile and delight me, my treasure.’

At that description, her heart beat faster again. ‘Am I your treasure?’

‘Absolutely. In every way.’

She felt a rush of anticipation. Might he now feel it, say it? That he didn’t just esteem her, he felt a warmth of love for her? So she might make a measured, restricted vow of tender devotion in return?

But instead of speaking further, after placing a kiss on her cheek, he closed his eyes and lay back. Within a few moments, he was deeply asleep.

Juliana pushed back a feeling of disappointment. With his gaze so loving and gentle, he’d seemed close, oh so close, to making her a declaration.

Surely it wasn’t just a case of her wishing and hoping it might be so. She felt certain Rafe was edging closer to realizing, like Claire had with her first husband, that he had gone beyond mere affection to truly loving her.

Not with a Grand Passion—there’d be no chance of that. But feeling more than just warmth and deep regard.

She could settle for a tender, gentle love. She would still have to limit her own feelings and keep leashed the all-consuming passion he would not want. But a gentle love would be close, much closer, to something she’d never imagined he could offer her.

The night after Rafe’s presentation they were to attend a grand ball. Juliana had progressed to the point that, if she didn’t look forward to an event attended by all the most influential members of Parliament and the ton, she at least wasn’t dreading it. Rafe would probably not be able to spend much time by her side, but by now, she knew several of his army and university colleagues and their wives, enough to feel comfortable chatting and dancing with them. And Hart and Claire would be there to support her.

Wearing the most elaborate of her new gowns, Baxter having taken special care to arrange her hair in a more sophisticated style, she felt she looked her best as she descended the stairs to meet Rafe, who awaited her in the entry, resplendent in his black evening attire.

How handsome and commanding he looked, she thought, her heart swelling with pride and affection. A momentary shiver went through her, the thought that she must be living a dream, that she couldn’t truly have wed this man.

‘I feel like Cinderella going to the ball with a handsome prince,’ she told him as he took her hand to lead her to the waiting carriage.

He laughed. ‘Just remember you will not be turning into a ragged waif at midnight. Nor are you permitted to run off and abandon me. I’ll need an excuse to escape the card room or avoid being pulled into a long rehashing of what was discussed at today’s Parliamentary session.’

‘I’m pleased to be your excuse,’ she said, as he handed her in.

‘What you promise me for later is far more alluring than any drink or chat I could be offered at a ball,’ he murmured as he took his seat beside her. After the footman closed the door, he kissed her cheek as he slipped a hand beneath her cloak to run his fingers slowly over her breast.

She sighed, leaning into his touch. ‘Must we stay until midnight?’