by Holly Bush
Blake stood to admire his wife. She seemed to only increase in beauty these last five years. He was glad when Gert said she missed home. Blake happily handed over the reins of Wexford House to Will. He would have followed Gertrude to China, if need be, but he too thought America was going to be a wonderful place to raise his family. No one watching his or Gert’s every move. No one to censure their children but themselves and Fred Hastings.
Blake rose from his chair, turned Gert around and knelt before her. He smiled up at her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Gertrude said. She sat back and lost her smile. “At this rate we’re going to have a dozen children.”
Blake touched her cheek. “Do you mind?”
She shrugged. “No.” She smiled with a gleam in her eye. “Not as long as we can keep doing the best part.”
Blake chuckled. “The best part?”
“I know what I’m like when I’m expecting. At least for the first four or five months. But getting that way gets better every time.”
Blake cocked his head. “There are things in life that only get better with time. Like a fine wine. We’re an excellent vintage by now.”
“You’re still a pompous idiot,” Gertrude said and slapped him on the shoulder.
“And you, Mrs. Sanders, need to lie down. If I remember correctly, an afternoon nap does wonders for your disposition.”
Gertrude accepted his arm, while Blake carried Geoffrey up the steps to her old bedroom. Her eyes closed instantly. Blake kissed her forehead and his son’s cheek and tiptoed out of the room.
That night Gert and Blake lay in each other’s arms, talking.
“I must write Benson and Mary Alice to come down from Chicago when Anthony and Elizabeth visit,” Gert said. She was curled on Blake’s shoulder, and he absently ran his fingers through her hair.
“Can’t they stay with Fred?”
Gert looked up at her husband in the moonlight. “I imagine someone will have to stay there. We don’t have the room for everyone.”
“Let it be them, then, my dear. Benson’s wife’s voice cuts through my head like a knife,” Blake said.
Gert giggled and snuggled closer. “I’ll never in all my days forget Benson’s face when Mary Alice asked if he was her Prince Charming.”
“And in that lovely plaid shirt of his,” Blake said and laughed.
Gert reached up and ran her fingers through the hair growing gray at Blake’s temples. “I loved you so much that day you defended me to Esmerelda Bunchley.”
Blake rolled Gert on her back in one swift motion. “Don’t speak of Esmerelda, right now, dear. Her picture in my head does nothing for my stamina. And I’m getting to be an old man.” Blake kissed her then and ran his hands down her face to her bare shoulders. He looped his tongue around the shell of her ear as his hand skimmed the edge of her breast pressed tight against his chest. He growled in her ear. “I want you more than I thought it possible for a man to want a woman.”
Gertrude arched her neck and ran her hands over Blake’s back and down the corded muscles of his arms. “I don’t worry as much as I used to about you having a mistress.”
Blake stilled above her and held her face in his hands. “Besides the fact I want no woman but you, explain to me exactly when I’m to find time to have a mistress. Your uncle has me riding fences. Your children have me on the floor as their own personal pony, and Mrs. Wickham has taken to make me drive her to see Fred nearly every day.” He kissed her hard and unyielding. “And you keep me chained to your magnificent body in this bed.”
Gert raised her hips, and Blake groaned low in his throat. Thoughts were not coming as clearly as usual to Gert when Blake dropped his mouth to her breast. “Do you think, oh dear, Blake, do you think Mrs. Wickham has her eye on, oh,” Gert moaned.
“Enough chatter,” Blake growled. He entered her swiftly and listened to his wife’s ragged breathing.
Long, languid strokes followed. Hushed words and pleas. Exquisite torment spiraled with tempo to the plane of pleasure they sought for each other. One begged. The other complied, and they lay entwined, sweat-glistened and panting.
Gert sighed with pleasure and satisfaction as her mind slowly awoke from a sensuous haze. “Do you really think Mrs. Wickham is interested in Uncle Fred?” Blake had rolled them to their sides. Her back to his front. She cuddled closer and repeated her question. A low rumble in her ear was her husband’s reply. Followed by a loud, stilted intake of breath. The Duke of Wexford was sound asleep and snoring like a freight train. As usual, Gert thought and smiled. She did her damnedest to hear that snore in her ear every night.
I hope you enjoyed Gert and Blake’s story. Please visit my website for news of upcoming releases at www.hollybushbooks.com. Don’t forget to leave a note on the Guest Book or send me a message. I love to hear from readers.
Reader reviews and recommendations are critical for an Indie author like myself. If you liked Cross the Ocean, please tell a friend or post a review wherever you purchased this book. And don’t forget to take a look at my other historical romances, Romancing Olive, Train Station Bride and Reconstructing Jackson. Excerpts and purchase information available at my website.
Thank you,
Holly Bush
P. S. Look for my first women’s fiction novel due to be released in the fall of 2013.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
