Naughty Bits

by Lacy Danes

  It made her retch, thinking of him in bed with another woman, his beautiful hands stroking her breasts and thighs. She thought of all the endearments, all the love words he had once whispered in her ear, then imagined him saying them to another and she broke out into a sob.

  “What is it?” Adrian asked again. His voice was so soft, so concerned. Adrian would understand. He always seemed to understand her, where Christian hadn’t sought to understand her needs for the past three years.

  “Is it Sutcliffe?” he asked. When she nodded, he blew out a breath and brushed his thumbs along her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “He no longer satisfies you,” Adrian stated flatly.

  Nodding, Elizabeth balled up a linen square and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, ashamed to confess something like that in front of Adrian. She was shocked by how much it hurt to finally admit the truth. “He does not make me happy. I…I haven’t been since before…well, after Jamie’s birth. It’s as if we are distant acquaintances passing one another from time to time. We no longer talk, touch…kiss,” she hiccupped. “I hardly know him anymore. We’ve become strangers to one another.”

  “How can that be?”

  Tears fell in earnest from her eyes, and Elizabeth did nothing to stop them. “He does not want me as a woman, Adrian. He no longer desires me. It’s as if he is only doing a duty when he comes to my bed. He hurries on with the business and it leaves me frustrated and yearning. It is obvious that he no longer wants me, or our children. It is obvious he is no longer happy with me. Even now he is in London, doing God knows what—probably bedding every woman under the age of twenty-five. I can’t compete with those young women anymore, Adrian. I can’t give him what he needs.”

  “Come here.” Adrian held out his arms to her. Silently, she pressed forward and allowed him to hold her. There were no words, no admonishment for crying or command that she cease sobbing, no statements about what to do to fix things. Christian always tried to talk her fears away. He always wanted to fix whatever it was that troubled her, but never once had he mentioned trying to repair their marriage. The simple fact was, he didn’t care that it was ending.

  “I am here for you,” Adrian murmured, holding her tighter to him as she sobbed. “I am here, Eliza, in whatever way you may need.”

  Raising her head, Elizabeth looked at him through watery eyes. He comprehended her—completely. Why couldn’t Christian understand her like Adrian?

  As they looked into each other’s eyes, Elizabeth saw a dark curtain suddenly draw across Adrian’s green eyes. Despite her openness with him, she knew he hid much from her. There was so much about Adrian that she did not know, that he would not speak of.

  What was he thinking now? Did he fear she might accept his offer? Did he know that she yearned not for a husband, but a lover? A man to worship her body and fulfill the sexual urges she felt? Was he hoping to be that man, or did he secretly fear her asking him?

  “Elizabeth.” He pulled away from her. “I can hardly believe I am going to say something so contrived, so trite,” he rasped, pressing his lips to her brow and kissing her gently. “But a marriage is like a garden. It needs to be tended year after year. To be cultivated and fed. And when the weeds begin to sprout, as they always do, they need to be plucked—immediately. Sometimes love just isn’t enough to keep two people together. Do you understand, Eliza, what I mean?”

  She did understand him. She had neglected their marriage, and now it was being choked, stifled by stagnation and complacency. By routine and fatigue. She had taken Christian for granted. She had expected him to know what she wanted, what she desired—in and out of bed. She hadn’t thought to ask for it; she had thought he should simply know.

  “Your thinking is all wrong, you know. You’re a beautiful woman, Elizabeth, and very desirable. Any man would give his soul to have you in his bed.”

  Smiling, Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes. “I wish,” she murmured into her linen kerchief, “that my husband agreed with your assessment of my desirability. I fear ten years and four children later that desirability is severely in question.”

  “Do you want to know what the allure of a thirty-five-year-old woman is for a man?” Adrian asked. “It’s confidence. Maturity. Acceptance. The confidence to pursue what she desires and know what she wants. There are no coy games, no crying and stomping and pouting like there is with young, silly girls. Older women have the maturity to ask for it—demand it, whatever they want, be it in life or the bedroom. They accept the fact that they can be both mother and wife as well as a sexual creature with the same needs as their husbands. Those young women you worry about,” he whispered in her ear, “are no threat to you. Learn to ask for what you want. Demand you be allowed to do whatever you want to him, and I guarantee you, he will be yours. Never doubt, Elizabeth, that Sutcliffe is still yours. How could he leave someone as lovely, as desirable, as sexual as you?”

  Desirable…sexual…

  Christian stood in the doorway of the conservatory watching his wife in the arms of Adrian Wallace. Goddamn bastard! He had always known that Adrian coveted his wife. Had always feared that one day, Adrian might replace him in Elizabeth’s affection.

  And why not? Adrian was a rogue. A dark and romantic artist with a hint of danger about him. What woman wouldn’t fall for him with his black tousled hair and green eyes that always seemed to flash a sensual invitation. Why wouldn’t Elizabeth desire someone like Adrian? Hell, half the women of London practically threw themselves at his feet. But by God, his wife—Elizabeth—would not be one of them! Over his dead body would he allow her to toss away their marriage for a romp in the artist’s bed.

  So what if he wasn’t as romantic as Adrian? So what if he couldn’t shoot Elizabeth smoldering looks from beneath black lashes. Christ, he’d made her a duchess on their wedding day. He’d given her wealth and land and estates beyond her imaginings. He’d given her four beautiful, healthy children, and the creation of those children had been passionate and loving. He had given Elizabeth everything of himself, which, he was willing to bet, was more than Adrian Wallace would give Elizabeth, or indeed, any woman.

  By God, he wasn’t just going to stand here and allow his wife to slip through his hands. Nor was he going to let her forget what had brought them together—love, and an incredible passion for each other.

  This marriage was not over. He had realized that this past week. He’d spent the past days away from her, dying for her. He would have sold his soul for just a glimpse of her and her smile, some sign that she still wanted him, that he still held a place in her heart, no matter how small.

  He’d reached the conclusion that although he hadn’t been happy for a while, it was not because of Elizabeth. It was not because he was tired of her, or because he desired someone else. He wasn’t happy because his marriage was dying, and it was all because he’d let it go to rot.

  He was no idiot. He knew the source of her unhappiness. It was the same as his. They were no longer passionate. They no longer laughed and kissed for hours on end. He no longer stole illicit touches, or stroked her breasts when no one was watching. They didn’t make love, they mated. Once a week maybe, if the children weren’t ill, or there weren’t any thunderstorms, or if he wasn’t exhausted from a day of riding and looking over his estate, or if he hadn’t drunk too much after dinner, drowning his thoughts with port. If Elizabeth wasn’t worn down by a day of constantly chasing the children and seeing to her charities and her duties as his duchess…sometimes then, if none of those things intruded, they might come together for five minutes of perfunctory sex.

  How had it come to this—Elizabeth wearing herself out with their children and him drinking so much? How had they managed to become complete strangers after ten years of marriage and four children? How could he not feel close to the woman who had borne his children, who had shared his life for nearly a decade?

  Christ, they had become like automatons, living life in a haze. Day in and day out, the routine was the same, predict
able, boring, stifling. He didn’t want to live this way. He didn’t want Elizabeth to live this way. And he didn’t want to lose her, nor did he want his children to despise him because he was a miserable sod whenever they were around.

  He needed to find the magic of those years when they had made love on the grass, or while their guests mingled in the next room. He needed to seduce her and he, in turn, needed to be seduced. They needed time alone, to get to know one another again, to reconnect as friends and as lovers.

  Christian stepped back into the shadows, shielding his presence from his wife as she rose from her chair and smoothed her hands down her midriff, brushing the wrinkles from her muslin skirt. His heart leapt in his chest as he studied her. When was the last time he really looked at her? Truly saw her as a woman, as his lover? He couldn’t remember.

  These past years she had been his wife—his duchess. The mother of his children. He wanted more from her than that. He wanted the woman. The lover she had once been to him.

  He would find a way back to that woman. He had to. Because he could not stand the thought of losing Elizabeth. He could not bear to think of her being any man’s lover but his. Especially not Adrian’s. He’d cut his heart out before he let her go to Adrian.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELIZABETH SANK DOWN ON HER BED AS THE children washed for luncheon. Sighing, she closed her eyes and immediately felt tired and lonely. Their butler had informed her that her husband had arrived home two hours earlier, yet he had not sought her out. Had he even missed her? Had he found someone else? Someone younger? Someone thinner, whose body was firm and not soft from bearing children? Someone who could fawn over him and devote hours and hours to lovemaking? Someone who could fulfill his every wish, without interruption?

  Lying back, she nestled her head against the soft pillow. They had once been able to make love for hours. To escape to a private corner of the house and shut themselves away, tearing their clothes in their haste to feel each other’s body. In those days, they had actually made love in the daylight or on a settee or in the carriage on their way home from a dinner or a ball. Now, they came together in the dark, the standard woman-on-bottom position their only method of coupling. The foreplay and seduction which Christian had excelled at had been gone for a time now, leaving only a hasty and automatic penetration. The intimacy of lying in his arms after climaxing, just kissing and touching and whispering words of love, had been lost. More often than not, Christian left the bed, forced out either by their children, or his dissatisfaction with what she assumed was her and their coupling.

  He never whispered anymore, while in the heat of lovemaking, how much he desired her. How much she pleased him. How much he needed her in his life. But neither have you…you’ve done nothing to assure him that you still desire him. Need him, a venomous little voice whispered to her. And she accepted it for the truth. Was she not also to blame for the distance between them? Had she not had a hand in creating that distance?

  Why could she not let him take her into an empty room and raise her skirts for a quick, hard loving? He had tried often enough, and each time she had slapped his hands away and sent him an impatient glare. Tonight, she had always said. But tonight never came, and he no longer tried to tempt and tease her into an indiscretion.

  She missed that: the temptation, the seduction, the thrill of spontaneous passion and the risk of getting caught. Did Christian long for those moments like she did?

  Smoothing her fingers along the starched pillowcase, needing to feel his imprint, despite the fact his head had not rested on the pillow for a week, Elizabeth turned her face to his pillow and tried to remember the scent of his skin—lemon soap and leather. Tried to recall how it felt to run her fingertips through the silk of his chest hair and the feel of it rubbing against her nipples, hardening them to little pebbles before he took them into his mouth.

  Something crinkled beneath her hand and her eyes flew open. Raising her head, she saw the folded piece of parchment and opened it.

  I have been wrong in my dealings with you, Elizabeth. I have wronged our children, and I am sorry for it. I have thought of nothing but you and our marriage while I have been away. I know you are not happy and I want to fix that. Believe me when I say that I want to bring you happiness and pleasure.

  Pleasure…it has been a while since I have brought that to you, hasn’t it? It has been forever since I have spoken of such things to you. I hardly know where to start, or what to say. I am not a romantic, as you well know. Yet I do have feelings, thoughts—of you and me, and us together.

  Her heart raced, pounding hard against her ribs. It had been ages since Christian had written her a letter. But this was unlike any love letter he had ever penned. This was something entirely different. It was something in his words, in the tone. It was very provocative, and it made her stomach tighten and her womb clench.

  I dream of you, Elizabeth. I fantasize about all the things I want to do to you and the things I have yet to try. I want the passion back. I want you back as my lover.

  “Mama! Mama!” the children cried as they ran down the hall. “It’s time for luncheon.”

  Putting the letter in her bedside-table drawer, Elizabeth contemplated what she was going to do. This was the olive branch. Christian felt it too, this distance, both emotional and physical. He wanted to make things right between them, and Lord knew she wanted the same thing.

  She hadn’t known where to begin healing the breach between them, but his letter gave her an idea.

  Reaching for a quill and the ink pot, Elizabeth jotted a few lines on a sheet of paper. Blotting it, she folded it in thirds and shoved it beneath her bodice, making certain her breasts cradled it.

  With a smile, she left the room.

  His oldest sons ran into the dining room, shouting and jumping. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw their father seated in his chair at the head of the table.

  “Papa,” Richard said, sobering immediately as he took his chair. “It is nice to have you home.”

  “Sir,” John nodded, taking his place opposite his brother.

  “Richard, Johnnie,” Christian said, smiling at both boys. “I think you might have grown while I was away.” The boys’ eyes lit up and they both straightened in their chairs.

  “Nanny says we’re growing like bad weeds,” Richard announced proudly.

  “But surely you’re not too big now for a kiss?” he asked as he rose from his chair. “I missed you both, very much,” he murmured, kissing the tops of their dark heads. When he opened his eyes after kissing Johnnie his gaze caught Elizabeth’s as she stood in the doorway. Jamie was on her hip, fast asleep with his cherubic face pressed against her neck and his chubby hand gripping the lace of her bodice.

  “Let me.” He walked over to Elizabeth and reached for his sleeping son whose cheeks were crimson and chafed.

  “Molars,” Elizabeth stated, pointing to Jamie’s cheeks. “He’s been up the past two nights crying.”

  Fitting Jamie against his chest, Christian bent toward his wife. He caught himself reaching for her cheek, and stopped himself. It had become a bad habit, a little peck on her cheek. Sometimes his lips barely connected before he was taken away by business, or Elizabeth’s attention was drawn away by the children.

  How complacent they had become.

  Lowering his gaze, he sought her lips. Plump, pink. Sinful lips that aroused him, pleasured him. Lips he had not properly kissed in ages. Lips he had once watched do very wicked things to his body. He grew hard remembering those days, and his heart hurt, wondering if they would ever return.

  “I missed you.” He lowered his mouth to hers and sensed her surprise as he pressed his lips against hers.

  “Eww,” Richard and John both groaned, covering their eyes.

  Christian found himself grinning until the shadow of Adrian appeared in the doorway. He was carrying Rachel, and something inside Christian snapped when he saw his daughter in the arms of another man. He didn’t want any ot
her man holding his children. He didn’t want any other man in his children’s lives, or Elizabeth’s.

  “Your Grace,” Adrian muttered as Rachel squirmed out of his hold and scampered over to Christian. She hugged his leg and pressed her cheek against his knee. With a smile, he raked his fingers through her black curls. So much like himself, he thought. Looking down at her lovely crystal blue eyes he ran his finger along her rosy cheek. So much like Elizabeth.

  “Papa, you’re home. I missed you, Papa.”

  “And I missed you too, sweetheart.” It was the truth. He’d missed them all so much. As he lay alone in his big bed in his town house in Mayfair, he had ached for those nights when his children climbed into their bed and took up all the space and the blankets. He had never realized how much he enjoyed seeing their children lying asleep between them. He missed lying in the darkness, silently watching them as babies at Elizabeth’s breast. Missed kissing their chubby little hands as they nursed. Missed kissing Elizabeth and thanking her for all she had brought to his life.

  He could not help but let his gaze wander over Elizabeth’s face, then down to her bodice. He had the mad urge to clasp her to him and bare her to him. To possess her. To take from her and have her give to him.

  “I think I’ll take my leave now,” he heard Adrian murmur next to Elizabeth. Their gazes collided over the top of Elizabeth’s blond head, and Christian knew that Adrian had seen and correctly interpreted the expression in his eyes.

  “What of your riding, sweetheart?” he asked Rachel. “Have you been out on your pony?” She shook her head as she looked up at him. “Well then, we shall have to go riding after luncheon, won’t we? And we’ll bring your brothers, too.”

  Christian turned to look at Elizabeth, and saw that Adrian had left them. The front door closed, and he felt an immense relief that his rival was gone. He wanted to be alone with Elizabeth. To heal the wounds that were festering between them. He did not want Adrian with his brooding romantic aura to be present while he tried to get his wife back.