A few minutes later, she rushed in, cheeks flushed. ‘Giff!’ she cried, coming over to give him her hands to kiss. ‘What a delightful surprise! Did the session end early?’
‘No, it’s still going on. Since I doubt we’ll break before midnight, I decided to sneak away for tea. And I wanted to give you this. I thought Lady Sayleford might have a copy and she did. She said you might keep this one, with her good wishes.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, picking up the package.
‘Don’t open it yet—let’s have our tea. I only have time for one cup and then I’ll leave you to it.’
So she put it back down and poured him the tea Overton brought in. While he quickly sipped his cup, she asked him about the progress being made in committee, adding in titbits of the responses they’d received from the letters she had been helping to write for the Ladies’ Committee she’d recently joined.
A short time later, putting down his cup, Giff said, ‘Having been a good little girl, waiting so patiently, you may now open your present.’
Giving him a look, she slapped his hand before picking up the package. Laughing, he watched expectantly as she removed the wrappings.
‘The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu,’ Temper read from the title page of the leather-bound volume. ‘You thought I would appreciate them?’
‘Not the poetry, particularly, but the letters from Turkey. Her husband was the British ambassador to the Ottoman court in Istanbul. Lady Mary made extensive visits to Ottoman women, whose dress, habits and traditions are vividly described—even a trip to a hammam! When Lady Sayleford told me about the book, I immediately thought you would find it interesting.’
Her eyes shining with delight, she looked back up at him. ‘I shall enjoy it indeed. Thank you, Giff! You are so good to me and I don’t deserve it!’
‘On the contrary, you deserve all the pampering in the world. And I mean to see you get it.’
And then as he waited hopefully, she set down the book and came over to embrace him. Catching his breath on a sigh, he held her close, drinking in the scent and feel of her, knowing if she wanted the moon, he would try to drag it out of the sky.
Then, surprising him, she tipped his chin down and kissed him.
Not just a quick brush of the lips, either. She licked and suckled his lips, then swept her tongue within and slowly, thoroughly, explored his mouth.
Sweat breaking out on his brow, he made himself pull away.
‘It’s not fair to kiss a man like that when he has to go back to work,’ he chided.
‘Just a taste to remind you why you should not arrive home quite so late,’ she responded tartly.
Laughing, he walked away, stopping to blow her a kiss from the doorway. ‘I hope that’s a promise.’
‘Come home early and you’ll find out,’ she shot back.
Ah, yes, he thought, as he took his hat and cane from Overton, more encouraged than ever. He just needed to be patient a little longer and everything he hoped for would be his.
Well, maybe not quite everything. But a man would have to be unreasonable to possess the fire and loveliness of Temper and feel himself lacking, because she had not pledged her love, as well.
Once all the barriers she’d erected to protect herself from hurt and shame finally came down, then there would be time enough to try to win her heart as well as her body.
* * *
Later that evening, Temper reclined on the sofa in their shared sitting room, fascinated by the accounts in the book Giff had brought her. He really was too good to her, she thought, closing the volume.
Several times over the past week he’d surprised her with small treats or presents he thought she’d enjoy. In the late evenings, when he finally returned from his Parliament sessions, he’d wake her, giving her the sweetest of goodnight kisses that always left her wanting more...though she’d not yet worked up the courage to press him for it.
And she didn’t intend to, not until she was certain she would not suffer a recurrence of the panic that had sent her running from Fensworth.
Of course, she thought with a sigh, she couldn’t decide she was ready for more if he persisted in coming to her so late she was only half-awake.
Opening her book again, she had turned to the next chapter when she heard footsteps approaching down the hall—Giff’s.
Perhaps he was going to take her up on her challenge that he come home early—and see what happened.
She wasn’t sure just how far she dared go, but she meant to push herself to the limits. He’d been so patient with her and he’d waited long enough for his reward.
She heard his quick knock and smiled. Let the encounter begin!
‘Hello, Giff,’ she said as he entered.
He made her an elaborate bow. ‘Here I am. Early, as requested.’ Indicating the book on the table beside her, he said, ‘Have you been reading all this time?’
‘Yes, practically from the moment you left me.’
‘Ah, then you must be in need of this.’
Stopping behind where she sat on the sofa, he reached down to rub her neck, then slowly massaged her shoulders, until she almost purred with pleasure. While his ministering fingers did effectively ease the ache in her neck, as they soothed, they also stirred back to glowing sparks the embers of the sensual awareness always glimmering between them.
Wanting, needing his kiss, she leaned back, pulling his head down. Finding the odd upside-down contact stimulating, but not nearly close enough, she broke the kiss and patted the sofa beside her. ‘Sit here, please. So I may kiss you properly.’
Chuckling, he complied. ‘I was hoping you might kiss me improperly.’
He took her in his arms and kissed her again. As his tongue probed at her lips, teasing, not demanding, she opened to him, the shock of sensation making her gasp as his tongue found hers and tangled with it.
Desire intensified as he stroked. Need spiralling through her, wanting to touch more of him, she tugged at his cravat and pulled it off, helped him shrug out of his jacket. She found the bare skin at the V of his shirt, rubbing him with her fingertips as he kissed her harder, deeper.
Slowly he moved his hands lower, from her shoulders down over to the swell of her breasts. This time, rather than stiffening, she moaned and leaned into him as he gently massaged and caressed. And then, as she gasped from the sheer mindless delight of it, he bent and took one rigid nipple in his mouth, suckling her through the thin linen of her night-rail.
She clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting more, so awash with desire that she whimpered in protest when he moved his mouth away, only to gasp with renewed delight as he moved his mouth to her other breast. Wanting to feel him against the length of her body, she pushed him back until he was half-reclining and slid quickly over him, not wanting to lose the delicious feel of his mouth at her breast—until she encountered the hardness of his erection at her belly.
Shock and a deep, primitive dread made her freeze, desire abruptly dissipating as she shifted away from him. Then, telling herself she would master this, she moved her hand down, determined to touch that which she most feared.
He caught her wrist. ‘Enough for tonight,’ he said, his voice strained.
‘But you want me to touch you. Don’t you?’
‘I do. But you don’t really want it. I could sense the change in you, from desire to...caution. I won’t have you come to me because you think you should. Only when you are truly ready.’
Moving away from her, he kissed her forehead. ‘Goodnight, my sweet wife.’
Once again, partly relieved, mostly frustrated, Temper watched her husband walk into his bedchamber, shutting the door behind him.
She rose and took a step towards that closed door. Then hesitated. How wonderful it would be to wake and find herself in his arms. And yet...
Recalling
the feel of his hardness against her, she took a shaky breath. Much as she longed to give him everything he desired, she wasn’t sure she was quite ready. Yet.
The thought of attempting, and failing, made her shudder. At some point, Giff would have to tire of being aroused, teased and ultimately refused. Swiping away tears of frustration and disappointment, she walked back to her solitary bed.
* * *
Two nights later, Temper sat up again, book on her lap, waiting to hear her husband’s step approaching down the hallway. So nervous and undecided, she’d had the book open for hours, but read barely a page.
A remark made by Miss Henley when she’d brought her friend to meet the other members of the Ladies’ Committee at Lady Maggie’s house this morning had resonated in her brain all day. After discussing tentative plans for the group to continue after the anticipated passage of the Factory Act, Emma had gazed around at the group, a wistful envy in her eyes.
‘How lucky you all are,’ she’d said quietly. ‘Each of you having found good men to protect and guard you, until that time women have enough legal rights to protect and guard themselves.’
Agreeing with her compliment, they had all assured her that a lady as intelligent and accomplished as she was would surely find such a man for herself, as they had—all through unlikely paths.
None quite so unlikely as hers, Temper thought. But she certainly had found a man willing to guard and protect her. Whom she trusted absolutely never to hurt her.
Wasn’t it time to trust that, with him, she might move past the fear that still bound her?
She’d almost managed it two nights ago. But then, the memory of that choking sense of suffocation, the pressure, the pain, had been vivid enough to cause the hesitation that had made Giff leave her.
It wouldn’t be like that with her husband, she knew. ‘A mutual giving and taking of pleasure,’ he’d described it. How she wanted that!
Did she want it enough to brave breaking though the barrier?
She remembered how she’d felt after returning that afternoon long ago. How she’d soaked and soaked in the bath and never felt clean.
But Giff knew every degrading thing that had happened to her—and he hadn’t looked at her that way. She’d braced herself for him to think less of her, to turn from her in disgust. Instead, he’d held her while she wept and told her he thought her brave and strong.
Maybe...if she were able to face the ugliness, with him to encourage her, she’d be able to let it all go, or most of it. The anguish, disgust and shame. Let it go and feel whole again, clean again, at last.
She’d been ready to face tigers, bandits and disease in pursuit of the exotic and extraordinary in faraway lands. How could she not have enough courage to cast off the shackles of the past and seize the extraordinary she’d found with Giff, right here and now?
As she sat there, considering that possibility, the dread slowly loosened its hold over her. As if the prison of horrific memories in which she’d been locked for so long was finally opening, she felt a sense of lightness emerging. Freeing her from fear. Freeing her to feel.
And not just to feel the physical and sensual. With the darkness that had overshadowed her life for so long lessening, she was at last able to see the truth that had been hidden in her heart. The depth and strength of the emotion Giff inspired in her.
The love he inspired in her.
She laughed, shaking her head in wonderment. She had probably been in love with Giff for years, blinded to that fact by her dread of physical intimacy and her determination to avoid any entanglement that might push her into it. Realising she didn’t just like and admire and respect Giff, she loved him, filled her with renewed determination to brave the ugly memories and triumph over them.
Because she wanted to be his, body, heart and soul.
And so she would be, she vowed. Tonight.
* * *
So, late that night, abandoning her book, Temper went to her dressing table and dabbed a touch of her favourite jasmine perfume at her throat and wrists. Shrugging off her robe, she pulled the linen night rail over her head and tossed it aside, then slipped back into the robe alone.
Pouring herself a glass of wine for courage, she settled back on the sofa to wait.
Fortunately, before she went mad from the constant veering from anxiety to heated anticipation and back, she heard the footsteps she’d been waiting for. Her mouth going dry, as her husband walked into the bedroom, she gave him a tremulous smile.
‘Waiting up for me again?’ he asked. ‘How fetching you look,’ After crossing the room, he bent down to kiss her forehead and halted.
‘And how delicious you smell! I’d better give you a goodnight kiss quickly and go, before I’m tempted to devour you.’
She caught his hand. ‘Maybe I’m ready to be devoured.’
He froze, and she felt the pulse at his wrist jump.
‘Let me show you,’ she said.
Rising from the couch, she led him into her bedchamber and pushed him to sit on the bed.
She leaned over and kissed him, opening her mouth to him, then pursuing his tongue with her own. That giddy, now familiar heat began its slow spiral in her belly as he sucked and caressed her tongue.
Murmuring, she moved closer, wanting his hands on her—the hands that had created such wonderful eddies of feeling when he rubbed her back and neck and breasts the other night. But, to her frustration, he made no move to touch her or pull her against him.
Perhaps he wasn’t yet sure she wouldn’t end up denying him again. Well, time to be more convincing.
She stepped away and, while he watched, let the robe slide from her shoulders. Encouraged by his sharp inhale of breath, his hands clutching at the bed linens, she stood steadily under his gaze, letting him inspect her naked body in the candlelight.
Then, when he still made no move towards her, she stepped back to the bed, unknotted his cravat and pulled it off him. Tugged him out of jacket, then waistcoat, then stripped the shirt over his head. Sighing, she paused to admire his broad shoulders and strong chest.
After bending to pull off his boots, she urged him to stand and plucked open his trouser buttons, the fabric pulled taut by his erection. He let her tug the garment down, stepping out of it once she got it to his ankles.
And then stood motionless as she sucked in a breath, getting her first good look at his arousal. He didn’t try to cover himself, letting her stare at his fully erect manhood—while still making no attempt either to pull her against him or on to the bed.
‘Don’t you want to...do something?’ she finally whispered.
‘And wake myself from the most wonderful erotic dream I’ve ever had?’ he said. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Then I suppose your erotic dream woman will have to take matters into her own hands.’
‘Oh, I very much hope so.’
He let her urge him down against the pillows, but when she went to straddle him, he stopped her.
‘Not yet,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve been waiting so very long, I won’t last if you start that and I want so much to touch you. Will you let me?’
She nodded and he helped her to lie down in his place.
For an instant, the panic nibbled at her—could she bear it, to lie under him, crushed by his weight?
But she forced it out of mind. This was Giff, her darling Giff, and he would never hurt her.
Following his direction, she stretched out on the bed, acutely conscious of the heat of his body, so magnificently naked and so close to hers. But he didn’t lie down atop her in that position of pain and domination she’d so long feared. Instead, he stretched out beside her.
Leaning over her, he kissed her, long and slow and sweet, until the last vestiges of resistance she hadn’t quite been able to master dissolved in the liquid heat of his mouth. She arched her back, eager to feel the caress of
his clever fingers over and around her breasts, and he responded, both hands going to circle and lift, both thumbs to tease at the nipples. And then, creating a sensation so intense it made her dizzy, he took one nipple in his mouth.
She could hardly bear the wonder of it, his warm wet tongue against aching hardness of her naked flesh. She could feel moisture gathering between her thighs, a pressure building there that had nothing to do with coercion or pain.
He moved down to explore her wetness, moving his fingers over the tender flesh, exerting only exquisite light pressure with his skilled touch, over, around and then, to her amazement, delving inside, sparking even more acute delight.
Only then did he raise himself over her. He withdrew his finger and she felt something thicker, blunter, nudging at the entrance of her body. But there was no unpleasantness, only a marvellous slow glide of his flesh into hers that instinctively made her arch to take him deeper.
It was incredible. It was marvellous. Quickly she learned his rhythm, arching up as he withdrew, feeling the wonderful liquid fullness as he pushed down again, driving himself deeper. The friction of it created a tension within her that seemed to build and build as they moved faster, her body straining to reach some release as the sensations grew more and more intense, until she felt she must shatter.
And then she did, one final thrust launching her into a starburst of pleasure so intense, it paralysed all thought and movement. She heard a cry and knew it must have been ripped from her own throat.
As she sank backwards, gasping for breath, the sensation slowly subsiding, she dimly noted that Giff, too, had gone rigid, crying out, filling her with one last thrust. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting to hold him there for ever in the centre of those powerful vibrations.
But she must have dozed, for when she came to herself, she discovered Giff lying against the pillows, one arm around her, snuggling her against his chest.
The Earl's Inconvenient Wife Page 24
