by Shirl Anders
]Chapter Eleven
Drummond heard Gabriella stutter, clearly flustered as she asked, "W-What are you doing?"
Drummond hid his smile and continued to untie his cravat, then began to shrug out of his evening jacket. "Undressing," he drawled innocently.
"But why?" she asked in a bare whisper.
"You may remain dressed for now, madame. In fact, I would prefer it." Drummond tossed his jacket aside and began working on the ruby studs in his cuffs. "I would not have you claim that I took unfair advantage of our game. However, I prefer, residing ‘au natural' in my bed chambers."
"Should I retrieve your robe?" she asked, breathless.
"I do not wear one," he replied, watching Gabriella's lovely gaze transfix on the expanse of chest that he was baring.
"You don't?" she whispered, looking comically mortified, yet curious at the same moment.
"Never," he stated succinctly as he walked bare-chested to the bed where he sat and began to take off his shoes.
"But, I have never seen..." she responded in a broken whisper.
Drummond barely caught Gabriella's soft spoken words as he glanced up at her then down to pull off his last shoe and stocking. That was the point, he mused, however he still found it surprising that after twenty-five years of marriage, Gabriella had never seen her husband in the nude. Of course it should not surprise him, his own wife had been abashed at the same notion, not that it had stopped him, at least the first several dozen times. However, eventually, his guilt over his wife's agitation had proved superior, because in the end he had barely lifted his robe to tup his wife.
What did it do to a man's ego to be so reviled? A man was not that much dissimilar to a woman in wanting his appearance to be attractive to her. In fact, he would wager that it was in most men's natures to strut their wares, as it were.
Drummond stood then, audaciously placing his fingers on the inner button loops of his calf length evening trousers with his posture, hopefully the chiseled look upon his face, daring Gabriella to choose to use her boon now. He fully realized her dilemma of course, and without any hint of compassion. Should she use the boon now, to prevent his nudity or later forbid the sexual union? If only he were a compassionate man, he would tell her that he had no intentions of . . .
"D-Drummond, you are so very handsome," Gabriella suddenly stammered and thereby shocked him as he watched her hand reach forward tentatively, in a seeming unconscious gesture. "B-Beautiful," she said in an awed whisper. "I have never seen a man without his shirt on before. I-I am not sure that I know what to do — to say to you, as you say such intimate things to me. B-Beautiful must be a wholly inadequate word to describe a man." Gabriella visibly faltered, holding her hand to her breast with her breathing labored as if she were wound in the beginnings of a passionate coupling, while her gaze liberally devoured the expression of his bare arms, chest, and stomach. "Power ... strength. It is just, I ..."
Drummond turned his back to Gabriella abruptly, haphazardly trying rather desperately to collect himself. He had expected a literal wall from Gabriella. A barricade of maidenly modesty, indignation, embarrassment, and truthfully, stubbornness, but not this-this ... It must be complete and painful honesty.
"Drummond, I have upset you. I should not have spoken."
"No. It is not that." Drummond turned too quick to see that Gabriella had moved so quietly that his clamorous thoughts had not captured it, and now she stood with her hand hovering near his upper chest. She yearned to touch him so badly that he could see the need of it shimmering in her violet eyes, however she was shy and confused, so near to toppling backward into the place that she just flowered from so recent ... so unexpected. What an enormous capitulation this must be for her, what an enormous chance. He could not think clearly in this moment, but instinct would hold him. His instinct and profound hopefulness.
Drummond clasped Gabriella's hand placing her slender fingers flat on the taut meat of his upper chest, watching her luscious cupid lips form a perfect O as her gaze dipped timorously beneath her inky black eyelashes. He was spellbound and still incredulous, yet not so far off his footing that his maleness did not react with instinct to her femininity as he moved her hand inexorably down his chest, feeling the light scratching of her long fingernails. Her palm was cool and soft to the heat of his skin and her lowered gaze seemed to be mesmerized, following her hand's motion, propelled by his.
"You are so strong," she whispered. "Shaped so perfectly ... male."
His physical build overturned her, Drummond realized in wonder. He felt the excitement of her other hand coming to his waist, pressing hesitantly until she must feel its entire lean structure.
"Take my trousers down," he commanded huskily making Gabriella's delicate hands tremor on his flesh.
"I ..." She was breathless and still would not turn her gaze up to him.
"I must insist, madame," he ordered in a low tenor feeling as though he could be regaining himself a bit. "You want to," he cajoled lightly, when she still hesitated.
