Ashberry’s first glimpse of Ellie was bent over, her hands out to the low flames. The curve of her body quickly straightened and she turned, until he reluctantly raised his eyes to her face, the smile on his own greeting her.
“Good evening,” she said a little breathlessly, and she blushed, for reasons he could not fathom. He strode to her side, his eyes raking down her body, taking in the silk of her emerald-colored gown.
He saw immediately that she wore only a single petticoat, for the dress did not bunch around her. When his hand moved to her waist, he realized her corset was also missing. He drew her forward a step, closer to him, surprised when her hands came to rest on the lapels of his coat. “Very nice,” he murmured, taking in the shape of her top, how it fit below her breasts and then curved gently around them, the ribbon that held them covered temptingly dangling.
“Thank you,” she bit her lip, trying to not think of how his eyes seemed to focus on her. Inside, she looked at him, perhaps for the first time in many days. His hair was slicked back, fastened behind him, the red in it complemented by the light of the lamps. He wore dark gray breeches and a dark green coat, the pristine white of the shirt below accented with a cravat. His nose flared when her hands slid up his lapels to rest on his shoulders and his lips, neither heavy nor thin, separated just slightly. She found the courage after just a few moments, after she saw the yellow flecks she now knew to be a reflection of his desire.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
The craving that flashed through him nearly made his knees buckle. He could hardly even nod his reply, his mouth sinking toward hers, capturing her lips as one arm slid around her waist and drew her against him, the other moving to cup the back of her neck in his hand, lifting her face to meet his.
Ellie’s feet came off the floor as she was drawn up against him, his hands warm and insistent. Helplessly, she clutched his shoulders, giving her mouth, offering it to him. The sensation of being off the floor, the burning of their lips that spiraled through her blood, the security she felt when he held her so tightly against him—all these combined to excite and reassure Ellie. Thus comforted, she smiled serenely when he broke the kiss and lowered her to the floor, both sets of eyes fixed on the other. Despite her short breath, despite the nervous awareness that tingled through her, Ellie knew she would not turn back.
Ashberry was quiet as they dined. When the meal was over, he looked at her regretfully. “I have a little business to take care of, my dear, before we leave the Chase.”
Ellie shrugged a little, knowing his eyes followed the ringlet that bounced off her shoulder. “Can’t I join you?” she asked.
He drew a deep breath, hiding his grimace. “I suppose so. Aren’t you exhausted?” He hoped she would be sleepy, but she seemed more alive than he’d ever seen her, her eyes sparkling and soft as they rested on him.
She shrugged again, playing with the ribbon dangling from her top. “No, not yet,” she said, hope in her eyes.
Ashberry gritted his teeth and clamped his flaring imagination under a black cloud. “I don’t see why not,” he finally murmured, his voice a little short. “You’ll understand if I’m working?”
“Of course,” she smiled, understanding more than he had intended.
It required some effort on her part but Ellie managed to ignore him completely, wandering through the room to study each painting, peruse the book titles. Only furtively, when his pen scratched on the parchment before him, did Ellie peek on his head bent over the desk and his strong hands as he framed his letters.
It was Ashberry who couldn’t concentrate on the notes on the desk, the missives he was writing to his brother, Edward and St. James. His mind and gaze kept wandering to his wife, who finally settled herself in a chair by the fire. When she slipped her feet onto the footstool, shoes off and the soles stretched toward the flames as she curled her toes to capture the warmth, he nearly doubled over in agony.
When he could tolerate no more, he laid his pen on the blotter and spoke. “Ellie, why don’t you go up? I’ll be along in a few minutes.” She turned to look at him, surprise in her face, until he said, “We have a long day tomorrow and this will be the last high-quality bed we’ll sleep in until we arrive home.”
Ellie nodded slowly, hardly discomfited by his effort to remove her from his presence. As much as he did, she knew that he struggled with restraining his desires and, in truth, she understood more. He did not yet understand that she no longer wished him to completely check his impulses and so Ellie rose gracefully from the chair, bending over to find her slippers and slide into them before gliding to the desk. For once hoping that she had invoked his urges, she leaned over the desk, until Ashberry’s eyes could see her nipples pressed against the white silk, until her quiet voice commanded his attention and drew his eyes to her face.
“I’ll tell Griffin you’ll be up momentarily, then,” she said softly, pressing her lips to his mouth briefly.
The short caress nearly killed him, and he gripped the chair tightly, cursing under his breath. He would have to go at least as far as the dressing room now, but after he dismissed the man he could remain in the sitting or dressing room until he was sure she was asleep.
The lady before him said nothing else, just turned and sashayed away, until he was sure her hips turned slightly more than was natural. He was beginning to think that he’d die before they arrived at Ashberry Park, and he forced himself to think grimly of the grisly side of life until his blood cooled.
Despite her obvious attempt to get him into the bedroom before she slept, he gave Ellie plenty of time before he blew out the lamps in the library and damped the fire back. His boots were purposeful on the stairs, quiet thuds as he strode down the corridor and into the sitting room. Griffin just shook his head at the grim look on his lord’s face, wisely keeping his mouth closed for the first time in a decade. When he waved the man away impatiently, Griffin did not hesitate, turning and fleeing the room. Ashberry scowled in his looking glass, pouring himself a glass of brandy and staring out the window into the forest, giving his body no quarter. He pressed himself against the chilly glass, swallowing his drink with hardly more than a few seconds of consideration.
Unbeknownst to him, Ellie quietly locked the door between the corridor and their sitting room. Her feet silent on the rugs, she passed through her dressing room and into the chamber they would share, taking a deep breath as she looked at the bed. She had drawn back the blankets to air the clean sheets, fluffing the pillows against the headboard. Her chin determined, she grasped her hairbrush in her hand and made her way to the opposite side of the chamber.
Ashberry nearly dropped the glass in his hand when the door to the bedchamber opened. He managed to set it down, his hands shaking. Ellie said nothing, but stepped through the door, her eyes fixed on him. “I, I thought—” she started, then began again, “Would, would you brush my hair?”
She held out the brush, as if it was incontrovertible evidence of her intentions. Ashberry barely saw it. The only evidence he saw was all over her. Her hair curled over her shoulders and around her face, beckoning him. The golden robe he had given her hung open, the silk nightgown beneath it hardly enough to be called a gown at all. It clung to her curves like a second diaphanous skin, flattering her breasts and shaping her hips, flaring out below her knees, its hem swirling above her ankles. The material was so thin, he noted almost absently, that her nipples not only stood out against the fabric but the darker aureoles around them were visible as well. Her toes, inherently feminine, were bare, curled into the carpet as she stepped hesitantly before him, just out of reach.
“Ellie?” The word was strangled, broken in the room.
She paused, but came a step closer, close enough for him to reach her if he stretched out his hands. “You are right,” she whispered. “I didn’t come in here for that.” She laid her brush on his dressing table, her eyes on him, an unfamiliar glint in her own.
He steeled his body, refusing to hope, re
fusing to assume he could translate the tenderness on her face. “Why then?” he whispered, clutching at the window frame.
Her eyes held him, promised him. “You said, you said I should come to you,” Ellie faltered slowly. “When I was ready,” she finished, after a long minute passed.
The marquess did not breathe but he did finally step away from the window, to stand just in front of her. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the gown before cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Are you?” he asked, giving her a final opportunity to back away. “Ellie, once I touch you, hold you, you can’t—I, I couldn’t bear it if you changed your mind.”
Ellie’s hands rose, covering his over her cheeks. She drew them away from her face and slowly lowered them to her belly, pressing his fingers against her there. “Can you feel them?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he nearly groaned, the tips of his fingers finding the raised ridges below the gown. They weren’t nearly as commanding as her warmth, her scent. His fingers curled against her, hoping to capture more of those special blessings. “You are so warm.”
“Stephen, I, I was afraid that first night, not because I was frightened of you or even that you might hurt me, but because I was afraid that I, that my scars would repulse you. And I couldn’t bear it if they did, if you turned away from me for that reason because I, I wanted, I want to please you so much.”
Her words were breathless as she guided his hands up over the gown, until he cupped her torso below her breasts, until his thumbs traced the ridges he still felt beneath the silk. “But I know now they will not, that you will not.” Her hands left his and touched his robe at the neck, fingering the cashmere as she smiled at him, a brilliant smile. “So I want you to teach me how to please you, how to show you how, how alive I feel when you touch me, when you hold me, when we kiss.”
Ashberry’s hands slid behind her, hardly fathoming the soft confidence in her voice let alone her words. He allowed them to sink into him, to be digested later, as his palms found the way between her gown and robe. He drew her against him, one hand slowly sliding down. Her eyes closed when his hand found its way over the curve of her bottom and cupped her there, pressing her against him.
“Ah, Ellie,” he murmured, laying his mouth in her hair, immersing himself in the touch and smell of her. “You already know how to show me, and you’ve been telling me all night you were ready, I was just afraid to listen.”
Ellie held her breath until he released her. She gasped with surprise when his hands moved to her shoulders and slid the robe from them, letting it fall to the floor, baring her arms and shoulders. When he lifted her into his arms, Ashberry cradled her against him and without any more words, carried her into their chamber.
THIRTEEN
Ellie was surprised when he didn’t take her to the bed. Instead, he sat in the armchair by the fire, holding her on his lap. He lifted one of her fingers to his lips and kissed the pad, then repeated the caress on her other four digits before pressing his lips into her palm. When he trailed small kisses from her wrist over her inner arm to her inner elbow, Ellie sunk against him, until her free hand held onto his robe for dear life. His lips wandered higher still, to her shoulder, where his tongue traced the flimsy strap of cloth that held her nightgown in place.
When she gasped, he chuckled deeply, continuing to taste the skin around her collarbone.
Ellie shifted achingly on his lap, hardly knowing what to ask for, what she needed. Instead, she shivered when he drew the strap down her arm until she lifted her hand through it. Never once did Ashberry break the contact of his mouth to her skin, and he reverently held the gown in place even though a shrug of her shoulders would have had it falling over her breasts.
Ellie watched his head, fascinated, as his kisses daringly edged downward, to where the curves of her breasts just came together. She wondered if she might touch him and didn’t know where, but without much thought drew her second arm from its strap, her stomach wondering fleetingly how far his kisses would venture.
With one arm around her stomach and his hand hard against her hip, his second arm was braced around her back to support her spine as she arched helplessly against his mouth. His hand splayed against her ribs, Ashberry raised his head. Her mouth was open, her need in her eyes, and without further thought, his mouth came against hers. The kiss seared them both, and Ashberry’s body stiffened in tense anxiety when her hands rose to cup his face in her hands, her thumbs pressed against his cheeks.
“Should I touch you?” she whispered against his mouth, drawing back.
The savage sound in his throat was hardly laughter. “Dear Lord, yes, touch me,” he ground out, shifting her so that her bottom was cradled between his legs. He laid her back against his arm, cupping her head against his elbow and resting his hand on the outside of her shoulder. With his free hand, he traced the features of her face and then lower, until he fingered the fabric still draped carefully over her breasts. Ashberry felt Ellie’s hand against his chest, not pushing him away, but simply for support and after a heartbeat passed he felt her other hand reach behind her and grasp the hand that cupped her shoulder.
When he drew the fabric away, down just far enough to bare her breasts, Ashberry smiled at her tenderly, for Ellie’s eyes still held the final hints of anxiety. Reverently, he traced the curves with his thumb, his eyes on the pertness of her, the way she shimmered in the dim light. He drew his palm over the side of her softness, watching as she trembled. “You are exquisite, Ellie,” he whispered, his hand finally cupping her nipple against his palm, squeezing her tenderly.
“Thank you,” she managed modestly, arching into his hand. Her untutored reaction sent a spiral of thrill through him.
“Do you like this?” he asked softly, pressing his thumb to her other nipple until she gasped and he felt it harden.
“I, I think so,” she breathed honestly. Ashberry smiled, the smile of a man on an amorous mission. While his hand released her fingers and turned against her shoulder to hold her still, the other framed her breast between his thumb and index finger.
Ashberry lowered his head, his reply just barely a murmur. “Perhaps you’ll have more definite feelings about this.” His mouth closed over her nipple, then, his lips circling the aureole and breathing hot air against it. She moaned and he smiled, tasting just for a gentle instant with his tongue. When she cried out, the noise low and needy, he repeated the caress until her fingers clutched him, in his hair.
“Yes, yes,” she squirmed.
Ashberry’s masculine chuckle was pure delight. Without hesitation, he took her nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue until she was practically begging for him to suckle, her back arched up, her hands urging him closer. “It’s not only about pleasing me, Ellie,” he finally murmured, lifting his head despite her objecting sigh as he referred to her earlier statement. “You do that with every smile, with every tear, every time your eyes are on me. You please me by belonging to me, trusting me with your worries and your joys, by being mine. All mine.”
His hand squeezed her breast, drawing another soft gasp from her lips even as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “It pleases me—arouses me—so much that you trust me with this,” he continued, then lowered his hand to her belly, “And this.” His hand felt her skin burn through the silk when he stopped at the crux of her thighs and laid his hand gently on top of them. His voice dropped to a barely audible gravelly sound as he finished, “And especially this.”
His mouth took hers again while his free hand drew the silk up from her feet, exposing her knees, then higher, nearly to the top of her thighs. Fired by the kiss, she barely noticed, not even when Ashberry’s hands began to caress her sleek skin, to wander over her legs in an intensifying pattern. When he pulled back, it was only as far as her hands in his hair allowed, and he whispered against her chin and cheeks as he dropped small kisses to her lips. “This, this is about pleasure so intense it will blind you, belonging so powerful that the world ceases to
exist outside of our embrace, the satiation of all your senses.”
Ellie had no reply. She was busy assimilating how her thighs were beginning to relax, open naturally for him to trace patterns inside her knees and higher. He pressed his palm against her and she obediently opened another inch, allowing his fingers to curl ever higher against her inner thigh. Just when she lifted her head, seeking his lips, he shook his and lowered it further, capturing her nipple again in his mouth. Her gasp echoed in the quiet room and she couldn’t have said later how she found her feet braced against the chair arm, her knees high and bent and apart, Ashberry’s hand between them, fondling the baby soft skin inside her thighs.
When his fingers dared further, to caress the curls that adorned her woman’s flesh, the gasps became a strangled cry. She nearly lifted herself from his lap when his palm rested against her, rubbing rhythmically in circles. To her surprise, she realized the wetness there was from her, that Ashberry’s caress was turning her middle to hot pudding while his mouth, burning through the silk, traced a fiery path from her nipple to her navel that Ellie’s own hands had often followed with much different intentions.
Ellie splintered in Ashberry’s hands soon after. His thumb slid easily between her juicy folds, finding the nub there. He pushed against it as his mouth found her other nipple. Ashberry held the aching aureole between his lips as Ellie felt the world convulse around her, drawing her into a vortex of sensations.
When she surfaced, Ashberry had set her up on his lap, was holding her head against his shoulder. Ellie grasped the state of her nightgown even as she realized how gently her husband’s hands were circling on her thighs. The top of her gown still fell down over her breasts, and at the bottom it was rucked up around her hips. “Better?” he murmured.
Embracing Ashberry Page 21
