Good Lord. He was married.
That morning’s ceremony at St George’s had been small and quiet, with Mariah standing as bridesmaid and Ross Carlisle as his groomsman. The women all cried, the men all smiled awkwardly, and Henry Winslow looked as if the man might break down in tears at the thought of parting with his youngest daughter. God only knew how nervous Dom had looked himself, not sleeping a wink the night before and growing more uncertain with each toll of the church bells that marriage was the right solution.
Until he saw Eve.
As she started down the church aisle, she was a vision from heaven. She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, with her hair shining like copper in the morning sunlight, wearing a pale green dress and the pearls he’d given her as a wedding gift. She’d caught his gaze, and despite dropping her eyes quickly to the floor as a faint blush pinked her cheeks, a smile curled at her lips. For him.
He knew then that marrying her wasn’t a mistake.
The ceremony was over quickly, with their names signed in the register and coins tossed from the church steps in what seemed like a mere handful of minutes. Then came that awkward carriage ride to Mercer House, during which she stared out the window, and he stared at her. Shamelessly so. With every turn of the wheels, he’d wished that the ride was longer so that he could pull her onto his lap and prove to her exactly how certain he was of this marriage.
But now, with the wedding breakfast turned luncheon turned dinner finally over—Good Lord, he’d been convinced that the guests would never leave!—he would have the rest of the night to do just that.
No. He had the rest of his life.
Grinning to himself, he strode into his bedroom. And stopped. The connecting door between his bedroom and Eve’s stood open wide, but one glance told him that her room wasn’t ready for a wedding night. No fire, no tray of food, no wine—
No Eve.
He slid a confused glance at his valet as Davies emerged from his dressing room, brushing the lint from a jacket, as if tonight were like any other. “Where is my wife?”
The word rolled off his tongue far more easily than he would have assumed, but not the bewilderment behind the question. He expected her to be in her room with her maid, preparing for tonight. He’d thought that was exactly where she’d gone, in fact, when she’d excused herself from the party an hour ago and slipped upstairs, leaving him to suffer the rest of the goodbyes alone.
“Her Ladyship left Mercer House half an hour ago,” Davies answered, placing the jacket across the bed so he could examine the lining.
“She left?” Tonight of all nights? “For God’s sake, man, where did she go?”
Davies pulled a note from his pocket. “She left this.”
His heart lurched into his throat. Was she regretting their marriage already? Had she gone back to her father’s house?
He opened the card, then slowly smiled.
You know where to find me.
“I’m leaving.” He tossed the note to Davies as he hurried from the room. “Don’t wait up!”
The ride to Chelsea took an excruciatingly long time, and he had to pause at the carriage house door to gather the breath he’d lost from hurrying down the alley. And to settle his nerves, which had grown with every passing minute since he left Mercer House. Nervous! Good God, how could he possibly be nervous over a woman? But she wasn’t just any woman. She was his wife, and his hands shook at the thought as he pulled the key from his pocket to insert it into the lock. If he were this nervous, he could only imagine how tense Eve must be.
But when he stepped inside the carriage house and saw her sitting on the chaise, waiting for him, the same smile from that morning greeted him, and all his unease seeped away.
He paused for a moment to simply take in the sight of her, still in her wedding dress, but her shoes and stockings were off, her bare feet tucked beneath her. She’d transformed the entire studio, and not just the fire blazing warmly in the stove or the tray of food and wine sitting on his work table. No, it was so much more than that. Her presence brought the place to life and gave it a warmth and energy he couldn’t remember it possessing…except whenever she’d been there.
He locked the door behind him.
Untying his cravat as he walked slowly toward her, he drawled, “So this is where my wife sneaks off to when she leaves her poor husband behind to fend for himself.”
“My husband is a marquess and powerful member of the Lords,” she countered, “who is quite capable of defending himself against punch-drinking party guests.” When he stopped in front of her, she tilted back her head to gaze up at him and added, her voice as soft as the shadows around her, “He’s also a brilliant artist.”
“Is he?” His chest warmed at her compliment. A man could easily get used to hearing things like that. “Then best not to tell him that you’re here alone with me.”
She laughed softly, the lilting sound musical in the quiet studio. A man could certainly get used to hearing that, too.
He reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear as he lowered himself onto the balls of his feet. When he dropped his hand away, he rested it on her knee, unable to stop touching her. “Why did you come here? We have a perfectly good home on the park, with servants to take care of whatever we need.”
She gave a faint shrug as she glanced around the studio. “I feel more comfortable here.”
Of course she did. Only Eve would feel more at home in a bohemian artist’s studio than in a grand townhouse.
“But you’re a marchioness now. There’s no more reason for you to come here and be bored.”
“I was never bored here.” She reached out to brush her fingers through his hair at his temple. “Not with you.”
Not trusting his voice, he took her hand in his and placed a kiss to her palm.
“I won’t come here anymore after tonight.” She swept her gaze around the room. “But I wanted to see it one last time.”
The melancholy sadness lacing her voice struck him with a stab of guilt that he was taking this place away from her. But he had no choice. He couldn’t have her here distracting him while he worked. He hadn’t lied to her. He would give her his undivided attention when he was with her. But when he was painting, she couldn’t be near. His focus had to be completely on his work.
Yet it wasn’t only the effect she would have on his art that concerned him. If she kept coming here, someone would eventually discover his secret, and he couldn’t risk that whoever that person was would be a hell of a lot better at blackmail than Constance.
He squeezed her fingers. “You do understand why you can’t come back?”
“I do.” She slipped her feet out from beneath her, sitting forward to cup his face between her hands. “But do you understand why I feel compelled to show you how to embrace life? Not just your art, but all of it?”
He grinned and slid his arms around her. “If that’s a warning, you shouldn’t make it sound so enticing.”
“I’m serious, Dominick.”
Knowing this little adventuress as well as he did, he was certain of that. “I have Vincenzo’s reputation shadowing me. I think I’ve embraced life quite well.”
“Not that.” Her amber eyes searched his face with an intensity that quaked through him. “I want to help you put this into every work you create.” She slid her hand down to his chest, to rest her palm over his heart, which leapt wildly beneath her fingertips. “So that you can make masterpieces.”
And that made his heart melt. The sweet ache of it twisted in his gut as he rasped out, “You already have.”
He rose up and kissed her, bringing his lips to hers in a gentle yet sultry kiss that tried to convey exactly how he felt about the experience she’d given him. He’d come closer to finding sublimity in his art when he’d been painting her than at any other moment in his life.
He stroked his knuckles across her cheek, then down the elegant length of her neck to her shoulder. He caressed over her arm and along the sid
e of her body, down her legs and all the way to the tips of her toes. Not a touch of desire but one of reverence.
She trembled when he reached up to unpin her hair, then ran his hands through her soft strands to loosen the ginger waves down her back. His eyes moved over the delicate lines of her face that he’d come to know so well, her full lips inviting and delectable, those expressive amber eyes…
He brushed his lips over her cheek and murmured against the soft flesh beneath her ear, “I want to paint you again, mia bella.” He couldn’t hold back a soft groan at the temptation she posed, the longing she stirred inside him to be able to find a way to capture all of her, body and spirit. “Just like this.”
“I’m a bit overdressed for one of your paintings, don’t you think?”
At the teasing lilt in her voice, he nuzzled her cheek with an exaggerated growl. “We can take care of that.” When she laughed, he shifted back onto his heels to gaze at her and frowned, puzzled. “Why are you still in your dress? You’re risking getting paint on it.”
“Because I was waiting for my husband,” she softly confessed. “Would you undress me, Dominick?”
His cock flexed at the soft request. She hadn’t meant it as a seduction, surely not. Not when she gazed up at him so artlessly. Not when she’d never invited a man to undress her before and so had no idea how arousing it could be.
But that contradictory mix of innocence and seduction that first drew him to her all those weeks ago now struck him like a punch.
“That is, if you don’t mind.”
Not mind? He wanted nothing else in the world as much as he wanted to do exactly that. Somehow he found the steadiness to answer like a gentleman, “Of course. Allow me.”
He took her hand and helped her to her feet, then turned her back to him and carefully unfastened the half dozen tiny pearl buttons. As each one released, her bodice loosened, and his chest tightened. He’d seen her naked before, but he’d never undressed her. Now he savored each moment, placing a tender kiss to every inch of bare flesh he revealed.
When the last button slipped free, he brushed his hands over her shoulders and along her arms, pushing the soft material down her body and off, to pile on the floor around her feet. She didn’t move, except to close her eyes when he untied her petticoat and let it fall away. Then he took his time leisurely pulling through the lacing of her corset, until the stays came loose in his hands and dropped unwanted to the floor.
His breath hitched as she stood there, now in only her chemise. Her curves were silhouetted by the lamplight…her breasts with their dusky nipples showing through the thin cotton, her round hips begging to be captured in his hands, and the dark triangle of curls tempting him even now to caress her there, selfishly not wanting to wait for her to be completely undressed.
Unable to resist, he slipped his hand down between her legs to cup her through the chemise. She caught her breath and tensed. But only for a moment before breathing out a soft sigh and melting back against him.
When she stepped her legs apart in permission to continue, he hesitated.
Hesitated? For Christ’s sake, when had he ever hesitated to claim what he wanted when he was with a woman? He was never unsure of himself when it came to intimacy, knowing exactly how to please a woman and how to find his own pleasures in return.
But this wasn’t just any woman. This was his wife. His virginal wife. That thought alone was enough to send a tremor through him.
When he didn’t caress her as she expected, she whispered over her shoulder, “Dom?” Slowly, she took the chemise and lifted it, peeling it up her body and off, to let it fall away and leave her naked.
Then she turned to face him.
He sucked in a mouthful of air as he raked his gaze over her. Sweet Lucifer, she was arresting, in every way. He drank her in with his eyes, to imprint on his mind every last detail of her at this moment. Not just her physical beauty, but also the life that pulsed inside her, the vivacity and brilliance that made her shine like a diamond, even in the shadows.
“Do you still want to paint me?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes.” God yes.
She bit her bottom lip in a look of shy seduction that left him groaning. “Is that all you want to do tonight?”
God no.
With a single step, he had her in his arms. His mouth captured hers in a kiss filled with such raw yearning that she shuddered beneath the intensity of it.
He scooped her up into his arms as she sank against him, his mouth never leaving hers, and placed her onto the chaise. She lay back in a pose of such trusting vulnerability that his heart skittered.
His hands swept over her, from her neck to her beasts, down the length of each leg to her toes—he couldn’t caress her enough to satisfy the increasing urge to experience all of her. When she timidly touched the tip of her tongue to his lips, shyly encouraging him to take more, his restraint snapped. He did exactly that, thrusting his tongue between her lips to fully ravish her succulent mouth.
She moaned, and he greedily drank in the sound. Ambrosia. He caressed her breasts, hoping to elicit more sweet sounds of desire from her, proof that he was making her happy. What mattered was that she find her pleasure, that he make tonight perfect for her.
He lowered his head to her breast and placed a worshipful kiss to her nipple, which puckered beneath his lips. Like magic. He teased at it with his tongue until she whimpered, then shifted to give the same sweet torture to her other breast.
Beneath him, Eve arched in wanton invitation. Unable to resist, he placed his hand at her throat, splaying his fingers wide. He slowly brushed down her body, between her breasts and across her belly, as if he were painting her with his hand, until his fingers teased at her feminine curls.
When she opened her eyes and gazed up at him, the desire in their depths sparked a hot yearning deep inside him. He fixed his gaze on hers as he slipped his hand between her legs, this time with no barrier between her delicate folds and his bare fingers. Her breath caught at the intimate caress, then changed into soft pants as he gently explored her.
“You’ll do what you did before…when you kissed me…there?” Her eyes never left his, even as his continued teasing between her legs now had her shaking. “Please.”
For hours and hours if she’d let him. “And this time,” he promised with a lingering kiss to her lips, “so much more.”
“I’ve wanted that with you, for so very long.”
Masculine pride warmed his chest, and something else he couldn’t quite place. But it made him want this night with her more than he’d ever wanted to be with a woman, if only so he could watch the joy on her face when bliss overtook her.
Yet her composure surprised him. Even now she breathed out a soft sigh of complete trust. He asked, “Aren’t you nervous at all?”
She placed her palm against his cheek. “How can I be, with you?”
His heart tugged at how much she trusted him. He rewarded her with an even deeper and harder caress, one that delved down to find the sensitive nib buried within her folds.
Closing her eyes, she whimpered softly, half in pleasure, half begging for more. Tonight, he’d gladly give her everything she wanted. When he gently strummed against the little bead with his thumb, a tremor sped through her that made her squirm her bottom against the chaise.
“That’s why I came here,” she admitted between panting breaths, her fingertips digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders. “Because tonight…had to happen …here.”
“A drafty and smelly studio?” With a chuckle, he nuzzled his cheek against her breast and stroked the sensitive point between her legs again.
Biting back a moan, she gave a jerking shake of her head as her arousal throbbed hotly beneath his fingertips, so close to release that she could barely find her voice to answer, “The place where…you create your dreams.”
He stilled. The realization of what he was about to do with her and where washed over him with an intensity that made him
shake. She might have entered his life as a model, but she’d become so much more to him. More than he wanted to fully fathom.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs into the bedroom.
“Here, mia bella,” he whispered as he lowered her onto the bed. “Right here.”
Chapter 19
Eve trembled as her hands clenched the counterpane beneath her. As he leaned over her, Dom suddenly seemed so very tall and broad, so muscular and masculine, so…wolfish, with a gleam in his eyes as if he intended to devour her.
God help her, she wanted him to do exactly that.
With a lingering kiss that teased at her lips with a promise of what was to come, he pulled off his cravat and tossed it to the floor. Then he straightened and took a single step backward so that he could undress yet still remain close, and close enough that she could feel the heat of his gaze raking over her with such deliberateness that goosebumps blossomed on her arms and legs. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it away, and the rising heat inside her flamed into a sharp ache.
His hand went to his waistcoat. “You do know what will happen tonight, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She watched as he worked loose the buttons, unable to stop herself from staring even when he slipped out of the waistcoat. “Mariah told me.”
She caught her breath when he undid his braces and cuffs, then slowly pulled his shirt over his head, as if he knew how much she was enjoying watching him. The muscles of his broad shoulders rippled as softly as the material slipping over them.
He dropped the shirt to the floor, now completely bare from the waist up. “What did she tell you?”
She stared shamelessly at his chest. Sweet heavens, he was beautiful. The only glimpse she’d had of it before was through the gaping collar of his shirt when he’d painted her, so scandalously bare-necked and in shirtsleeves. She’d thought he was ruggedly attractive in his work clothes, and then later, so sophisticated in all his Bond Street finery.
But bare like this…Oh my.
What A Lord Wants Page 19
