by Stacy Reid
She gasped into his kiss, arching to him, shocked to feel his manhood sliding even deeper. He found that nub once more and rubbed it again and again. Phoebe sobbed into his mouth, and she shivered at the astonishing pleasure that tightened low in her stomach. He swiveled his hips, and she screamed wordlessly at the heat that slammed into her belly.
Acting on instincts, she lifted her legs to hitch them on his hips. That bend in her knees allowed her husband to snap his hips in a deep rhythm. Phoebe felt blissfully shattered as a sweet, hot tension mounted low inside of her.
And yet…he still rubbed that aching nub.
Ripples of pleasure began to build. Somehow if felt as if they lost control. He stroked into her over and over, and Phoebe held onto him, her cries of delight ripping unfettered from her. The sweetest feeling of bliss whipped through Phoebe, her thoughts scattered, and she was unable to shape them into any semblance of clarity. Phoebe could only feel.
Moving his hand from between their bodies, Hugh hoisted her legs about his hips, slid his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to every thrust. She ripped her mouth from his and buried her face in the crook of his neck, clasping onto his shoulders as he devastated her sense with agonizing pleasure. The firestorm of sensations that peaked in the low of her stomach made her tremble, until she shattered on a loud, exhausted wail.
He hugged her to him as he shuddered, reaching his own pleasure. Phoebe breathed harshly, trying to recapture her breath, aware of the sweat on their bodies. Framing her face with one of his hands, he took possession of her mouth in a tender, lingering kiss.
He withdrew from her, and she bit her lip at that tender ache. Hugh slipped from the bed and lowered the curtains of silk around the bedframe, protecting her naked form from the servants he summoned to deliver a bath.
She had no notion how long passed, but she muttered sleepily when the bed dipped, and he slipped his hands beneath her body and lifted her against his chest. The next Phoebe knew was the feel of hot, rose-scented water enveloping her body. He had submerged into the large tub with her and held her in his arms as the water soothed all the tender places in her body. A kiss was pressed to her forehead, and with a sigh of contentment, she drifted off to slumber.
…
Hugh had created a scandal within his own household. He had been locked away with his wife for three days, only ringing for baths and trays with food. The only time they had left was to visit the nursery for a few hours each day to spend time with Franny. The wet-nurse blushed fiercely whenever she saw them, and that testified to the wagging tongues of the servants below stairs.
Their master and mistress were beyond lascivious in their manners. A satisfied smile curved his lips, even as hunger flooded every part of his body.
I’ll never get enough of you. The notion should have sent a surge of alarm through him. To crave another’s smile, kisses, and being linked together by their bodies with such intensity should surely be alarming. Yet Hugh did not shy away from these feelings but did what he had been doing these last several weeks. Mentally and very gently grasping the feelings and hoarding them away in his heart. He liked the sensations of wonder and awe whenever he looked upon the loveliness of his wife.
His Phoebe stood beside the dressing table, her hair rippling down her back in glorious waves after it had just been brushed with dozens of strokes. With a casual shrug, the peignoir fell from her shoulders onto the carpet. Her exquisite shape was silhouetted in the firelight. Her hips flared wide and buttocks were lush and rounded, the tiny tuck of her waist was impressive considering she had a babe, and the high thrust of her breasts urged him to feast.
They had made love so many times, he had lost count. Nay, not just make love. He had loved her gently, and other times he had ravished her, tupping her hard and rough, treating her as a wanton mistress and as a precious wife, and his Phoebe had met him with a fiery passion that had almost killed him. The memories of the many ways he had taken her crowded his thoughts and sent his heart into a wild tempo. After that first time he had taken her, Hugh had been careful to spend his seed outside of her body. He did not want her to fall with child so soon after childbirth. At least five years or more, before he would even think about an heir or more children.
But they hadn’t just basked in sensual delights, for hours they had talked, on many subjects, from the whimsical beauty of nature, Shakespearean tragedies, to the plight of the orphans she admired her brother for saving. They spoke of the young gentleman she had thought she loved, and the recklessness which had pushed her to drink with him and then kiss him, and if it was right that he did not know of Franny’s existence.
She reached for the nightgown, and he lifted a hand, halting her. “I want you naked, wife.”
Her cheeks turned bright red, but she did not look away from him. Hugh stood from the sofa where he’d reclined and poured two glasses of Brandy.
“Will you watch the lowering of the sun with me?” he signed before he collected the glasses and walked over to her.
She grasped the glass and took a sip. “Is that all we are to do? Watch the sunset?”
There was a hint of mischief in her tone, and Hugh flushed. He had been insatiable, and she could read his intention from his command for her to remain naked.
“We might do some kissing.”
She gave him a smile of such breathtaking sweetness, he wondered for the first time in his life if the warmth and hunger suffusing throughout his entire body were the sensations of tumbling into the madness that was love. She padded over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, her hips a swaying temptation. Hugh prowled over to her, lowered himself to his knees, leaned forward, and kissed the base of her spine. Then he bit the soft, rounded cheek of her buttocks. Her moan of need was music to his ears, and he lavished his attention on her next cheek and even down to the back of her thighs.
“Hugh!”
He listened to her breathless cries as he kissed her body slowly, stroking her desire to a pitch. Finally, when he stood, she was shaking ever so slightly. Hugh reached around her so she could see his fingers as he signed. “Do not move, my wife.”
He took the glass of brandy from her and rested it on the mantle then made his way back to her. Phoebe placed her hands against the coolness of the glass and arched her neck when he nipped at the hollow of her throat.
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. Hugh coasted his hands over her side, loving the feel of her curves and silky-smooth skin. He wasted no time, going for exactly what he wanted to feel, the petal softness of her quim. A hoarse gasp echoed from her when he slid two fingers deep inside of her.
And God she was wet, delightfully so. Using his feet, he nudged hers apart wider, and with a gasp she braced against the windows, her back arching in instinctive want. The beautiful arch of her back encouraged him to kiss along her skin, so he did, then he gripped his cock and tucked it at her heat then sank deep and slow, the hottest of pleasure spearing his cock. Hugh tightened his grip of her hips, wishing he had the voice to pepper her with praises.
Groans and whimpers tore from her at his slow invasion, but he pressed forward knowing she was wet enough to take his thick girth. The tight, incredible fit of her had sweat beading on his brows and every muscle in his body tense. Once he was seated to the hilt in her clenching tightness, he dipped low and kissed along her shoulder blades, soft brushes meant to soothe.
She dropped her hands from the window, curled her hands behind his neck, the move thrusting her breasts further out in a perfect arch, tilting her face to his and turning her head slightly to nuzzle into his throat. Hugh withdrew and thrust back into her wet heat with piercing depth and slow tenderness. Her cry of delight wrapped itself around his heart.
She nipped at his chin and to his shock rolled her hips, in a move of such breathtaking sensuality he almost released then and there. The eyes that peeked up at him held laughter, a dare, and such lust,
her eyes glittered. Arousal burned through him, fierce and all-consuming, but he kept his thrusts slow and deep. Her soft sighs and shivers had lust coiling in his gut. She nipped at his chin again, and he dipped so she could have his mouth, and not once did he stop his slow, torturous thrusting. Her mouth moved under his with raw carnality, her tongue stroking his in ravenous delight, her hips arching and rolling, teasing him, tempting him to lose control.
Their lips parted, and she nipped his lower lip slightly and breathed huskily, “I want more.”
That soft plea ripped away the measure of control he was trying to keep, and with a shudder, he tightened his grip on her hips and ravaged her with deep, piercing strokes. A wild cry came from his wife and traveled straight to his balls, tightening them, making him more insatiable in his rough demands. Hugh took her freely and with all the passion burning in his heart for her. She shattered in his arms, bathing his cock in her release. His fingers dug into the lush curve of her hips as he chased the pleasure and peace he found being with her.
His wife chuckled, the sound one of awe and contentment. And with a sigh, her body melted into his. In that instant, he felt utterly at peace. After ensuring they were cleaned, he retrieved their drinks and placed her glass back in her hand. They sipped their brandies, and admirably she did not cough and splutter as she had done yesterday when he had lain in the couch with his head on her lap while she read.
He held her in his arms as her body shivered, coming down from the devastating pleasure.
“Do not move,” he signed, quickly going to the bed and tugging off the thick, voluminous coverlet. Hugh went back to the windows and drew her to him so that her back was flushed to his body and the top of her head bumping his chin. He wrapped them both in the thick coverlet, cocooning them in the warmth as they watched the sun disappear through the large windows of his chamber.
He recalled to mind what had prompted them to be here, hidden away from the world, as he buried his grief and all unexpected emotions in her welcoming body.
Hugh turned her to face him, and he smiled at how small and adorable she looked bundled inside the coverlet.
He lifted his hands. “Thank you for not letting me go.”
Her eyes softened. “I am sorry that you had to lose him, Hugh. The old earl was a wonderful man.”
“I expected it.”
“That does not lessen the pain of it,” she murmured, brushing a kiss across his knuckle.
He took a deep, steady breath. “There was a time I wondered at the identity of my real father. There were many rumors. He could have been an Italian count…so I visited Italy for several months. Then he could have been an ambassador from China.”
“So you visited Italy and China.”
“Yes. Even Egypt. It was a bit silly. I searched without even understanding what I searched for. For a long moment, I felt an odd sort of guilt, a feeling I had never endured before. That I somehow dishonoured the old earl by trying to find the man who had the affair with my mother, and I am the consequence.”
She cupped his cheek, and he turned his face and kissed the middle of her palm.
“There is nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing. I should never know a moment’s peace if I had such a hunger. It is only human, my love.”
Her eyes flared wide, and he could see the wild flutter of her pulse at her throat.
My love.
They stared at each other, and he wondered at the painful throb that went through his entire body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then turned her back around so they could watch the stars.
My love.
Am I really your love? he was tempted to ask, but he remained still, for he was not sure what he would do if she said yes. They watched the skies, which held a few streaking stars for a long time. His wife did not shatter the beauty with speech but lifted her hands and signed, “I feel safe…cherished.”
A wave of tenderness swept through him. And you make me feel I can slay the world. Yet he did not sign the words brewing within. Instead, he merely closed his hands around her waist and held her to him. His heart trembled perilously with an emotion never felt. Hugh turned it around on its head and tried to examine it, and with a sense of shock he realized it was happiness. A feeling he vaguely remembered having as a child as he ran in the apple orchard, his mother laughing and chasing after him. And when she caught him…the kisses she would rain upon him had been a treasure unto themselves. Instead of closing his eyes against the memories and shutting out the images of her, he let them flow through him.
He lifted his fingers and she looked at them.
“I feel happy.”
Then he lowered his hands and wrapped them around her waist. In the reflection of the windows, he observed the wide, beautiful smile that curved his wife’s lips.
Chapter Sixteen
Only a week had passed since the first night he had made love with his wife and six hours since he had last kissed her, touched her soft skin, inhaled her unique scent into his lungs. He missed her. How terribly fascinating was the ease with which his wife had captivated his senses and his attention? She had taken her usual morning ride, and he’d noted that she took a basket with a book. Sometimes she lay under the large tree near the cliff and read before heading back to spend time with their daughter. Sometimes, like yesterday, she would fall asleep, and it was Hugh who would go for her, lift her in his arms, and take her back to the main house in a carriage.
Whenever she left the house for time to herself, he did everything to allow her that peace and gave orders that she was not disturbed. Though she had a small army of servants to tend to their daughter’s needs, his wife was incredibly involved in reading to Franny. At times he could see her exhaustion—though he suspected that the passionate way he commanded her in his bed every night added to that.
His heart hitched when he recalled the hours of delight they would indulge in before succumbing to sleep. It was as if every night, each kiss and touch, brought a new discovery.
Hugh exhaled silently. Stop acting like a besotted fool.
He frowned. Is that what I am…besotted?
“You seem distracted,” Caroline said, humor dancing in her eyes. She reposed on the chaise reading a children’s story because she believed that even at this age, Franny understood. Hugh agreed and often read to his daughter as well using his signs while Phoebe told the story.
Caroline sent him a considering glance. “Dare I ask what—or who—you are thinking about?”
“No.”
She sent him a naughty grin that should have alarmed him, but Hugh only smiled. His sister would have much to curtail when she entered the ton. Franny stirred where she slumbered against his chest, and he gently rubbed her back in a soothing motion. She calmed, and a fierce sensation clutched at his heart. His young daughter already trusted and relied on him.
A rumble of thunder echoed, and she stirred again. How he wished he could talk to her and offer reassurance or even sing to her, as he often witnessed Phoebe doing. Never had he regretted his muteness. Before it had simply been a part of him, and it was a foolish exercise to waste emotions on a situation that he knew could never be changed. But sometimes, Hugh found himself just wishing Franny would be able to hear his voice, even once. It gladded something inside of him that she loved whenever he played his flute for her.
“Would you like me to take her?” Caroline asked softly.
He shook his head and made his way over to the sofa and sat.
“You seemed troubled,” Caroline said with a small frown. She came off the longue, padded to the large armchair close to him, toed off her slippers, and sat, curling her toes in the soft carpet.
He lifted one of his hands and slowly signed. “More contemplative.”
At her birdlike look of inquiry, and after a brief hesitation, he said, “Franny will never hear me read to her.”
“
I already see Phoebe speaking and signing to her. Franny…and all your children will know how to speak your language early on.”
He had seen his wife doing that, leaning over the basinet and singing to their daughter. Another never felt but very pleasant sensation had expanded in his chest when he realized his wife also signed along.
A knock sounded, and Caroline called for the person to enter.
“I beg your lordship’s pardon,” his butler said, looking uncharacteristically worried as he shuffled inside.
He lifted his fingers. “What is it?”
“I…ah…it seems the countess…” Words failed the man, and Caroline sprang to her feet.
“Has something happened to Phoebe?”
Hugh shot to his feet, and Franny stirred, a soft whimper escaping her.
The butler looked relieved to be answering Caroline and directed his attention to her. “It seemed her ladyship…has left, your lordship.”
Something in the butler’s tone had ice congealing inside Hugh’s chest. With affected calm, he took Franny over to the basinet by the window and gently laid her inside. Then he turned to his butler and signed, “What do you mean?”
He swallowed. “She was seen…your lordship.”
Hugh patiently signed. “Seen doing what?”
“Getting into a carriage, my lord.”
A carriage? “My wife should be under the willow tree either reading or sleeping. That has been her routine this last week, and she’s not indicated she would go anywhere.”
The way his butler’s eyes shifted again had that knot growing colder. He waited with calm until the man faced him once more. “Seen by whom?”
“By me.”
“And was she alone?” Hugh couldn’t say what prompted him to ask that question, except he recalled that man from a couple weeks ago, the very one his wife had said to be insignificant. Worse, the letter of George wanting her to come back to him.
