Wild Lily (Those Notorious Americans Book 1)(53)

“I am. I have no reason not to.”

He caressed her soft cheek. “I am not as accomplished as your father.”

“I would bet you have as many sterling qualities. Perhaps more,” she said with a sparkle in her blue eyes.

“I cannot count them.”

“Should I?”

He gave a laugh, shook his head and settled her more securely in his arms. “A vain effort.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve sold the traveling coach to save money.”

“A trifle.”

“Not so. You sold four horses, too. I bet they were fine stock, and you let them go for less than their value.”

He blew out a gust of air. “I did.”

“You love your sister and question if she can be happy with her intended.”

“That’s familial responsibility,” he explained.

“And love.” She smiled at him. “And then there’s the matter of me.”

“Ah, yes.” He liked this topic and cradled her closer. She was a fine woman to take home to fill his house and his life. And his bed. Most especially tonight, she’d fill his bed. And his loins quickened at the expectation that she’d prove to be more than a fascination in his life. “My American with the beguiling blue eyes.”

She seemed to shiver at his compliment. But her eyes were warm with need. “And a distaste for riding side-saddle.”

“A penchant, too,” he teased, “for riding at night.”

“Creating a scandal,” she said and the joy drained from her face, “so that you have to marry her.”

He cupped her jaw. “I wanted to marry you. Was about to ask when all of them intruded upon us. I hate that they spoiled that for us. For you.”

“You would have asked?” She seemed in awe.

“It’s what I wanted then. What I wanted for the past three weeks. What I want now— I hope I can make you happy.”

“Happy? I hope so, too. But I’m aware this is your duty, that you had to do this to save me—”

He thumbed her lower lip, temptation rising in him to taste her. “This is more than duty.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

He hated that he could cause her so much anguish. Her pride was at stake. But so was their future.

“Tell me,” he whispered as he urged her even closer, “if this tastes like duty.”

He put his lips to hers and she melted against him, giving as much as she got.

Breathless, he broke away. “Is it?”

“What?” She stared at him, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

“Duty?”

She focused on his mouth but ran one hand up into his hair and held on. “Kiss me again and I’ll know.”

With pleasure. He chuckled. Her mouth this time was open and he darted inside, his tongue savoring the silken cavern. She met him with fervor. A violent need to possess his wife exploded in him. He’d waited so long, months, half a year, to claim what he knew he could not live without. She was all na?vete to him, all sensuous ingenue, a blithe spirit and he, rogue that he was, burned to put his hands all over her and capture all those essences he’d long forgotten in himself. She was soft and wholesome, yet yielding and oh so tantalizing.

She pulled away with a gasp of delight. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever done.”

Dear lord. What madness do I have license for now? Go slowly, man. Slowly. On a groan, he secured himself into the corner of the coach and brought her with him over his lap. With deft fingers, he plucked hair pins here and there from her coiffure and undid the top button of her blouse. Her hair fell around her shoulders and he captured a handful to bring it to his nose and inhale her fragrance. He brushed his full palm over her cheek and led her to rest her mouth on his as he whispered, “I should do this as a man who’s come to call on his intended. You missed that necessary step in courtship.”

“Are there a lot of steps?” She sounded spellbound and a little dismayed.

Darling minx. “A few.”

“Then do it.” She snapped her eyes shut and puckered her lips.

She was a rare woman. Lovely. Tempting. And funny. “My dear wife, you look like a governess sucking on a peppermint stick.”

She opened one eye. “Are you putting off kissing me? If this is the way it’s going to b—”

He slammed his lips on hers, muffling her cries and kissing her in a thousand small pecks to catch his breath. She’d undo him. All his resolve to be a gentleman, take her prudently and ensure she enjoyed her deflowering as much as he.

“I like that,” she said between his sips of her mouth.

“And this?” he asked before he took possession of her lower lip and nipped her.

“Yesss,” she breathed and wiggled so that he longed to be naked with her.

His hands found the other buttons of her cambric blouse and worked at them. Her breasts had tormented him for too long. He remembered their firmness, their fullness, her large rosy nipples and he could taste them now again if he wanted.

And he wanted.

She batted his hands away and worked at her own buttons. She had no more than three undone when he slid his hand inside along her satin skin. Her corset was a rigid, cutting thing. “I’m going to forbid you to wear stays for the next forty years.”