A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(48)

The green cast of her complexion turned to pink. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all.” Unable to resist, Toby rose from his seat opposite and crossed the gap, settling down next to her. “In fact,” he continued, leaning into her and directing her gaze out the window, “I believe we may still be traveling through that district now. You did remark on the lovely countryside. And I think a breath of open air may be just the remedy you need. Shall we venture out and find an obliging little haystack or hillock to enjoy, hm?”

She blushed deeper. “You are an outrageous tease.”

“I’m not teasing at all. I’d have a far better chance of winning in Garret than in my own borough. There’s just that small matter of eligibility.” He snaked an arm behind her waist and cupped her lush, rounded hip in his palm. With his other hand, he reached for his walking stick. “I’ll halt the carriage right now, if you like.” He stretched his arm, extending the knob of ivory toward the coach’s side, as though he would rap to signal the driver.

“You wouldn’t!” Twisting her body, she stretched out a hand to stay his arm.

“Oh, yes, I would,” he said, reaching out again.

“Toby!” she exclaimed, wrestling his arm with both hands now and wriggling herself straight into his lap. Just where he’d been wanting her.

He said quietly, “I would.” Then he paused, waiting for that beautiful face to turn toward his. “I would, but only if you asked it.”

Her frown melted to an inviting, “Oh.”

Lowering his arm, he cast aside the walking stick. He needed two hands on her delicious body

—one simply wasn’t enough. “There now. Isn’t it better, sitting like this?”

She nodded breathlessly, her eyes never leaving his.

“You don’t feel ill anymore?”

She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

“Very good,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

And when their lips met, the world stopped. God, he loved kissing her, nearly as much as he loved bedding her. Toby had never thought himself an especially fanciful fellow, but damned if there wasn’t something magical in the brush of her mouth against his. Not in the sense of fairystory pixie dust or cauldrons bubbling with superstitious claptrap. Magic of the ancient, primeval sort. The unleashing of an elemental force. When they kissed, a vast realm of passion opened between them, wild and uncharted. And they explored it together, feeling their way through the dark with questing lips and seeking tongues and bold, wandering fingers. He could have held his wife in his lap and kissed her all the way to Devonshire. But as luck—

and geography—would have it, they reached his borough in Surrey first.

“Toby.”

“Mmm?”

“Is this the town?”

Preoccupied with tasting every inch of her delicate throat, he spared only the briefest of glances out the window. “Probably.”

With a little yelp, she squirmed out of his lap and flung herself to the opposite seat. He followed her. “We’ve a few minutes yet.”

“Toby, no!” She evaded his grasp, volleying back to her original seat. This time, he let her escape. “It’s all right, darling. No one can see in. Unless they’re trying.”

“Of course they’ll be trying! And look at us, all mussed and wrinkled.” Her hands fluttered over her gown, and she threw him a grieved look. “Toby, please. Make yourself presentable.”

“What? Is my cravat askew?”

“No, no. It’s not your cravat that’s askew, it’s your …” She flicked a glance at his lap. Toby looked down, then laughed. “Well, my wife, unless you intend to come over here and relieve the condition—”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Right. Then the only other remedy would be time.”

“Did you know,” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone, “that mechanical brushes can clean a flue in one-third the time of a climbing boy, and with twice the efficiency? You might mention that in your speech today.”

Time, or talk of chimney sweeps.

“Isabel,” he said, making discreet adjustments to his fall, “these are country cottagers. They don’t employ chimney sweeps.”

“But they are humans, and Christians, and must therefore respond to the plight of those pitiable children. An injustice perpetrated against the most meek of souls is an injustice against us all.”

Toby held his tongue. It was becoming a bit of a pattern, he’d noticed. Isabel was a willing, and even enthusiastic, partner in lovemaking. But the moment their physical pleasure was concluded, her charitable zeal returned in double force. Just last night, while he’d been struggling for breath in the aftermath of an explosive coupling, Isabel had popped straight from bed and fished the tinderbox and candle from the drawer of his writing desk. Her reason? It had been imperative, at two in the morning, to pen a note to Augusta regarding some alteration in the text of their Society leaflet.

For his part, Toby had gone to sleep.

Well, he supposed, different women had differing reactions following the coital act. Some found languor and sleep, while others experienced a burst of energy. And no matter what task Isabel rose from their bed to complete, in time she always came back. Toby could understand the habit, on a rational level, and he hardly knew how to object. But he still felt a small surge of resentment, each time he lazily stretched to embrace his wife and grasped nothing but air. The coach rolled to a halt in the town square.