One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(91)

Her hips bucked, just a little.

“I’ve been waiting forever to do this.” He stroked her with his tongue. “You taste so good.”

And with that, any fight in her was gone. She lay there, letting the beautiful pleasure sparkle and swirl through her veins. She brought one hand to his hair, sifting through the dark curls as he kissed her languidly. Within her, the need mounted again, and she knew he would soon bring her to another blissful crest—but she didn’t want to hurry. In some ways, she couldn’t imagine a greater pleasure than this. Knowing that there was a party downstairs and a bottle of brandy next door, but what her husband most wanted to do at this moment was just this: to lie between her legs and worship her body with his lips and tongue. She fought the rising climax as long as she could, wanting to prolong this time they were sharing together.

But she couldn’t make it last forever. He pursed his lips around her bud and did something indescribable with his tongue, and her peak was upon her before she even had time to breathe. First piercing, then soft and buoyant as a wave.

Oh. Oh.

Oh.

He rested his head on her belly. “I’ve missed this.”

She smiled, stroking his hair. They’d shared a bed every night for weeks now, and they’d never done exactly “this” before. But she knew what he meant. He meant he’d missed her. Emotion thickened her throat.

“Spencer?”

He lifted his head, a silent question in his eyes.

“Please speak,” she begged him. “It’s a lovely moment, and this is where you ruin it. This is where you say something arrogant and insensitive. You know, to save me just in time, before I lose my heart to you completely.”

He gave her only a smile.

“Oh, dear.” She let her head fall back to the pillow. “There it went. I’ve fallen in love with you now.”

“Just now?” Chuckling, he rolled off her and came to a sitting position, resting his forearm on one bent knee. “Well, thank God for belated blessings.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been coming on rather longer than that for me.”

“What?” She sat bolt upright. “What can you mean? Since when?”

“From the first, Amelia. From the very first.”

“No. I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t you?” He cast a meaningful look at his waistcoat pocket, where a corner of white peeked out.

“Why on earth are you still clothed?” she teased as her fingertips closed over the bit of linen. Her hands went utterly useless, however, once she plucked the cloth from his pocket and stared at it. It was her handkerchief. The one she’d pressed on him that first night on the Bunscombes’ terrace. Embroidered with her initials in purple script, twined round with ivy and decorated with a single buzzing honeybee. Had he truly been carrying it ever since? Carrying a tendre for her, as well? She could never have believed it, had she not been holding the evidence in her hand.

She looked up at him, astonished. “Spencer …”

Color rose on his cheekbones, and he shifted defensively. “Go on, do your worst. You have already accused me of being a romantic and a sentimental fool. I don’t know what more you can say to discredit me.”

“You are a sweet man.”

“God, there it is.” He flopped back on the bed, as if shot through the heart. “Repeat that to anyone, and I will have you brought up on charges of slander.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling a soul,” she said, smiling as she nestled close. “I like it being our secret.”

His arm encircled her naked shoulders as he heaved a contented sigh. “Might I be allowed an endearment now? Or will you accuse me of treating you like a horse?”

“That would depend on the endearment, I suppose. What did you have in mind?”

“My dear? My darling? My sweet?” Skepticism tainted his voice as he tested each phrase.

“No, none of those. Too overused to have any meaning.”

He rolled to face her. “What about my pearl? My blossom? My treasure?”

She laughed. “Now you’re just making fun.”

He cupped her face in his palm, and what she saw in those entrancing hazel eyes made her breath catch. A capacity for emotion so fierce and loyal, it flashed with the enduring fire of diamonds. Deeply buried, but worth any effort to reach.

All teasing fled his voice. “My wife. My heart.” He tilted his head, considering. “My dearest friend.”

“Oh.” Emotion pinched sweetly in her chest. “I think I rather like that last.”

“So do I, Amelia.” He pulled her close for a kiss. “So do I.”

Chapter Eighteen

“There’s Briarbank.”

Amelia’s mount pranced sideways as she pointed. Spencer nudged Juno forward and let his gaze follow the indicated direction, scaling down a craggy bluff and winding into a bend of the river. There, tucked against a wooded bank, sat an ancient stone cottage. Smoke puffed in welcome from its chimney, rising above the trees and hovering above the river like a miniature cloud.

“It’s a lovely prospect, isn’t it?” Her eyes swept the verdant countryside and winding valley.

It was indeed, he thought, surveying the view. Lovely didn’t begin to describe it.