The Duchess Deal (Girl Meets Duke #1)(89)

Once he had her down to her chemise, he slipped a hand inside to cup her breast. Two deep moans mingled in their kiss—one his, one hers. Her breasts were emptied from nursing, but still sensitive. Her heart was tender as well, wrung by loving pangs.

The more buttons he slipped free, the more uneasy she grew. She put her hands over his. “Just leave the shift?”

He seemed to read her thoughts. “Really, Emma. Don’t be absurd.”

“My body’s changed. You’re not the only one with some vanity.”

“I’m not even going to dignify this with conversation.”

The shift fell, joining the jumble of discarded clothing on the grass. Within moments, they added their bared bodies to the heap, tangling their tongues, limbs, breaths, hearts.

From there it was easy. Familiar. They made love in full daylight, not hiding anything. He moved against her, inside her. She held him tight in every way she could. They reached a toothache-sweet climax together, as if simultaneous bliss wasn’t a rarity but the most natural thing in the world. The sun rises; the wind blows; orgasms arrive in tandem.

And after that moment of transcendent bliss, when she brushed the damp hair from her brow and smiled up at her husband in satisfaction, Emma couldn’t have thought him any more perfect.





Author’s Note




And now, a few words about badminton.

During the Regency era, badminton as we know and love it today did not exist. There were shuttlecocks, and people amused themselves batting them back and forth with rackets called battledores. “Battledore and shuttlecock” was all the rage in early nineteenth century England. There were no nets, no boundaries, few rules. It was anarchy.

However, no modern reader (that I know, at least) was forced to play “battledore and shuttlecock” in physical education class. We played badminton. So even though the rules were not formalized until the 1860s, I decided to use the word “badminton” anyway. Call it an artistic liberty. Or perhaps an athletic liberty?

Interestingly enough, the game of badminton owes its name to a duke. According to a family legend, the game was invented by the Duke of Beaufort’s bored grandchildren while they were staying at the duke’s home: Badminton. So I don’t think it’s completely unlikely that the bored Duke of Ashbury might think up the game on his own, do you?

That’s my story, anyway—and I’m sticking to it.





Acknowledgments


Writing romance novels is a joy and a privilege. However, sometimes writers suffer for their art. And sometimes writers share that suffering with everyone nearby.

For their patience and support, I am forever indebted to my husband, my children, my family, my friends, my editor, my agent, my editor’s assistant, my copy editor, my publicist, my personal assistant, my publisher, my twitter followers, my cats, my pajamas, my coffeemaker . . . and pretty much everyone and everything around me. Except that one neighbor with the drone. You know who you are.

Special shout-outs to Guido, Kirk, Samantha, and Ken for bringing the sexy to this book’s cover.

And always, always, thanks to my readers. If not for you, I would have to wear pants.