Page 21 of Miss Barton's Mysterious Husband
That glittering black gaze remained fixed on her. He breathed in audible gusts. She couldn’t doubt that her nakedness aroused him.
Charmian ought to feel shy, especially when unhappiness and hard work meant that she was no longer the voluptuous armful Roland had wed. But strange to say, she didn’t feel at all self-conscious.
It was time to offer herself to her husband without subterfuge. He said that he loved her, and that he’d always loved her. She believed him. The man who had stayed true to her wouldn’t care if there were a few more angles on the woman she’d become.
She was close enough now to read what lay in his eyes. Love. Familiar from so long ago, but never forgotten. A love that she now knew had never wavered. Desire. And a trace of uncertainty, as if he had difficulty believing that after all their trials, they might find mutual understanding at last.
He reached toward her breasts but didn’t yet touch her. “What’s that?” he asked hoarsely.
She glanced down to see him pointing at the chain that she wore around her neck. She’d forgotten it was there. It was always hidden under her clothes. “You know what that is.”
“Your wedding ring? You wear it?”
“Every day.” Presenting herself as Janet Barton’s unmarried niece had seemed easier than trying to explain why she wore a wedding ring, yet had no husband.
“Charmian…”
When she met his gaze, her heart cramped at the fierce emotion that she saw there. “It kept me close to you.”
She shivered as his fingers brushed her skin. She’d dreamed for so long of this moment when they came together again. He caught the chain and very gently lifted it over her head so it didn’t tangle in her plait.
His trembling hands fiddled with the clasp. As if he handled something holy, he drew the ring off its chain and held it in his palm. “May I put this on your finger?”
“For pity’s sake, will I ever stop crying?” she mumbled, extending her hand in his direction. It was as shaky as his.
“It’s a significant moment.” He shoved the chain into his pocket. “I’m feeling a little misty-eyed myself.”
With that, she regained what she’d lost. Laughter had marked their days as a married couple. Laughter had been yet another loss to her over the years. Yet now Roland returned it to her. Graciously. Generously. Without a hint of acrimony.
“I love you, Roland,” she said, as he slid the elegant gold band onto her ring finger.
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles. She could see that this moment when he reclaimed her as his wife left him profoundly moved, too.
“And I love you.” He ripped at the fastenings on his breeches and shucked them down his narrow hips. He was so desperate, his usual aristocratic grace was utterly absent. “Now I mean to show you how much.”
She loved that overmastering desire made him clumsy. She lovedhim.
So when he was naked and sweeping her into his arms, she kissed him and held on tight in preparation for the splendors ahead.
Chapter 8
Roland’s arms enclosed his wife, and he kissed her back with all the aching hunger that had tormented him ever since she’d left.
More than hunger compelled him. Love was the driver. So much love.
So he didn’t fall on her like the ravening beast that he’d likened himself to earlier. Instead, his touch turned tender. He kissed her face and her neck and her shoulders and her breasts. Little touches to confirm that she really was here and not a figment of his lonely imagination, as she’d been so often during their agonizing years apart.
She laced her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. Her breath caught with each contact of his lips and enchanting murmurs of pleasure escaped her. Dear Lord above, the memory of Charmian’s fervent responses had haunted him.
Appetite strained like an unbroken horse against the rein. He’d hardened the moment she took off her nightgown, and he grew harder with every second. But he wanted this first mating after so long to express care and reverence and gratitude. They’d have time for the fierce tides of passion later.
Later…
A magic word to a man who had believed that he’d lost all chance of a future with his beautiful wife. Who stroked his neck and back and ran her hands through his hair. Who was warm and willing in his arms.
Who became impatient with teasing, he could tell. She clung nearer, and her hands curved around his buttocks in a shameless appeal for more than glancing kisses.
Despite having dreamed of her for so long, he was surprised at how familiar everything felt. The inn supplied lemon soap,so her scent held a citrus tinge, whereas the girl he’d wed had preferred a rose perfume. But beneath that, she smelled like Charmian. Smoky and musky and womanly. His nostrils flared to catch the earthy essence of her arousal. That hadn’t changed.
