Page 78 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Stay very still. We mustn’t crease your skirt.”
He lifted the hem and ducked underneath it. The fabric mussed his hair, but he didn’t care. He made his way beneath her petticoats until he was between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, although surely by now it must be obvious.
“My wife,” he replied, unfastening her drawers to bare her to his gaze.
His mouth watered. Her pretty pinkness was right there, waiting for his attention. He leaned close and blew over her. She shivered. He nuzzled into the vee of her thighs, and she began to tremble.
“That’s it, darling.” His tongue darted out to taste her.Mm. Sweet and intoxicating. He repeated the movement more slowly, dragging his tongue along the seam of her, reveling in the soft catches of her breath.
Gently, he teased her with his lips and tongue—kissing, licking, and humming his approval against her skin. While careful not to rumple her too much, he was determined that his wife would enter the Hertford ball satisfied because of him. There would be no other men eyeing his countess.
She was his.
He made love to her with his mouth until she stiffened and her delicate muscles contracted around him; then he kissed her once and scrambled out from beneath her skirts.
She stared at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “I can’t believe you did that.”
He kissed her forehead, then used her mirror to straighten his hair. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But we have a ball to get to.”
He sighed and offered her his arm. “Then I suppose we’d better go.”
“Just like that?”
He winked. “Just like that.”
As Ameliaand Andrew passed through the house and out the front door, she couldn’t help but feel like everyone who saw them knew exactly what they’d been up to only minutes earlier.
She’d learned a couple of days ago that the marital act didn’t have to be confined to the bedroom, but when he’d been under her skirt just now, all she could think was that Kate had left the door ajar and anyone could happen upon them. That had simultaneously excited her and made her anxious. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
Improper?
Yes, certainly.
But also strangely decadent.
“Amelia?”
She looked around and realized that Andrew was waiting to help her into the carriage. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”
He grinned wickedly, took her hand, and guided her inside. She got the impression he knew exactly what had been running through her mind. She supposed she should expect that. He was accustomed to dalliances. She, on the other hand, was new to all of this.
She adjusted her skirts as she sat on the carriage bench. How long would it be until he grew weary of her? Perhaps for now, he found it thrilling to introduce her to new intimate acts, but eventually they’d run out of new things toexplore, and he’d want to move on to someone else. How much time did she have?
She pondered the question as they drove. Too soon, they arrived at the ball, and he escorted her inside. Through it all, Amelia felt detached, as though she were an onlooker watching her life from a distance.
She only jerked into reality when she stood opposite Andrew on the dance floor during the opening bars of a quadrille.
“Everything all right?” he asked, apparently sensing her discomposure.
“Fine,” she assured him.
It was fortunate she’d practiced the quadrille many times, because it meant she was able to follow the steps without engaging much of her brain. By the time they were finished, she desperately needed a drink.
“Champagne?” he asked, as if reading her mind.
