Page 101 of My Darling Rogue
“Indeed,” Tristan agreed with a kiss on his own wife’s hand. “Violet and I are both grateful and proud to call you family.”
A round of toasts followed that statement.
When Ivy, the Countess of Ravenswood, leaned in to embrace Celia, Gabriel clearly overheard the lady’s amused comment.
“See? You found your prince amongst frogs, after all, Celia.”
CHAPTER43
Celia fell back on the bed in an exhausted heap.
It was late and their guests had all departed, but it wasn’t just the festivities from this evening which left Celia so tired. No, the previous few weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. Despite her husband’s notoriety, or perhaps because of it, she and Gabriel had attended more parties, balls, and soirees thrown on their behalf than she could count. It seemed everyone wanted the Marquess and Marchioness of Rosenthorne as their guests of honor.
Gabriel was enfolded into society with very little question, despite his unusual inheritance. The news chronicles romanticized him, gave him the moniker of the Hero of Mayfair. They unabashedly celebrated the daring rescue of his wife from a dangerous attacker.
Gabriel leaned over her, tickling her nose with a feather he’d pulled from her coiffure. “Shall I let you sleep,ma dragee picquante?”
She still suffered some nights from nightmares, but with Gabriel’s love and attention, those events were fading into the past. The knowledge she was safe did much to aid in her healing, and slowly, the memories were being forever erased.
Celia laughed, raising her arms and looping them around Gabriel’s corded neck. “Don’t you dare, husband. You know full well I’ve no intention of falling asleep after you kissed me the way you did just now in the corridor.”
“You mean how you kissed me, don’t you?” he murmured, running the feather down from her nose to the Cupid’s bow of her lips. “As if you cannot get enough of my mouth.”
Tracing the feather over the outline of her mouth, he moved the delicate instrument even lower. It trailed down her throat and across her collarbone until, finally, he reached the swell of her breasts, rising and falling above the neckline of a lowcut bodice.
Celia squirmed at the ticklish sensation, a giggle catching in her throat when Gabriel’s eyebrow lifted high at her response.
“You are ticklish. So sensitive… so responsive. I wonder where else I might touch your body and receive such a reaction?”
“I’m not ticklish,” Celia protested, then began laughing uncontrollably as Gabriel dropped the feather and nuzzled his face into the tempting hollow between her breasts. “Stop it, you incorrigible man! Oh!” She giggled harder, grabbing Gabriel’s shaggy head between her hands to halt its back-and-forth motion. His own rumble of a laugh vibrated against her chest.
“Cry for mercy, little wife. Cry and I will surely grant it. For the price of a kiss, anyway.”
“Yes,” Celia breathed in amusement. “A kiss I shall gladly pay.”
Gabriel’s head rose just enough so that his golden-brown eyes could assess her honesty. “A kiss of my choosing, then.” Mischievousness twinkled in the depths of his gaze, and as always, Celia was utterly captivated.
Her breath catching in her throat, she nodded. “Anything you wish, Gabriel. You know that I am yours.”
His features softened, eyes smoldering as he ran a thumb over her lips. He encouraged her to open and suck him inside her mouth. “I know. But I love hearing you say the words, anyway.”
“I am yours, Gabriel. And I love you,” Celia whispered, her tongue caressing him between the words. She was rewarded when his eyes turned darker than the night sky, and a tortured groan escaped his throat as he watched her mouth.
“And I love you, sugarplum. Sometimes, it is more than my soul can contain. It leaves me breathless. Steals my words from me. Lights up the night like a thousand suns. You are everything to me.”
Her hand cupped his cheek, loving how its stubbled warmth nestled into her palm and the way his eyes closed with pleasure.
They remained like that for a long moment, then Gabriel said in a husky voice, “I want my kiss in the bathtub, little wife. Will you share it with me?”
Celia nodded eagerly as Gabriel rose from the bed, pulling her up as well and spinning her about so he could begin unbuttoning her gown.
“So many damned buttons,” he muttered against the nape of her neck.
With a soft laugh, she ducked her head. “I could say the same of your own garments, Lord Rosenthorne.”
“Then we shall engage in a mutual cursing of one another’s clothing as we undress,” he chuckled. “And then I shall have that kiss.”
The next few minutes were filled with breathy sighs and moans of appreciation as they undressed. While Celia removed her shoes and stockings, Gabriel stepped into the bathing room. He filled the tiled rectangular structure with steaming hot water from a spiderweb of pipes on one wall.
