Page 70 of How to Ruin a Duke
If this bow and curtsey was part of intimate protocol, then Edith’s education in frolicking had heretofore been neglected.Her previous experiences hadn’t included much in the way of such consideration other than, “Hold still,” “Hush, for the love of God,” and, “Thanks, pet.Hope you don’t mind that I nodded off for a bit.”
“You are on the right path,” she said, tracing the muscles of Emory’s chest.“If I’m not batting at your hands, yanking on your hair, or telling you to for pity’s sake give me room to breathe, you’re on the right path.”
He drew a pin from her hair.“Somebody has not acquitted himself according to the standard to which you, or any female, is entitled.”More pins followed the first, forming a pile on the bedside table, until Edith’s braid came loose.“I have a theory,” Emory went on, “that decent women are kept in sexual ignorance so men might wallow in blissful selfishness, but my theory does not comport with available observations.”
Such talk, full of long, prosy sentences, and long, lofty words, inspired Edith to wrap her hand around another long, impressive display.
“What observations are those?”she asked.
“A moment, if you please.My speaking powers are overwhelmed by my gratitude.Do that again.”
She stroked him with a slow, loose grip.“About your observations?”
“I haven’t any, other than to observe that your touch is divine.”
“Focus, Emory.You believe a woman’s sexual ignorance allows men to be selfish, but something contradicts your theory.”What a delight, to talk in bed and tease a lover.
“If all I wanted was to spend,” he said, moving his hips in counterpoint to her hand, “I could and do afford myself that pleasure regularly.If what I want is more than simple animal gratification, then pleasing my lover can only… increase….my own… satisfaction.”
In the next instant, Edith was on her back, a naked duke draped over her.
“Allow me to demonstrate.”His kisses began softly, a buss to her check, a ticklish nuzzle along her jaw.The Duke of Emory had a playful streak—and so did Edith.She kissed him back, until flirtatious fencing became dueling in earnest.
When he broke the kiss, they were both panting.“Edith, at the risk of being precipitous…”
She wrapped her hand around him again.“Now would be wonderful.Right here,”—she scooted her hips—“and rightthis very moment.”
Silence spread, the quiet all the more profound for the banter and wrestling that had preceded it.Emory moved slowly, his rhythm perfectly designed to shift the mood from lusty to intimately precious.
A thread of sadness wove its way past Edith’s growing desire.This interlude was stolen against loneliness, worry, and despair, and Edith would not have traded it for all the creature comforts in the world.Still, she could long for more.Emory spoke of being welcome in her bed again, but Edith could not afford to develop expectations where he was concerned.
“Why the sigh?”he whispered, pausing to kiss her brow.
“I’m happy.”Part of the truth.
“Let’s see if we can make you happier.”
He did, oh, he did.The diabolical wretch inspired such an explosion of pleasure that she cried out, clinging to him and wringing the last drop of satisfaction from him, only to lie spent as he withdrew and finished on her belly.
The bliss of gratification was all encompassing, chasing away every regret and doubt Edith had ever claimed.If she’d kept her post as a companion, she could not have had this moment, Emory drowsing in her arms while she sketched the petals of an iris on his back.If she had remained in his mother’s employ, the distance between her and Emory would have been unbridgeable, the swift currents of propriety and differing stations ever separating them.
“Being a well mannered mastodon,” Emory said, “I will make use of that handkerchief, if you’ll pass it to me.”
Edith obliged, resenting the intrusion of practicality even as she appreciated Emory’s lack of pretension.He was brisk and thorough about the tidying up, and when she expected him to be just as brisk about donning his clothing, he instead pitched the linen in the direction of his boots and rolled to his side.
“Let’s move on to the truly decadent portion of the program,” he said, pulling Edith into the curve of his body.“Let’s have a nap, shall we?”
He had the knack of cuddling without smothering, of being warm but not hot, of keeping a moment light without shading into frivolity.He was, in short, the fairytale lover of Edith’s dreams, and she was going to miss him for the rest of her life.
Thaddeus driftedoff on a rose-scented breeze.For the rest of his life, the simple, profound, mysterious delight of making love with Edith Charbonneau, soon to be Edith, Her Grace of Emory, was to be his.That great gift made up for all the slanderous books anybody could ever write about him or his progeny.
Edith was a passionate, inventive, demanding lover, and Thaddeus was honestly, blissfully worn out.Withdrawing had been a habit, and thank God for that.If Edith wanted a lengthy engagement, Thaddeus would oblige with good grace, provided the engagement wasn’t celibate.
His nap was short and deep, as if his soul knew he’d at last found his way into the right bed.Edith, by contrast, slumbered on, allowing him the smug pleasure of concluding he’d loved her to exhaustion.
And, true to mastodon form, he was hungry again.They’d shared one meal on the back porch and another in the parlor.Why not bring his lady a snack in bed?
Thaddeus eased from the covers and donned shirt and breeches in silence.Edith stirred sleepily, a fetching picture amid the pillows.Her braid had come loose, a golden skein curling past her shoulder, and one rosy breast peeking from beneath the quilt.
