Page 69 of Seducing a Stranger
Chapter 14
Morley couldn’t believe he was thinking of fucking his wife in church.
It wasn’t even her fault. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She dressed as modest as a nun and adopted the visage of a saint for nobody’s benefit as they occupied the front pew and no one but him could see her.
He’d not even had to mention that her Sunday best wouldn’t do for a parish in Whitechapel. She’d emerged from her room wearing a gold and green striped high-necked morning gown that might have been the simplest in her trousseau. Her hair was pulled back into an uncomplicated braided knot and her hat and veil were suitably staid. Still she was the most superbly dressed woman in the congregation.
And the most desirable.
The sermon had nothing to do with the pleasures of the flesh, or the sins of seduction. Indeed, it was a rather sedate ecclesiastical exploration of personal generosity that’d set his libido to humming like the ceaseless vibrations of bumblebee wings. Not overshadowing things per se, but always there on the periphery, waiting to strike at the most inopportune time.
Perhaps that word, generosity, was the impetus for decidedly less room in his trousers.
If the last couple of days had taught him anything, it was that he’d a generous wife. One with a generous mouth, generous curves, and an adventurous spirit. Her appetite for food had returned with a surge and, along with it, other appetites demanded to be indulged.
He had only to reach for her and she was there, her arms winding around him with a tempting smile. She read his need like a sage, intuiting if he felt wild or languorous, deviant or tender. She denied him nothing and brought ideas of her own to their lovemaking that both astonished and thrilled him.
He looked over to where her gloved hands were folded primly in her lap over the placid tones of her skirt.
Last night those hands had been miraculously wicked. She’d insisted upon undressing him in the lamplight of her chamber. Purred with appreciation as she explored every inch of his skin with her elegant, wandering fingers. Her rather innocent delight gave way to illicit desire, and by the time she’d made her way below his waist he’d been nothing but a cauldron of boiling lust, his nerves in absolute anarchy. She’d requested to stroke him to completion, as she was curious about the male sexual experience and couldn’t concentrate on it when she was also being pleasured.
A request he would have been an imbecile to deny.
He’d returned the favor, of course, his sense of gratitude and chivalry not allowing him to stop until she’d shuddered with exhaustion and begged him for mercy.
God, how he’d enjoyed their play, but he hadn’t actually been inside her last night.
He missed her.
He’d missed her when he’d left her bed to prowl her father’s warehouses at the docks. He’d missed her when he’d fallen into his own bed after only removing his jacket and shoes.
He missed her now, even as she sat next to him, her arm rubbing his occasionally, creating sparks between them he was surprised other parishioners couldn’t see.
This was what he’d feared all along.
Attachment. Sentiment. Bloody befuddlement.
Before he’d discovered the truth.
As the organ played the closing hymn and her clear, sweet voice mingled with that of the congregation, Morley sat quietly, chewing on his thoughts. Pondering his misgivings rather than any forms of grace.
At first, when he’d thought her a weakness simply because his body responded to her, the situation still seemed somehow manageable. Now, he didn’t just want her.
He…likedher. Dash it all.
As they stood in the back of the line waiting to file out of the church, she slipped her arm through his and tilted her head to gift him with a winsome smile.
She was like a spring garden against the grey stone. Vibrant and lush. Full of sunlight and sometimes rain. Always inviting, shamelessly flaunting her blossoming beauty, tempting him with pink petals of—
Goddamn and blast, could he not think about her naked for two bloody minutes?
Catching his scowl, she tugged at his arm and said, “Don’t let’s be grumpy, it’s too beautiful a day.”
“I’m not grumpy,” he argued, grimacing at the ironic note of irritation in his voice.
“Hungry, then? I know I’m famished.” She pressed a glove to her stomach, a gesture becoming more familiar the further along she became.
