Page 57 of Surrender Your Grace
“When she summoned me post-wedding, she assumed I’d come crawling back.” He scoffed. “She was desperate. A touch unhinged. Wisely, I had Duncan as a witness to it all. I warned her the police would handle any further schemes and manipulations.”
“Obviously she didn’t get the message.”
“She will tomorrow.”
Cici sat up straight on his lap. “You can’t plan to meet with her again!” she exclaimed before making a declaration. “If you do, I am going with you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust that b—, uh, witch.”
“Your chivalry is impressive,” Andrew said, his lips twitching the tiniest bit. “But I planned to send my secretary or Duncan. Either way, you will not contact her, ever.” He angled her face to his, so they were eye to eye when he asked, “Is that clear?”
“Perfectly. And probably for the best. I’d like to scratch her eyes out.”
“I didn’t realize I had such a bloodthirsty bride,” he murmured, hugging her close. “But a duchess doesn’t do her own dirty work.”
“No? I’m still adjusting to the title and the privileges,” she murmured, snuggling in.
They sat in silence, warm and close. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fiddling idly.
“How will I face the servants? I made quite a scene.”
“Mm… you were in quite a rage when you arrived.”
“It wasn’t my finest moment.”
“No, it wasn’t. In fact…”
She yelped in alarm when he flipped her over and, with her nightgown around her waist, brought his hand down smartly on her backside.
“I said I was sorry!”
“Yes, but your behavior was most unbecoming of a duchess,” he said as he paddled her. “Defiant.” Another swat. “Intransigent.” Smack. “Not to mention an assassination attempt on your innocent husband with a flying reticule.” Swat. Swat.
“I promise never to hurl accessories at your head ever again,” she gasped between ragged breaths. “I swear it!”
“Mmm-hm,” he murmured skeptically, rubbing her tingling skin with maddening tenderness. “Your aim was exceptional. Perhaps you should try cricket. I hear the All-England Eleven is short a bowler.”
A laugh burst from her. “I don’t know. I’ve always considered myself more of a batsman.”
Her impertinence earned her two more swats. “At least it wasn’t the absurdly costly vase in the foyer. I’d be far less forgiving.”
“I’d never. I love that vase.”
He chuckled, delivering two more, playfully. When he stopped to rub again, his big hand massaging in slow circles, she twisted to look back at him. Seeing a curve to his lips and a sparkle in his blue eyes, her heart soared.
“We could channel my reckless impulses into something more... enjoyable,” she suggested.
Suddenly, she was seated on his lap, his hand sliding along her jaw, fingers threading in her hair. “Mmm,” he hummed, tugging her head back. “Exactly my thought.”
Their lips met—tenderly, at first, then ardent. Tongues tangled, breath shared, the kiss deepening until reason fell away entirely. Andrew scooped her up and carried her to the bed, settling her atop the covers.
Their clothing disappeared in a flurry then he joined her. His eyes burned intensely as he moved over her. She slid her hands up his chest and boldly wound her legs around his hips, welcoming him eagerly. His open mouth slid down the side of her neck, tongue leaving a fiery trail as he slid into her heat and wetness, filling her.
She gasped, arching off the bed, clutching his shoulders.
In a rush of heat and longing, they moved together, melting away the distance between them. Whispered words, sighs, and breathless cries filled the room until they both exploded in passion.
They slept with arms and legs intertwined and bodies pressed close. And like at Arendale, they didn’t descend the next day until lunch was being served.
When they walked into the dining room, hand in hand, and very clearly no longer at odds, tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. Smiling through them, she whispered, “Thank heavens.”
