Page 62 of Wickedly Yours
“I will not be taking a mistress.” His voice lowered to a violent purr. “And rest assured,youwill have no other man in your bed butme. I am not most husbands and you are not most wives. If you wanted a typical marriage within thetonyou should have married someone else.” He bit her shoulder and she gasped at the sudden flash of pain. “I thought I’d made myself clear, Lady Malden.”
Arabella’s body curved, molding against his. His words filled her with happiness. And hope.
“I see you require further instruction.” He moved to hover over her. “You are very stubborn, Bella. I may need to reinforce this lesson repeatedly until you understand.”
“I am a slow learner, Malden,” she whispered.
35
“Come.”
Rowan looked up to find Arabella in the doorway of his study looking fresh and seductive in a rather wispy morning gown of pale rose. Only the shadows under her eyes reminded him she’d not been allowed much sleep last night. Even now after leaving her snoring softly in his bed a few hours ago, he wanted her again.
A new level of intimacy had been forged between them last night and Rowan’s feelings towards his wife had only been reinforced. What she thought, he wasn’t certain. Arabella, unlike most women, did not wear her emotions on her sleeve. She was cagey, controlled and often difficult to decipher, though he read her better than most.
His fingers itched to rake through the heavy mass of her hair, which Edith, her maid, had artfully pulled back from her face and wound into a lose chignon at her neck. He preferred her hair down, especially as they were at home, but the messy bun she had taken to wearing was vastly preferable to the tight braids and austere hairstyle she’d worn before.
“Am I interrupting?” Without waiting for him to answer, Arabella strode forward, obviously determined and not about to be deterred should he tell her shewasbothering him.
Rowan set down the report from his solicitor on renovations to the Newsome textile mills, although he supposed a name change was in order.
Arabella’s eyes narrowed as she glanced at the report. Her breasts swelled against the demure neckline of the dress and Rowan found himself thinking of her delicious nipples. It was very distracting.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she gave him a sideways lusty glance, before seating herself on the couch. The fingers of one hand trailed against the leather, in a caress, watching him.
Bloody tease.
The length of him tightened painfully beneath the desk, remembering the feel of those long, delicate fingers touching him last night. He’d been fortunate to marry a deeply sensual woman whose sexual needs matched his own. After their current conversation, which he was certain had something to do with the renovations of the mills, Rowan had every intention of throwing up those wispy skirts and taking her atop his desk.
She lifted a brow and looked at him with more than a hint of her typical mulishness. “There was a reason I was speaking to Longstreet though you didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you so.” A slight pout graced her plump lips.
His mood souring at the mention of Longstreet, Rowan sat back in his chair. “Must we continue to bring him up?” A sigh escaped him. “Go on.” He had several fantasies about Arabella that centered around her mouth. Her bottom lip especially was plump and full. The mouth of a courtesan.
“Rowan.” She admonished him in a harsh tone though her eyes twinkled. “Pay attention.”
“I am. I’m paying particular attention to your mouth.”
A deep flush stained her cheeks, which surprised him,especiallyafter last night. “Mr. Longstreet was completely harmless. He was flirting with me but not for the reasons you assume. More importantly, he is in love with the daughter of a country squire.”
Rowan ceased his study of her mouth. “Why is Longstreet’s love life of any importance to me? And I didn’t care for his flirting.”
“Yes. I surmised such from your behavior last night.” Arabella gave him a pointed look. “You wish to build a rail line through Surrey, without such, the Newsome mills have no value to the textile empire you are building.”
“Who said I was building a textile empire?” Arabella paid attention to every comment or dropped hint. He suspected she’d ‘accidently’ glanced at his papers when he was at his club. Honestly, Rowan would have given them to her to read had she asked.
Her lips twisted further. “I’ve seen your ledger.”
Ah. He’d forgotten seducing her while working on his ledgers late last week. She’d run her finger over the columns while he fumbled under her skirts and found several mistakes.
Clever, brilliant girl.
“The most direct route,” she continued, “will take you through the property of a local farmer. You could go around, of course, but the expense will be much higher and several miles of track wasted.”
Rowan sat back, eyeing his wife with renewed respect. “How do you know that?”
“I can read a map. And I’ve traveled through the area on the way to visit my cousin, Spence. Longstreet is in love with Squire Tidwell’s daughter, Marianne.”
“Again, why is Longstreet’s love life my concern?” His eyes fell to her breasts as he considered her words. “What color chemise are you wearing?”
