Page 55 of The Widower Without a Will
“Quite.I suppose I shall pack my bags for Battersea,” she teased.
He tugged her close.“I would follow you and beg you to marry me until you finally said yes.”
“My love for a niece can never be replaced by my love for a man.”
“I shall live in your room near the hearth so you are never torn asunder from dear Georgina.”
“Nowthatis true love.”Martha couldn’t bear teasing any longer.She just wanted to beam at him.
Martin beamed back.“How would you like to be married?I could arrange a special license so that we could marry here in Bath within the week.Or we could return to Thatcham and have the banns called.”
“I want to marry at Northfield, and I want all your children to be there, if they are willing.”She brushed the skirt of her stiff bombazine mourning gown.“However, it is still two months until I am done mourning Kenneth.”
Though Martin nodded to acknowledge the point, he said softly, “Mourning never truly ends.”
It was her turn to kiss his fingertips, for with that one sentence she knew they did not need a protracted conversation about whether part of their hearts would remain allied with their lost spouses.“All the same, I would prefer not to marry you in my widow’s weeds.”
“What do you propose?”
“Let me remain here in Bath for the winter.I shall finish my period of mourning, arrange a new wardrobe, and do all the other things a bride is supposed to do to prepare for her marriage.When the roads clear in the springtime, I shall return to Thatcham, and we can be married at Northfield.”
Even though they were approaching Bath proper now and there were more people around, Martin stopped where he was and pulled Martha close to his body.“That’s months apart from each other.”
“But then we’ll have the rest of our lives together.And we won’t have started our marriage in a cradle of gossip.”
There would still be some talk in Thatcham, of course, and the London papers would drum up all sorts of scandals to explain why a baron decided to marry a matronly widow.But at least no one could say that Martha was disrespecting Kenneth; at least no one could point to an obvious sign that Lord Preston might have taken advantage of her.
“I shall miss you terribly,” he growled.
She smirked, her eyes on those lips of his that tantalized her so.“Is that a promise?”
“It is a certainty.I would kiss you right here on the street to prove it if you weren’t concerned about gossip.”
Martha took his lapels in either hand.“Gossip in Bath won’t hurt us.”Stretching onto her toes, she kissed him.Briefly—but deeply.She could feel his body stir and might have kept teasing him with her tongue if someone passing by hadn’t cried out,
“I say!”
Martin withdrew, his eyes hazy.“I suppose I should take you back to Seymour Street.”
She smirked again.“I would rather see your rooms.”
And so they guided the stallion back to York House.Giving Martha directions to his room, Martin took the horse to its stable, and Martha slipped upstairs without earning so much as a second glance.By the time Martin tapped on the door with their secret knock, she had undressed to just her petticoat, stays, and stockings, her hair let loose from its braid.She lay down on the mattress before calling out, “Enter.”
He stood for a moment by the door, eyes sweeping over her, and she watched a deep pink work its way up his skin.“My dear Martha,” he said, breath shaking, and then he all but leapt upon her.
They had a lot of kissing to make up for.For a long while, that was all they did.Deep, languid kisses that could have lasted all afternoon.Martin’s hands curled through her hair and strayed down to her waist, and Martha palmed the muscular arms and chest she had so missed these past weeks, but they remained in the fuzzy simplicity of the kiss for far longer than they had ever permitted themselves before.By the time Martin leaned back, Martha’s body felt soft and warm and liquid.
He reached into his pocket—for he was still wearing all his clothes!—and withdrew a lace glove.“I found this under your bed after you left.I have to admit, I’ve grown very fond of it, but I suppose you might want it back.”
It was from her fancy set of gloves, which were made of lace and ended just before the tip of each finger, serving as adornment rather than providing warmth.Martha had not mourned the lost glove deeply—though she had saved its forlorn mate in her sewing kit—but she was almost overwhelmed with joy at seeing it in Martin’s hand.Taking it, she slipped it over her fingers and held it up for display.“I thought the poor thing was lost forever.”
Martin seized her wrist, his eyes nearly black with desire.“I want to see you wearing nothing except this glove.”
Her body nearly rippled with a sensual thrill.She demanded more.“What will you do with me when this is all I wear?”
He knew what she wanted—and he gave it to her, curving over her to growl in her ear, “I am going to shag you so hard you won’t remember your name.I’m going to make your cunt as wet as a fountain.I’m going to fill you with my roger and rut you senseless.”
It was all Martha could do to see straight after that.She stripped naked, as requested.Martin removed his clothes in a rush, too.When his cock stood free and proud from his trousers, Martha pumped it with her gloved hand, just to see how deep a groan she could pull from him.
