Page 178 of Harpy of the Ton
How could she have ever believed that fulfilment could be had in the staid, genteel world of a lady?
He turned to face her, and she lowered her gaze to that part of him that had given such pleasure, nestled among a thatch of dark blond curls. When she lifted her gaze to his eyes, she saw a wicked glint in their depths.
He reached for his breeches and slipped them on, then he picked up her wedding gown and sighed.
“You must forgive me, love—perhaps Connie can mend it if it’s not too badly torn.”
“I love the rips,” she replied. “They’re the marks of your desire.”
“They’re evidence that Lady Arabella Ponsford has married beneath her.”
“No, Lawrence,” she said. “Rank, position—that’s nothing. In everything that matters, we are equals. You think I’d have been happier married to a duke? They make the worst husbands.”
“Not all dukes,” he said. “Whitcombe dotes on his wife. They could hardly keep their eyes off each other today.”
“Whitcombe’s an exception because he chose the perfect wife,” Bella said. “Eleanor’s a delightful creature—quiet and unassuming, but when she does say something, it pays to listen. They’re utterly in love.”
“Unlike Dunton and your aunt,” Lawrence said with a chuckle. “‘Miserably ever after,’ Trelawney said when they married. It was generous of you to invite them toourwedding.”
Bella grinned. “I’ll not have the world admonish the harpy of thetonfor being ungenerous toward her only living relative. And I confess a wickedness in wanting them to witness our happiness. Aunt seems satisfied enough as Dunton’s duchess, but I wonder if she knows he only married her at Whitcombe’s insistence to preserve his liberty. An unusual punishment—but Whitcombe’s an unusual man.”
“That he is—and in forcing Dunton to marry your aunt, he’s ensured that London’s debutantes are safe from being debauched, and their fortunes are safe from being squandered. With little income and not a soul willing to give him any credit, Dunton must live a very quiet life from now on.”
Bella glanced at the mantel clock. “We should return to our guests,” she said. “They’ll think us poor hosts.”
“Our guests will delight in our love.” He looked up and down her body and curved his mouth into a hungry smile.
She glanced at the bulge in his breeches. “Lawrence—we can’t!”
“Perhaps not yet,” he said. “But when the guests are gone, I intend to claim you as mine in every room in this house.”
“It’s not properly furnished yet,” she said. “The drawing room’s empty, and—”
“It has a serviceable rug, yes? And the dining room has a sturdy table. As for the stables, just think of those bales of hay we can bury ourselves in while I bury myself in you among the soft scent of grass, with the fresh air on our skin as we come to pleasure…”
She caught her breath at the image before her—her beast of a husband riding her like a stallion while she howled her pleasure like a mare in heat.
“Hmm,” he said. “We must explore that idea further once we have the house to ourselves.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I must cover up that delicious body of yours before I lose control and take you on the carpet, here and now. Shall I send for Connie to find you another gown?”
“Leave her be,” Bella said. “Today she’s our guest. Besides—Ned’s with her, and he’ll not forgive us.”
“How come, Bella, love?”
“He’s smitten with Connie—or so Millie said. I can dress myself, you know.”
She crossed the floor into the dressing room, aware of her husband’s gaze on her body. But she was no longer ashamed of the scars adorning her thighs—not when he’d worshipped every inch of her with his hands and mouth.
A pink day gown had been set out. Dear Connie must have slipped upstairs during the toasts. Bella put it on. As she brushed her hair, her husband appeared over her shoulder, resplendent in his newly tailored jacket, which he filled to perfection.
“My wife’s attire is incomplete,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. “May I?”
She nodded, and he reached forward and placed a necklace around her throat—a simple gold chain with a single pearl pendant.
She caught her breath as her gaze settled on the familiar, beloved object she thought she’d never see again.
“Is that…”
“Yes, my love,” he whispered, his breath caressing her neck as he secured the clasp. “Your mother’s necklace. It broke my heart when I realized you’d sold it out of necessity to pay for my son’s spectacles. I think that was the moment I understood the depth of my love, and I resolved to return it to you one day. What better day than this—the day we declared our love to the world?”
