Page 134 of Harpy of the Ton
“Ross!” his wife chided. “I’m sure Mr. Baxter would rather tend to his wife than be subjected to a lecture on the intricacies of a superior cognac. Not everyone wishes to discuss the flavor profile of a liquor that burns the throat.”
Bella stared at her hostess. How did a woman of her class dare to challenge her husband? But rather than show anger, Mr. Trelawney gave his wife an indulgent smile.
“Of course, my love,” he said. “Forgive me, Baxter. I shall imbibe alone. But I trust you’ll grant me an interview before you leave tomorrow.”
The two men stared at each other, and Bella caught a flash of discomfort in her husband’s eyes. Then he nodded. “I’d be delighted.”
Mrs. Trelawney rose. The footman darted toward the diners and pulled back the chairs as they stood. “I’m rather tired myself,” she said, “so I’ll retire also, and leave Ross to his brandy.” She turned to Lawrence. “Mr. Baxter, take care of your lovely wife.”
“I will,” Lawrence said, his voice catching. Then he offered Bella his arm, and the party exited the drawing room—Trelawney to his study, and the others to the bedchambers.
After bidding goodnight to their hostess, Bella’s husband led her to her bedchamber.
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered.
“You’ll not be joining me?”
“I’m in the chamber next door if you need me.”
“I need you now.” She curled her fingers around his. “I don’t understand why they gave us a bedchamber each.”
“It’s what lords and ladies do.”
“Then I never want to be a lady,” she said. “I don’t want to spend a single night without you in…in my bed.”
“Nor I you, my love.”
He pushed open the door and led her inside.
A fire was already blazing in the hearth. To think—these people had others to light a fire for them, burning away while they were elsewhere, as if they had no need to worry about the price of coal!
Bella approached the fire, stopping on the hearth rug to hold her hands out, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Her husband followed, and he dipped his head to place a kiss on her neck while he tugged at the laces of her gown.
“Mmm…” she murmured. “I wonder if Mrs. Trelawney takes as much pleasure from her maid undressing her?”
“I suspect Mr. Trelawney performs the service more often than her maid,” he said, his hot breath tickling her skin. “They seem very much in love.”
“But not as much as we are.”
She closed her eyes, the loss of sight serving to heighten the sensations around her—the crackle of the fire, together with the sound of her husband’s breathing, growing hoarser as he continued to unlace her gown. The aroma of wood and smokefilled her nostrils together with the deeper, muskier scent of man…
His fingers brushed across her skin as he removed her gown, and she shivered in anticipation. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he peeled off her stockings, slowly, as if he relished the act. She inhaled, relaxing back into the bed. When she opened her eyes, he stood before her naked, the firelight shimmering across the planes of his muscles.
He was all man—and he was all hers.
And he was ready for her.
He climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of her. The hairs on his legs prickled the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs, and she parted them in eagerness. He closed his eyes and inhaled, his nostrils flaring.
“Sweet Lord,” he growled. “There’s nothin’ so fine as the scent of a woman who’s ready for her man.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “Does my women taste as sweet as her scent?”
Oh my…
A faint pulse of pleasure throbbed in her center, and she caught her breath. Then he placed a kiss on her chin, tracing his lips across her throat to the top of her breasts, where he stopped to flick her nipple with his tongue. He peppered her belly with soft, feathery kisses until he reached her curls.
“Shall I give you pleasure, my Bella?” he whispered, his hot breath rippling over her flesh.
She caught his hands. “No.”
