Page 138 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
Andrew pulled her toward him for a kiss.
“Would it be wicked to indulge in a little aperitif before supper?” she asked. “To celebrate our union?”
He glanced around the chamber. “There’s no sherry here, but I can send for some.”
“Oh, Andrew,” she said. “I was thinking of a far morepleasurablemeans of celebration.”
His heart leaped at the sparkle in her eyes, at the love—and trust—that had returned to them, rendering her more beautiful than she had ever been.
“We can’t,” he said. “What will Lady Arabella think if she finds out?”
“She’ll think that her friend is the most fortunate of women.” She glanced at the hearth rug. “Besides—we have the next hour to ourselves.”
He needed no further invitation. He claimed her mouth in a kiss, then lifted her out of the chair and placed her on the rug, already eager in anticipation of sealing their union.
Epilogue
Radham Hall, Surrey, May 1818
Etty clung toher husband, her body rippling with the aftereffects of her climax.
No matter how wicked such an act might be, nothing could surpass the pleasure to be had from making love out of doors—fully clothed, straddling her husband on a garden bench.
And, judging by the expression of satiation on her husband’s face, he shared her opinion.
She shifted position, and his manhood twitched inside her. He drew in a sharp breath, and his eyes flew open, dark with desire. “Oh, Etty—what you do to me!”
She grinned and squeezed her thighs together, and his nostrils flared.
“Witch!” he cried. “You seek to torment me?”
“Ah, torment is it?” She pouted. “Then perhaps I should desist, for I have no wish to increase your pain.”
She began to withdraw, but he placed his hands around her waist and held her firm.
“Torment it may be,” he said, his voice hoarse, “but that does not mean to say it’s not exquisite.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips. “As exquisite as my wife is.”
“You flatter me, Andrew.”
He grinned. “Oh, flattery, is it, Lady Radham? Have you not learned by now that I am no fop who seeks to ingratiate himselfvia flattery? Was it flattery when I cried your name as I came undone inside you?”
Her cheeks warmed at the raw hunger in his gaze.
“Was it flattery when I parted your thighs and feasted on—”
“Andrew!”
“That’s it, my love,” he said. “It gives me great pleasure to hear my name on your lips”—he kissed her again—“and to taste those sweet lips.” Then he placed his palm on her stomach and caressed it, the warmth of his hand penetrating the material of her gown. “And to see your belly growing rounder each day with our child.”
Desire fizzed through her. Lately her appetite for him had grown insatiable, and they’d made love in almost every room in the house, taking pleasure from all manner of adventures—up against the wall of Andrew’s study, where she’d relished the feel of the hard wood panels against her back; over the mahogany dining table, after which she’d blushed at the butler’s remarks about the scratch on the polished surface. And then last night…
Last night, they had indulged in the cook’s chocolate sauce, when her husband had smeared a spoonful over her body before devouring it. Then, in a moment of wickedness, she had reciprocated, smothering the thick, sweet sauce over that part of him that gave her such pleasure.
“My wife is blushing.”
His voice, a low growl, returned her to the present.
“Is she perhaps recalling her wantonness in feasting on her husband’s—”
