Page 60 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
He gave her a self-mocking smile that tugged at her heart. Then he slipped the watch beneath the blankets in the box. The puppy went quiet and curled around it.
“Oh,” she whispered in amazement. “Wherever did you learn that trick?”
“The servant who looked after the hounds at Ainsley’s estate. When I first acquired Cooper, he was just as unhappy as this little fellow, and Mother, bless her, banished him to the stables. Of course, I’d not leave him to sleep alone, so I was there as well.”
He reached toward the box, and she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t wake him.”
“Did I hear you say earlier that you’d named him Fenimore?”
She nodded. “After James Fenimore Cooper. It didn’t seem right to name him Cooper, but as he’s you’re favorite author, I thought using another of his names would serve just as well.”
With her fingers still wrapped around his wrist, he skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “I owe you an apology for earlier. I’d received some unfortunate news—”
“Worse than your dog dying?”
“No, not worse than that actually. But I did not take well to the news. Some of my investments have taken a turn I’d have rather them not. It put me in a foul temper.”
“They’ll turn back around.”
“I thought you were the pessimist.”
“Only when everyone else is being an optimist. I like to be different.”
“You’ve always been that.”
She’d not seen him move, but he was suddenly nearer, close enough that his breath caused the strands that had worked free of her braid to lift slightly and tickle her temple. She’d left only one lamp burning low, but it was enough to see the seriousness in his gaze.
“It wasn’t only your dowry,” he said softly.
She furrowed her brow, and immediately his thumb was pressing out the creases. “Pardon?” she asked.
“I didn’t marry you only for your dowry or because of an archaic contract that was signed by our fathers. I wanted laughter in my life.”
“And you’ve had little enough of it.” She closed the distance between them, taking his mouth with a boldness that stunned her.
But she was tired of waiting for him to forgive her, tired of waiting for something monumental to happen between them, tired of waiting for him to come to her bed. Coming to her bedchamber was close enough.
Despite the tautness of her braid, his fingers were suddenly threaded through her hair at the side of her head, wrapping around to the back, holding her in place as his mouth plundered hers with far more efficiency and far less decorum. His tongue swept through, exploring and conquering every nook and cranny, every corner. Taking her cue, she dared to do her own exploring. As always, his taste was rich and flavorful.
Drawing her mouth from his, she trailed it along his jaw, his neck, until she was able to pinch his earlobe between her teeth. He issued a low groan, his hands behind her back, tugging on her hair, loosening her braid.
“Westcliffe, is the puppy the only reason you’re here?” she asked with what she hoped was a sultry voice.
“No.”
“Then you’re here—”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Pure unadulterated joy shot through her. She couldn’t contain it, didn’t want to contain it. She wanted him to see everything she felt.
But first, she had to kiss him again. Just as her lips met his, he pulled her onto his lap. Once again, he took over the kiss, deciding the direction in which it should go, and she found herself in uncharted territory. How many different ways could there be to kiss? This time he was suckling on her tongue, silk and velvet at the same time.
She tugged on his shirt, working it off his arms, lifting it to his neck. He had to break off the kiss so she could remove it completely, whisking it over his head. She expected his mouth to return to hers, and instead it went to her throat.
Just below where his mouth was, his fingers were making short work of loosening her buttons, and as the material began to part so his mouth followed the path until it reached her navel. While his tongue dipped inside, her breasts rested on the soft, thick strands of his hair. She ran her fingers through them.
Lifting his head, he slid the gown off her shoulders and down her arms. She saw awareness and anticipation light his dark eyes.
