Page 14 of The Best Husband Money Can Buy

“Of course.” Anthony came up behind her and began unfastening the complicated tapes and buttons of her traveling dress. When he was finished, he slid the garment down her arms. He swallowed hard when he saw the creamy slope of her shoulders. She had the most deliciously touchable skin he’d ever seen. It cried out for caresses.

Emma stepped out of the travel dress. Her shift and stays and petticoat covered as much of her as most gowns would, but there was a wicked sense of intimacy in seeing her in her unmentionables. He remembered what Madam Chloe had said about Emma’s figure:magnifique.The modiste had been right. Emma was no fashionable sylph, but a woman of lush, sensual curves. He wondered how the weight of her full breasts would feel in his hands. A stab of swift heat ran through him.

Struggling to suppress that response, he went to the dressing table where Hawkins had laid out his brushes and other personal items. If there were more time, he would have shaved. Luckily, his chin was still presentable, though only just.

“I need help again.” Emma had pulled on the gown, but could not manage the fastening herself.

Silently Anthony moved behind her again. His imagination was rioting. He wanted to lock the door and miss dinner and seduce his wife. But that really was not possible tonight, when they were both making a kind of homecoming.

Fingers uncharacteristically clumsy, he began tying the tapes. She’d put on a perfume with a complex, provocative scent. Not for her the girlish, floral fragrances.

His fingers brushed Emma’s back as he tied a hidden bow. A little shiver went through her. Hoping it was shiver of pleasure, he leaned forward and kissed the juncture of her shoulder and throat. Her skin was silky warm under his lips. He wanted to lick her from head to toe. He settled for tracing the elegant curve of her ear with his tongue. Emma stiffened.

Though he’d had his fair share of female companionship, he wasn’t such a coxcomb as to believe that he could infallibly sense what a woman wanted, and understanding this one was more important than any of his casual affairs. “Whenever I touch you, you seem to pull away,” he said softly. “Would you rather I stopped?”

“No,” she replied, her voice constricted. “I don’t dislike your touch at all.” She swallowed, her throat going taut. “Quite…quite the contrary.”

Thank heavens for that. With the lightest of touches, he put his arms around her and cupped her breasts. She gasped, and he felt the hammering of her heart under his hands. Then, very gently, she leaned back against him in a silent gesture of trust and surrender. Her warm curves fitted against him as perfectly as matched puzzle pieces.

His own heart hammering, he said with deep feeling, “I really, really wish we didn’t have to go down to dinner!”

She turned her head and glanced up at him with an expression in her eyes as old as Eve. “We’ll be back here later, and all the more eager for having waited.”

He chuckled. “You’ve the makings of a wicked wench.”

“Good,” she said with great satisfaction.

Moving away from him with obvious reluctance, she went to finish her toilette. Anthony combed his hair rather blindly, since most of his attention was on the vivid memory of Emma in his arms. There was a gentle sensuality about her that made him simultaneously want to protect her and ravish her. Was this what marriage was about? Please God, he’d learn soon enough.

“I’m ready,” Emma said with a touch of nervousness. “Do I look all right?”

He turned and surveyed her from head to foot. The shade of green she wore did wonderful things for her creamy skin and made her changeable eyes into a striking light green. Her softly waved chestnut hair was also far more flattering than the severe style she’d worn when they met. “You look perfect. Not too formal for tonight, but every inch a lady.” He walked toward her. “There’s only one problem.”

Her expression, which had brightened, became anxious again. “What’s wrong?”

“This.” Women often wore gauzy scarves tucked around their necks as a way of making low-cut gowns more modest, and adding a bit of warmth as well. Emma had donned such a scarf. He swept it away, exposing the dramatic swell of her upper breasts. “You won’t need this. With so many people present tonight, the rooms will be warm.”

She blushed scarlet and instinctively brought her hands up to cover her bare flesh. Dropping them again, she said apologetically, “I feel very bare.”

“I’ve a cure for that.” He went to his dressing case and pulled out a worn velvet box. Inside was a triple rope of pearls and a pair of matching earrings. “Not too many heirlooms survived my father’s debts, but these did. They were my mother’s, and now they are yours. Merry Christmas, Emma.”

Emma caught her breath. “My mother had a necklace much like this, but hers had to be sold.” A glint of tears in her eyes, she lifted the necklace and pressed it to her cheek. “Pearls have such a wonderful feel. Silky. Almost alive.”

“They must be worn to be at their best.” He took the necklace from her and clasped it around her neck. It was a lovely neck, long and graceful. He kissed the nape under her upswept hair. She made a small, breathy sound, and this time he knew that it was not distress.

Fingers not quite steady, Emma put on the earrings, then turned for his inspection. He said with absolute conviction, “You look lovely, Emma. Any man would be proud to have you by his side.”

She gave him a smile so radiant that for a moment she took his breath his way. “I’m very glad you think so.”

He offered his arm with a courtly bow, and together they went to rejoin their family.

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