Page 87 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jeremy led Catherineinto the house, Leah trailing behind them. Immediately, Cor and Rachel appeared, Matthew not far behind them. The women began peppering him with questions.

Glancing over his shoulder, he told Leah, “Tell them everything. And make sure the servants know to keep out.”

Leah’s eyes twinkled with mischief. She curtseyed and said, “Whatever you say, Everton.” Turning to face the others, she said, “Come into the parlor and I’ll tell you everything.” She began sweeping the others in the opposite direction.

Jeremy swept Catherine off her feet.

She looped her arms around his neck as he carried her up the stairs. She couldn’t stop smiling at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to tell you the truth,” she apologized.

He reached the top of the stairs and proceeded down the hallway.

“Your letter said you thought I wouldn’t marry you if I learned about your origins.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

They arrived in front of the door to his rooms and he opened it.

“And yet you selfishly accepted my proposal and married me.”

Catherine bit her lip. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Because you loved me,” he insisted.

“Because I loved you,” she agreed happily.

“You’re going to have to prove that,” he said solemnly as he ventured into the room and kicked the door closed. “And I will do the same.”

Jeremy set her down and took her in his arms. His kiss was thorough. Unhurried. Magical. When he finally broke it, Catherine found herself breathless, trembling with anticipation.

“I plan to kiss every inch of you,” he shared.

She felt her face flame at the thought.

“To do that, I’ll need to have access to every inch,” he explained as he removed her bonnet and tossed it aside. Jeremy carefully slipped the pins from her hair until it spilled down her back.

He fingered a lock and then brushed his lips against it. “Your hair is one of my favorite things about you.”

“You don’t think it’s too red?” she asked, knowing now it came from the actress who was her mother.

“Not at all. It warms under the light inside. Outside, it blazes like fire.” He ran his fingers through it, satisfaction filling him.

Taking her hand, he led her to the bed and had her sit. He knelt and removed her pumps and then reached under her skirts, his fingers gliding up her calves and to her garter. He unfastened the silk stockings and rolled them down her legs before slipping them from her feet. Catherine’s heart already raced so that she thought it might burst from her chest.

Still kneeling, he reached for her hand and removed her gloves. Reverently, he pressed a kiss into each bared palm.

“Your turn,” he said, sitting on the bed.

She rose and lifted his hat from his head, placing it on the nearby chair. Catherine ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair, watching his emerald eyes glow at her. She backed away and he held out a leg, his polished Hessians gleaming. Grasping firmly, she pulled the boot from his foot. His other leg rose and she removed the second boot.

Frowning, she said, “Your buckskin breeches are too tight for me to get to your stockings.”

“Then take them off.” He leaned back on his hands, a smile playing about his lips.

“I will. Eventually.”

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