James laughed. She was a wonder, a marvel. He stood up beside the bed and shucked off his coat, tossing it over the back of an armchair. He pulled away his neckcloth and sent it flying in the same direction. In shirt and pantaloons, he went to a chair, sat down, and yanked off his wretched boots. Then he rose and faced her again.

Cecelia had slipped off the bed, a little wide-eyed, but smiling. She stepped out of her shoes. Her fingers went to the buttons at the front of her gown. James wondered if she’d chosen that garment because it fastened in front. The idea of such forethought enflamed him further.

She wriggled out of her dress, letting it fall at her feet. She reached around and caught the string of her stays, pulling on it. Once, and again. “The knot is stuck,” she said.

He went to unfasten them, letting his fingertips trail along her arm and shoulder as she pulled the stays off and untied her petticoats. Muslin and ruffles fell away, and there she was in only her thin shift, which was nearly transparent in tantalizing spots, and her silk stockings.

James pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it before he knelt at her feet. He let his hands slide gently up her right leg. To the garter that held up her stocking and then higher. Her breath caught in the most satisfying way. Slowly, his eyes on hers, he eased the garter down and off, flicking her stocking away. Then he repeated the maneuver with the other. Cecelia gripped his arm and urged him upright, pressing herself into his arms once again.

His kisses were more intoxicating than anything she’d experienced before. As his hands strayed over her, Cecelia felt as if every part of her body flamed to life. It didn’t matter that she’d never done this before. Her impulses seemed a reliable guide.

He took hold of her shift and raised it. She lifted her arms like a dancer in the ballet and let him take it away. She was naked before him—James, her longtime love, her maddening friend, and now her husband. He shed the rest of his clothes and was the same, so very handsome in his natural state. She’d seen him in all sorts of guises but never this way. There was nothing between them but curiosity, history, and desire.

He lifted her onto the bed again. They twined together, burning skin to skin. And now his kisses trailed down her neck and shoulder to her breasts while he ran his hands along her sides. Cecelia shivered with longing, the sensation almost too intense. She yearned for him, ached for him.

As if he knew, his touch went to the center of that craving and tantalized until he fulfilled it in a dazzling, shuddering wave. The glory of it still echoed along her nerves when he came to her and found his own release. Holding him afterward, she hoped it had been as wonderful.

She had married the man she loved, Cecelia thought in that moment. She had no more to ask of life.

Eighteen

Or perhaps she did, Cecelia thought four days later as she once again brought up the subject of their future plans. James continually put her off on this subject, making it clear that he had no scheme for where they would live until Tereford House could be made livable. And he had a new weapon in his arsenal now. When he wished to divert her, he would make love to her until Cecelia felt like one of the honeybees lolling in the center of flowers in the tower garden, dazed and sated with sweetness. Physical passion was a lovely addition to her life, and it most often left her thinking that she didn’t care where she lived as long as it was with James. Then, when her wits returned, she would note that they did have to go to an actual place, eventually. “Your friend will expect us to leave his tower,” she tried.

“He doesn’t need the place,” James replied. “He spends the summers in Brighton.”

“We brought very little clothing with us,” she said another time.

“We can send for whatever you like,” he answered. “I’ll dispatch the coachman.”

“James.”

“Are you not content?” His gaze was sultry.

“I am, but…”

He waved her caveat aside.

In the end, the outside world resolved this issue for her. Word arrived from Mrs. Gardener that a team of thieves had raided the pile of discarded furnishings in the garden at Tereford House. In the dead of night, they had passed a good portion of it over the wall and spirited it away.

James’s first reaction was careless. “They are welcome to all of it,” he said. “I wish them joy and encourage them to return for the rest.”

“We can’t allow thieves free rein,” Cecelia replied. “Mrs. Gardener’s note sounds anxious. And if the gang is not opposed, they will very likely go beyond the garden into the house. We must return and do something.”

“I should not have left my direction with Ned,” James muttered.

“James.”

This grumble was inaudible.

“You know we can’t stay here forever.” Cecelia reached across the breakfast table and put a hand over his. It was lovely to feel free to touch him whenever the impulse arose.

He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers. “Let us go upstairs,” he said.

“We just came down.”

“But I am ready to be up again.” His blue eyes danced wickedly over her.

Cecelia flushed. It was just as well the servants kept their distance here. Her father’s placid staff would be shocked by such a suggestive remark. “I think we must go back and put a stop to the thieving.”