time.
A single look at her tonight in her gauzy gold silk evening gown had left him breathless. The bodice was so low that one small tug would have exposed her nipples. Her glorious pink nipples that tasted like the sweetest nectar.
He had spent the majority of dinner with a rock-hard erection, shoveling food he barely tasted into his mouth as if that would somehow quench his hunger. Naturally it had not. The only thing that would appease his appetite was a naked, panting, eager wife, writhing in his bed.
He was terribly frustrated, in body as well as mind, but the commitment had been made, the course set. Carter cleared his throat, admonishing himself to stop this self-inflicted torture. Restraint was the order of the day. They had made progress today, and the last thing Carter wanted was to jeopardize this promising start. He could hardly credit that after their disastrous morning conversation they were able to banter and tease, even relax for a time together on their afternoon ride.
She was not a naturally cold woman; there was fire and passion inside her, and he was determined to have an ardent, receptive woman in his bed. Since she had already experienced intercourse, and been unimpressed with it, a slow seduction was needed.
He could see that limited physical contact was already heightening her interest. A stolen kiss, a single heated caress, an occasional brush of his fingertips on her exposed flesh left Dorothea breathless and intrigued. Soon her awareness of him would be so excruciating she would come apart at the very idea of being near him. And then they would both burst into flames.
Another restless night and Dorothea was up at dawn, an occurrence that would have shocked her sisters and anyone else who knew how she relished her morning sleep. She expected a solitary breakfast, but Carter surprised her by awaiting her in the morning room. He drank a second cup of coffee while she ate her toast.
They conversed pleasantly, discussing their plans for the day, and Dorothea agreed to another afternoon ride. When she was finished with her meal, he signaled one of the footmen, and the servant soon returned with a large basket. Placing it on the table, Carter slid it slowly in front of her.
“For you.”
Feeling petty because her first reaction was suspicion, Dorothea carefully lifted the wicker lid. Two soulful brown eyes set into a ball of fluffy golden fur stared up at her. At her smile, the little creature began wagging his tail madly, along with the majority of his hindquarters.
“Oh, my!” Dorothea exclaimed, picking up the squirming puppy and tucking him beneath her chin. “He’s adorable. Is he really meant for me?”
Carter smiled. “We have a great many dogs about the estate, but I thought you would enjoy having a companion that was exclusively your own.”
“Oh, Carter, he is a delight. Thank you.”
Carter reached over to stroke behind the dog’s ears. “He should grow to a respectable size, as any worthwhile dog should. One thing I can’t abide is a woman carrying a dog about and treating it like an infant.”
“You mean like the Dowager Countess Hastings?” Dorothea held the puppy between her two outstretched hands, then brought him close enough so their noses were touching. The animal went into near spasms of joy as he began licking her face.
Carter released a sigh of annoyance. “I swear, the dowager stuffs her pet with treats until the poor creature is so fat he can barely stand.”
“I suppose that is why her footman carries him about on a pillow.”
“A red velvet pillow,” Carter corrected with a snort of disgust. “I was at a picnic one afternoon and the dowager nearly swallowed her tongue in apoplexy when her servant brought the pug to her on a plain, ordinary white pillow.”
“I vow I shall never do anything so ridiculous. Anyway, it looks as though my darling puppy will not fit on a pillow for more than a month or two at most.”
“Especially if you keep feeding him.”
Ignoring his words, Dorothea continued to offer the puppy the remaining scraps of egg from Carter’s plate as she cuddled him. When the meal was finished, the animal licked her hand in gratitude. He next gave a huge yawn, curled himself in a tight ball against her chest, and promptly fell asleep. Smiling, Dorothea settled him back inside his cozy basket.
“I know what you are tying to do,” she said to Carter as she nestled the blanket around the dog. “And in all fairness, I should tell you that it will not work.”
“I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean.”
A faint smiled played on her lips. “You know perfectly well what I mean. My new puppy is a bribe. Creative and heartfelt, I’ll grant you that, but a bribe nevertheless.”
“A bribe for what? Your affection? Strange, I thought I already had your regard. Or was I mistaken?”
“Of course not. You know that I care for you. I would not have married you if it were otherwise.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“He is a bribe to bring me into your bed.”
Carter tossed a puzzled glance down at the basket. “Why would that be necessary? You are my wife, my property. You have already told me, in no uncertain terms, that you will do your wifely duty. Hence I have no need to waste my money on a sure thing.”
His voice turned husky. “I can command you now to lie on your back and spread your legs. Or turn you onto your hands and knees so I may take you from behind, thrusting deep inside as your inner muscles cling to me, sheathe me in their warmth and wetness.”
Dorothea stiffened at the image. She looked into his eyes, heavy-lidded and burning, and lost her ability to speak.
His voice deepened to a low, seductive tone. “Remember how it felt to have my hands on you? My mouth, my tongue? Your hips arching to meet my touch, your body trembling with release?”
Dorothea could feel the muscles in her throat contract, but she didn’t speak, didn’t utter a sound. The torrid images conjured in her mind by Carter’s passionate words left her speechless. She feigned an indignant expression, yet doubted her husband was fooled.
“Lady Atwood, I was wondering-oh, I do beg your pardon.” Mrs. Simpson’s steady voice, tinged with embarrassment, came from the doorway. “I’ll return later.”
“There’s no need, Mrs. Simpson,” Dorothea said in a rush. “Lord Atwood was just leaving.”
Carter’s eyes flared a deep molten blue. Half expecting him to shout at Mrs. Simpson to disappear, Dorothea waited, unsure what she preferred-for him to respect her wishes and depart, or to get her alone and give in to the smoldering desire he was stirring between them.
“Yes, do come in,” Carter finally intoned. “I want Lady Atwood to complete all her household duties this morning so she may devote her undivided attention to me for the remainder of the day.”
Then with an irresistible smile tugging at his lips, he favored Dorothea with an elegant bow and quit the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Carter knew he was making progress. Not as far nor as fast as he would have preferred, but progress nonetheless. He was starting to know his wife, beginning to learn her likes and dislikes, to understand how her mind worked. Well, as much as any man could understand the intricacies of a female mind.
Dorothea hadn’t cringed at his intimate words yesterday morning. True, she had tightened her jaw and been resolute in her bearing, but she had stood and listened to every word. Stood and shivered and been intrigued by the erotic pictures he had painted in her mind. With time, with patience, with the right approach to seduction, Carter firmly believed he could turn Dorothea into a sensual, exciting woman, who would crave rather than cringe from his touch.
Sooner would be better than later, he acknowledged with a wry grin. The sexual ache that was curled so tightly inside his body was a constant companion, and not a welcome one. But it was necessary to undergo this torture to
