He went to the bed and lay back on the pillows, his booted legs extended to the side. “Your family will allow me in the door, I hope?”
“Of course they will. Just like last year, we’ll spend Christmas Eve at my grandfather’s. We’ll burn the Yule log, light the Christmas candle, and decorate the tree.”
“What else?” He closed his eyes and listened to her talk, thinking no other sound had ever been so soothing.
“There’ll be a roast goose and Cook’s special plum pudding. Grandfather always does the honors, lighting it ablaze, and we always send half to the servants’ quarters, where they are having their own happy celebration. We’ll play ridiculous games like bob apple and snap dragon and sing songs.”
“Sounds divine,” he murmured, watching her through slitted eyes as she removed her spencer. “As long as I’m not required to sing. I’d hurt everyone’s ears.”
Sophia glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her intently. Turning back to the cabinet behind the screen of the door, she removed the folded square of paper from her corset and slid the list underneath her folded stockings. The list was the one thing that kept her from being swept away by a crushing wave of new and overwhelming feelings for Claxton. The list was her rock. Her anchor. The only thing that kept her grounded in reality.
But being present for the birth of the Branigans’ child made her only more determined to have a baby of her own. Which meant making love, again and again, as many times as they could manage in these times spent alone.
Just the thought of him naked quickened the pace of her blood, dizzying her.
With yesterday’s ludicrous theory that they should proceed without kissing or romance having been thoroughly blasted to bits, her way of thinking had altered. Wasn’t it her right as a wife to
She’d not brought any of her prettier sleeping gowns. When she’d packed for her stay at Camellia House, she’d expected to spend three days alone moping, crying, and writing a letter, all in dull gray flannel. She would have to make do.
For warmth, she undressed beside the fire, removing her gown, her stays, and at last, her chemise. Her nipples immediately hardened from the chill, but also from the knowledge that Vane watched from the bed. Completely naked, she rubbed a bit of scented oil into her skin, something she always did on winter nights to keep her skin soft. But tonight, the sensation of her own hands smoothing over her own skin while her husband observed took on a sensual pleasure. Feeling daring, she poured more of the glistening stuff into her palm and applied it to her legs, stomach, and torso. When she arrived at her breasts, she heard a distinct sound from the darkened recesses of the bed. A rough exhalation of breath.
She pretended not to hear, but what an unexpected thrill to realize the control she displayed over him, to make him react in such a way. If she wanted his baby, it only made sense that she should do everything in her power to keep his attention.
Emboldened, she rubbed the oil onto her breasts, making wide purposeful circles around her nipples, before at last dragging her palms across the distended tips. A low grunt came from behind the curtains and a creaking of the bed. As if in response to his arousal, the place between her legs grew damp and heavy, just as it had the night before when Claxton had tasted her there with his lips and his tongue. She hoped he would dare the same intimacies tonight. Last night’s lovemaking had opened her eyes to the fact that her husband had held back in those early months of their marriage, no doubt out of respect for her innocence. The list she’d just hidden away, while still a sore spot, nonetheless testified to his vast experience in pleasuring the female body. She could not help but hope in this moment, as her hand briefly slipped between her thighs so as to scent herself there, that he would expand her experience even more tonight. Legs trembling, she knew that in a matter of moments she would find out.
Covered neck to toe in her flannel gown, she made no effort to tie the ribbons along the deep slit at its front, instead leaving the fabric agape so as to reveal the inner swell of her breasts. Crossing the carpet, she joined him on the bed. Her body already throbbed in anticipation for him, aching for completion. Yet he lay with his forearms crossed behind his head, atop the pillow, and barely spared her a glance.
Odd behavior when she knew he’d been paying rapt attention just moments before. Stretching out beside him, she waited expectantly for him to pounce on her. He only gave a little yawn and touched the back of his hand to his mouth.
“It’s been a long day,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I know you must be fatigued.”
She blinked at him. “I’m not
“Well, then, perhaps I am.” He settled even deeper into the mattress.
The skin at the nape of her neck prickled in alarm. Too tired to make love? Vane? He’d spent the last three days doing his best to seduce her. Why the sudden turnabout?
“Vane,” she exclaimed.
“Vane, what?” He closed his eyes, as if prepared to drift off to sleep.
“You don’t want to make love?” she demanded softly.
Did he detect disappointment in her voice? Or just irritation that he wasn’t going to provide that which she needed to conceive a child?
“I don’t want you to feel that making love is expected,” he replied. “Something you have to do now that we are actively trying to have a baby.”
“I don’t feel like it’s expected,” she retorted. “At least not the way you imply.”
“Of course you do,” he answered. “You must. How could you not? I can’t forget what you said last night about not wanting to feign passion or parody love just because we are married.” He paused. “And then I lost all control and gave you no choice but to do so. But you shouldn’t have to pretend only to please me. Perhaps we should just wait and see what the coming days bring. You could already be pregnant.”
He peeked through slitted eyelids to find her jaw dropped and the light of temper in her eyes. Even in this dim light, he could see that her cheeks had brightened to a rosy pink.
“I’m not
He glared at her. “Why are you angry when I’m only trying to be understanding?”
“Because I want to,” she answered quietly.
His heart clenched. “You want to what?”
Her eyes widened, pleading. “I want to make love.”
His body responded. Desire rippled like thunder through every layer of his body, skin, muscle, bone, and marrow.
Even so, now that she’d said what he wanted to hear, somehow it wasn’t enough.
“Because you want me?” he gritted out. “Or because you want a child?”
She did not speak for a long moment, but her breath grew labored. “Both.”
He could take her now in this moment, and oh, how he wanted to. But throughout the course of the day, she’d given him a hundred little reasons not to believe. It took all his strength to feign disinterest and once again ease back against the pillow. “Perhaps it is I who require convincing.”
A little huff of consternation broke from her mouth. After a long moment, she shifted on the mattress, rising up to sit on her knees. She reached out and lowered her hands against the tops of his thighs, spreading her fingers wide to grip him there, as best she could, being that her hands were small and his legs muscular.
Slowly…purposefully, she slid them upward, circling and massaging…until they came to rest on top of his swollen crotch. He swallowed hard, commanding himself to hold absolutely still.
As she leaned forward, the neck of her sleeping gown shifted, exposing one full round breast and its pink tip. “Pardon me for saying so, Claxton, but you don’t appear to need convincing.”
At her saucy tone, one he hadn’t heard in a very long time, his mouth went dry. He curled his hands into fists against the coverlet to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her.
“There’s a difference between convincing me,” he rasped, staring down at her hands where she covered him, “and convincing my cock.”
“Is that what you call it?” She licked her pink lips, her eyes bright and sparkling. “Your…cock?”
