Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“We’re to attend our ledgers, Lucas Denning.”

“Quite. I’ve consulted my accounts and found it has been more than twelve hours since I’ve enjoyed my wife’s considerable intimate charms. Almost eighteen hours, in fact, which deficit must be immediately rectified if I’m to concentrate on anything so prosaic as ledgers.”

“And what of luncheon? What of being conscientious about one’s duties? What of—oof.”

He lifted her bodily onto a corner of the estate desk and stepped closer. “I am being conscientious about my duty to the succession.”

“No one could ask more of you in this regard, Husband, but it’s the middle of the—”

As if they hadn’t made love at practically every hour of the day and night. He’d worried at first about asking too much of her, and he still did. Eve never refused him, but neither did she initiate lovemaking.

Not yet.

“Kiss me, my lady. If you kiss me long enough, it will no longer be the middle of the day.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “You have made a wanton of me, Deene.”

“You worry about this?” Something a little forlorn in her voice had him lifting his face from the soft, fragrant juncture of her shoulder and neck to peer into her eyes. “You do. You worry that a perfectly lovely passion for your new husband is something untoward. What am I to do with you?”

She didn’t contradict him. Didn’t tease or flirt. She regarded him steadily out of green eyes shadowed by doubt. “I know I shouldn’t fret over such a thing. We’re newly wed, after all.”

He had the sense she recited that fact to herself in more moments of self-doubt than he’d perceived. Far more than she should. Was this why she never approached him with amatory intent?

Rather than increase her sense of self-consciousness, Deene started frothing her skirts up at her waist. “Tell me something, Lady Deene. Are you ogling the footmen hereabouts? There’s one fellow in particular, the blond with the cheeky smile, with a nice set of shoulders on him.”

“Godfrey. He’s sweet on the tweeney. Why would I ogle him?”

Deene set aside a moment’s consternation that Eve knew the man’s name and the name of his current interest. “Because he’s devilish handsome, and I suspect some sort of relation to me on the wrong side of the blankets.”

“He’s a boy. I do not ogle—Deene, what are you doing?”

“Removing these wildly embroidered silk drawers. Your sister Jenny should have a shop for gentlemen to patronize, where they might buy such underthings for their cheres amies.”

“She’d die of mortification first. Stop looking at me.”

Deene loved to look at his wife. In intimate places, her hair had a reddish tint to the gold, and her skin had a luminous quality. “Lie back, Evie, but tell me: If you are such a wanton, do you ever think of what it would be like to make love to, say, my cousin Anthony?”

She did not lie back. She glared at Deene as if he’d stolen her last bite of cherry tart. “Are you mad? Anthony is a nice enough man, and he bears a pale resemblance to you, but—I cannot think when you touch me like that.”

Like that was with just his thumb, ruffling her curls and glancing over the little bud at the apex of her sex. “You never think of anybody but me in these intimate circumstances, do you, Wife?”

“I cannot think—You’re still looking at me.”

He intended to look a good deal closer, too. Had been thinking about it ever since he’d assisted her at her bath just a couple of hours earlier in the day. “A truly wanton woman would be seeing every man as an opportunity to copulate, Evie. She’d be restraining herself from flirting with everything in breeches, and on occasion, with other women too. She’d be eyeing the lads, the footmen, her husband, as if plagued by a hunger that knew no satiety.”

Deene kissed her, mostly to get her to lie back on the desk, but when he opened his eyes, Eve was studying him.

“And you, Deene. Do you find yourself interested in other women?”

He straightened and ambled over to the couch to retrieve two pillows. One he tossed to the floor for his knees—he intended to be kneeling for some little while—the other he placed in the middle of the desk blotter. This was a delaying tactic to allow him to choose his words carefully.

A man wanted to say the right thing, to be honest, but not more honest than he had to be.

“I desire only you, Eve Denning, and cannot foresee a time when I will desire anybody else but you. I desire you right now, in fact, and in less than five minutes, I will desire you even more than I do at this moment. My fervent wish is that your inclinations are similar with regard to the person of your husband. That you enjoy his attentions—and his attentions only, I might point out—makes you a devoted wife and the farthest thing from a wanton.”

She wasn’t fooled. He could tell by the exact, curious angle of her head that she understood his words were only a limited reply. As Deene sank to his knees between her legs and breathed in the clean scent of his wife’s intimate person, he realized he was not going to tell her he loved her until he’d also been honest about how far he was willing to go to achieve his ends where Georgie was concerned.

“Deene?” Eve’s hand landed in his hair. “Lucas, what on earth are you—?”

He settled his mouth on the seat of her pleasure, and for long moments thereafter, the only sounds in the library were the cozy hiss and pop of the fire, and Eve’s sighs of pleasure.

When he’d introduced his wife to one more avenue of sexual pleasure, Deene let her bring him off with her hand—something she had a positive genius for—then set their clothing to rights, unlocked the door, and ordered luncheon from the footman in the corridor.

Married life worked up a man’s appetite.

“I do wonder, you know.” Even though she wasn’t quite as prim and tidy as she had been thirty minutes earlier, Eve still managed to project an air of domestic calm.

“What do you wonder about?”

“Are all new couples as… enthusiastic about their marital duties as we are?”

Her question was fraught with insecurity, making Deene regret his earlier reference to the damned succession. “Ask your sisters, why don’t you? I’m sure they’re dying to hear what you think of marriage and of my efforts as a husband and lover.”

Her brows rose. “One doesn’t think to discuss such things, even with sisters.”

“Yes, one does. I trust your reports will be flattering, so you can’t accuse yourself of breaching any kind of marital loyalty.” He frowned at her. “Your reports will be flattering, won’t they?”

She beamed at him. “They will be adoring, Deene. Gushing, breathless, and quite appreciative as well. Also lengthy—quite lengthy and fulsome. And you’re right: Sindal, Hazelton, and Kesmore all needed either an heir or a spare. I’m sure my sisters will want to compare notes.”

Which wasn’t at all what he’d meant. His muttered, “Hang the blooming succession,” however was obscured by a stout knock on the door. “Our staff knows not to knock softly when we’re behind a closed door. That ought to tell you something, Wife.”

They spent the afternoon together in the library on the sofa, Eve with the household books, Deene trying to focus on the racing-meet schedule for the upcoming season.

While he mostly studied his pretty wife.

“I’ll be going into Town tomorrow, my lady. Is there any errand I can run for you?”

She glanced up, a pair of his reading glasses perched on her nose. “You do not enjoy these visits to Town, Husband. Shall I go with you?”

He reached over to remove her spectacles. “Not this time. If you want a shopping outing, I am happy to plan one of those and trot about at your heels like an obedient swain.”

For an instant, he thought she was going to pry, but for what he had to say to Dolan, he could not have an audience, much less one as tenderhearted as his marchioness. “Will you have time to ride out with me before you go, Deene?”

“Of course.” He folded the glasses and passed them back to her. “Was it hard for you to ask that of me?”

She nodded. “I should just take the lads, make it a hack in company, but I feel… more comfortable when you’re up on Beast. I think Sweetness has a fondness for your gelding.”