“Charles,” she murmured, holding onto his shoulders, her voice wavered, sounding husky and low.
“Let’s take this slow, Nellie.”
She felt the tension in his hands as they slid down her arms to grasp her wrists, but how in control he was.
Nellie nodded, swallowing as desire and nerves pulled at her. She wished she could be cool like him. But he was experienced, he must have had many women, apart from…her. She pushed the thought away hurriedly. She was hanging on by a thread as it was, her knees threatening to give way.
*
“Hold still, sweetheart.” Charles struggled to undo the row of tiny buttons down the back of her gown. “Was this dress a wise choice?”
“I didn’t think…” Nellie gave a breathy giggle. “You are teasing me.”
“Never.” He drew in a breath and slipped a hand inside the silk fabric to stroke the velvety-soft skin of her shoulder and the delicate bones of her spine. Her tender nape revealed to him, he had to press a kiss there, and below her ear, as he breathed in her perfume and the underlying scent of her skin, while his passion raged hot through his veins. Take it slow.
“Mm.” She leaned back against him.
Charles eased the dress down over the curve of her hips. The silk puddled on the floor, and Nellie stepped out of it. She untied the strings of her petticoat, and when that, too, went the way of the gown, she turned to face him. In her thin chemise and corset, with blue garters gracing the silk stockings on her lissome legs, he lost his ability to breathe.
Aware of an already burgeoning erection, he turned his attention to her corset laces.
“Charles?
“Yes, Nellie?”
“I have been advised about what happens between men and women, but it wasn’t particularly helpful.”
“It wasn’t?” Intrigued, a smile played on his lips.
“No. What Mama and Marian told me differed greatly. But I don’t want to be boring in bed. You must teach me.”
“Oh, sweetheart, that is my heartfelt intention.” Her corset fell away to reveal the thrusting curve of her lush breasts through the thin chemise. He paused to thumb and kiss each firm nipple jutting through the fabric as she clutched onto him and moaned.
He hefted her up into his arms. With his free hand, Charles pulled the latch on his bedroom door, then kicked it open and strode over to the bed. He deposited her gently and stepped back to divest himself of his clothes. Once stripped, he tossed them onto a chair and turned.
But for her stockings and the blue garters, Nellie was naked, having removed the last of her clothing.
“Nellie.” He suspected his wife might prove to have the same instincts for seduction as the best courtesans in London.
Her sultry, blue-gray eyes wandered over his body as he crossed to the bed.
At the shrill bark somewhere nearby, Charles halted mid-stride.
Her eyes widened, and her hands flew to her cheeks. “Peter. Lilly put his bed in my dressing room. He’s used to sleeping in here.”
“How very sensible Lilly is.” He eased her back onto the bed. “I can see why you have kept the maid on.”
He leaned over her, resting his hands on either side of her.
“Poor, Peter,” Nellie murmured, curling her fingers around Charles’s neck and drawing him down.
“But happy me,” he said as his mouth covered hers.
He lay beside her, delighting in every inch of her. The pulse at the base of her throat, the luscious feel of her heavy breasts in his hands, her rosy nipples hardening as he drew them into his mouth. He traced the delicate bones of her ribs, the soft swell of her belly, and down. Her skin was the color of clotted cream, a triangle of golden hair at the apex of her thighs, deeper pink at her moist center.
Nellie moaned and wriggled and clutched his head. After a brief flicker of concern for the risk to his hair clutched in her fingers, Charles lost himself in the wonder of her.
Chapter Fourteen
Nellie woke. Sunlight streamed through the break in the curtains. She smiled and turned over, but the bed beside her was empty. It was not her bedchamber but his, filled with solid furniture and damask bed hangings. A swathe of the same silvery-blue damask decorated the row of windows.
Where was Charles? With a heavy sigh, she stretched and curled her toes, recalling every moment of their night of passion. It thrilled her and made her warm and wish he were here. He was an exciting yet tender lover. Her body felt slightly sore. She lay still, enjoying the wonderful, languid sensation which still lingered. It was as if her bones had melted.
She roused herself and threw back the blankets, stepping down from the high bed. Her dressing gown lay over a chair along with her slippers. She shrugged into it and tied the belt, then wandered into their sitting room. A pile of congratulatory letters, invitations to balls and parties, awaited her reply on the desk. Nellie turned away, and with a sigh, studied her messy hair in the gilt-edged mirror above the marble-topped bureau. Below it, on its polished surface, sat a vase of red roses, the exact shade of the rose thrown at Charles’s feet when they left the cathedral after the wedding. Who had thrown that rose? She had seen the Frenchwoman. It must have been her.
Disturbed, Nellie rang for Lilly. She shivered and rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. They were just flowers, possibly ordered by the housekeeper. Was she foolish?
But the worry still tugged at her. She couldn’t bear to think that Charles had done his duty as a husband, then left her with his heart and mind filled with thoughts of another woman. Might his mistress have sent these roses to remind him of her?
Their strong
