Trousers still on, he blew out the candles, then lay down beside her in the light of the single lamp. She instantly sat up enough to explore his bare chest, as he’d hoped. This business of going slow was about to cost him a new pair of drawers. He’d been very careful dressing this morning.
“I do not need coddling,” she informed him.
“Of course you need coddling. Everyone should be coddled occasionally, and I intend to see that you have your fair share.” He desperately wanted to keep that promise, but Wystan’s eventual demise loomed in their future.
He’d work something out—just not now, while Iona continued exploring him, and he was gripping the sheet to control his need to roll her under him.
“I have married a barbarian who believes he need only take what he wants.” She kissed his jaw and throat to soften her words. “I know better than to believe you’ll change. I have insanely agreed to accept your flaws for a lifetime. And because I can sense the man you hide from others, I know you won’t hurt me, not intentionally. So let me learn what you really want.”
She kissed his chest and suckled his nipples the way he had her. Gerard nearly lifted off the bed.
Apparently responding to what she sensed, she carried her kisses down the thread of hairs over his abdomen. He had to dig his hands into her hair and drag her back up to his mouth so he could kiss her—and finally cover her with his weight to prevent further migration to parts she wasn’t prepared to see.
She responded hungrily. She let him invade her mouth and maul her breasts like the barbarian she’d called him. He generally paid ladies the courtesy of going slow, but she dug her fingers into his arms and bucked against him and drove him wild with her desire.
He could feel her vibrations. Desire apparently felt differently than anger. He’d have to learn all her tunes.
He tore off the final bit of gossamer covering her breasts and nipped the tightly furled peaks. She cried out as she had earlier, then performed the trick he loved so well and wrapped her leg around his buttocks.
Kissing the beautiful bosom that had tantalized him all evening, he unfastened her frail silk drawers and slid his hand over her bare hip. She rose into him, begging for a touch he’d only showed her once.
Daringly, he kissed lower, sliding off her drawers as he went. She dropped her embracing limb and spread herself for him. He growled at the wispy blue garter on her thigh, licked and kissed her there, and compelled by her high keening, applied his mouth to virgin territory.
Holding her rump, he plied her until she came apart in his hands.
Only then did he shed his trousers and drawers, just enough to rise above her and take the plunge that made the beekeeper his countess forever and a day.
Man and wife, lord and lady, richer or poorer, they became one.
Twenty-seven
Satiated, eager to please Gerard as he had her, Iona clung to the muscled torso of her husband as he entered her. His lust and desire aroused her, but she also felt. . . his concern, like a warm loving blanket. She kissed his shoulders to let him know she wasn’t another one of his duties but cried out once he breached her barrier. He hesitated, although she sensed how difficult it was for him to halt.
Her husband. She was holding her husband. She’d never thought to have one. But for Gerard. . . She breathed deeply and raised her hips and took him in, as he needed.
It was painful. It was glorious. And in the end, his wild desire drove her to another shattering climax that left her breathless and spinning.
And in that moment, as he spilled his seed into her, Iona sensed his needs in the same way she understood her queen, sensed what he didn’t really understand himself—because he was a man and an Ives. She almost laughed into his broad shoulder. Instead, she kissed his salty skin anywhere she could reach.
He rolled over, removing his heavy weight. She curled against his side, fearing he’d hurt his shoulder. “I’ll be a very bad countess,” she whispered, not knowing if he heard. “But I’ll be the wife you need.”
His arm tightened around her, and they drifted off to sleep.
A kitten pouncing on their faces woke them in the early dawn.
Gerard growled and lifted the creature up in one hand. “Tell me I made a mistake gifting you with this creature, and it will go back to Phoebe by evening.”
Iona sat up and snatched the kitten from his hand. The sheet fell from her breasts, and her husband instantly took advantage. Cuddling the kitten, she lay back and covered herself again. “You did that on purpose.”
“Probably.” He eyed her with interest. His mussed hair and morning beard gave him a rakish look that had her heart thumping.
“What do we do now?” she whispered. “I had planned to run for Wystan before dawn.”
“It would be foolish to go to Wystan if you need to go to Balmoral. We’ll stay here until then. Do I need to take you into the city and buy you pretty gowns? Or maybe just pretty corsets?” He leered convincingly—giving her a lovely glimpse of the raw male behind his proper façade.
Remembering the golden nightgown he’d bought for her, she slid from the bed in search of it. The kitten insisted on exploring while she shimmied into the loveliest piece of lace-edged silk she’d ever known. “I should make this into an evening gown!” She caressed the sheer silkiness in wonder. “I’ve never owned anything like it.”
She held out the narrow skirt and spun around for him to admire.
Propped on one arm, Gerard regarded her dance with appreciation. “I would shower you with silk, if I could.”
Realizing she’d just cost him any chance at a wealthy wife, Iona plummeted off her foolish cloud. “I don’t need silk. Wystan needs
