The Seduction of His Wife (31 page)

“How very practical of you,” she said drolly.

“I think most might think me more frugal than practical, dear wife.”

“Have you never kept a mistress?” She sucked in her bottom lip. Did she really want to know the truth? Would he even give her the truth? “When I saw you in London, with that woman … I thought that was just how you spent your evenings.”

It made her sound jealous. And she was jealous of the other woman. It was a question pulled from deep within her heart. She needed to know, even if she didn’t like the answer she received. What would he make of it? Would he even give her an honest answer?

“No mistress,” he said simply.

*   *   *

She was thinking too hard. Richard didn’t want her thinking at all. He supposed he should be thankful that she’d welcomed him back into her bed. They still needed to discuss the procuring of her art, but that could be done later. Much later.

She had a lot of questions she wanted answered. He understood that. And tried to be patient, even though he was hard as a damn poker again. Instead of continuing their conversation, he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled the soft flesh into his mouth. Her hand came around and clasped his head.

His tongue curled around the pert, firm tip and sucked deeper. That had her back arching off the bed. Rolling her to her side, he hitched her leg over his hip so he could rub his cock between her slick folds, sliding it over her nub. God, he wanted inside her again. Wanted her to suck his cock so he could watch himself fuck her throat. Wanted to fuck her pretty titties, too. Good God, what had come over him?

It was too soon to ask for that. She’d probably faint dead away if he suggested such things.

Her fingers were tight in his hair, her thigh tight around his hip. What was it about her that made him act like a horny, insatiable youth? Rolling her to her back, he spread her thighs wide, reared back, and entered her tight sheath. He inched in slowly, loving the feel of her gripping and pulling him in with the flexing muscles of her core.

He looked at her glassy-eyed expression as he seated himself up to his cods. He kissed her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. Rotating at her core, making sure the lips of her sex spread farther open with the movement, he pressed his body tight against hers to stimulate her clitoris. His hands were tangled with hers above her head. He didn’t want to let go. It offered some strange intimacy, handholding during their lovemaking.

When had it become more than intercourse with his wife? And he was calling it lovemaking now? But his wife was different from any other woman he’d had. He was glad for that. Glad that coming home to his wife had made him feel like a whole man again. He’d been a monster for far too long.

Quite possibly, he was in love with his wife. That was something he would have to explore another time. Before he could make an ass of himself and utter any of those condemning words, he lowered his mouth to hers. Their tongues explored, twisted, and melded as he pounded into her body with renewed enthusiasm.

Emma’s breath mingled with his. His with hers. Her ankles were locked about his backside, and she arched against him. She broke from their kiss to let out a moan. Her sweet breasts squished between them. Their bodies were slick from their exertions, and the smell of sex was like an aphrodisiac perfuming the air.

Shaking off the hold he had on her hands, she pressed her fingers into his shoulders and held onto him tightly. Her pelvis thrust up with his every downward stroke. She screamed her release, her fingers biting into his flesh to keep him from going anywhere. Hell, he wasn’t going anywhere. Moving up on his knees, he grasped her hips and pounded into her body until he finally went over the edge with her. He jerked above her till the last drop of semen pumped out of his body.

He held her body arched off the bed, pressed his lips to her slick, salty skin, and licked a line all the way up her abdomen, between her ribs, stopping between her breasts. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling fast. No faster than his, he realized. Goddamn, he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave her body.

He managed not to collapse atop her and had enough sense to get them both under the sheets before they fell asleep. Pulling her up against his body, he threw an arm over her and held on to one of her breasts. His cock was half stiff where it pressed into her buttocks and lower back. He’d make love to her again later. Right now her breathing had petered off to a steady even rhythm.

He’d tired his wife out. The thought made his lips lift in a grin.

This silence was nice. He just wished he could stop thinking altogether and sleep next to her. What was this attraction he had to her? Did he plan to make her more permanent in his life? To give their marriage a real chance?

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. This was definitely a surprising outcome to his trip to the country.

There would be no divorce. He’d not give her up so she could find another man to spend her life with. He’d be the only damn man in her life once he scared the duke off for good and found the damn buyer of her paintings.

She’d have to get used to him being around. Or perhaps he could court her, as he’d never really done when they were young. Shower her with attention. Make her forget about ever wanting a divorce. He could be charming when he wanted to. And he did want to be just that. For her, anyway.

And once she was pregnant, there would be no escaping their marriage. Not for either of them.

Emma pressed back into his body, her heat and soft curves a welcome intrusion to his thoughts. This was how they were meant to spend their nights. He didn’t plan to sleep outside her bed again.

Smoothing back the curls from her forehead, he kissed her temple. She didn’t stir, so he didn’t pester her anymore despite the erection straining between her back and his stomach. A few hours’ sleep should be sufficient rest for her. Then he’d start their lovemaking all over again.

Chapter 20

If ever our paths cross again, what will you make of me?

“I wonder if I should leave ahead of you for London? Your sister’s plans have thrown a wrench in ours.”

Emma looked up from the sketch of Abby she’d been filling out. Her youngest sister had sat for her for an hour earlier in the day. Enough time for her to get down a rough outline so she could paint it later.

Richard had been reading a paper at his desk as she concentrated on her work.

“You’re so anxious to leave?”

The taste of bitter disappointment bled into her words. Her reaction had been very telling of how she felt about her husband deserting her. Did he know he owned her body and soul? That the slightest change in their arrangement—no matter how temporary—would destroy her? What a fool she was for allowing this attraction to bloom into something more for her.

He grinned like a cat that had caught and swallowed the canary on its first swipe. Yes, he knew she didn’t want him to leave her. Hadn’t everything she’d done and revealed over the weeks proven that?

He didn’t say anything for some minutes. Then he put down his paper, leaned back in his chair, and scrutinized her.

There was only the two of them in the library this afternoon. Grace had cried off with a headache, and Mr. Lioni was nowhere to be found. Emma was inclined to believe the two were together. Abby was in her room packing. There was no one to interrupt them, yet they were ten feet apart from each other.

“I didn’t mean it as though I were abandoning you.” Richard stood, straightening his vest as he walked over to her and sat beside her on the sofa. “We have an agreement that will take us to the end of September.”

Ah, yes. The agreement.

Too many weeks to become further entangled in her feelings with a man who had no intention of staying with her. Who had no intentions of falling so stupidly in love with her as she had with him. A very small part of her had hoped he might change his mind. That he would stay on with her for the rest of their days. What a foolish dreamer she was.

She pursed her lips as she wrapped her charcoals in a cloth. She could not concentrate on her drawing with her husband sitting so close to her.

“You’re having fun at me. It’s not kind.”

“But you’re rather adorable when you’re piqued.”

Richard rubbed the back of his knuckle over the gathered pleats on the short sleeve of her day dress.

She shivered with the contact. Her eyes closed briefly as she felt the warmth of him seeping through the fine material. What would happen if she revealed the depth of her feelings? Would he leave sooner? Would he stay on longer to humor her? Could he possibly return those feelings?

“It’s a great likeness of Abby,” he said. “Will you show her?”

Wiping her hands on her apron she’d donned to protect her dress, she leaned forward to set the sketchpad and charcoals down on the table. “Not till it’s painted. And you’ve changed the topic.”

“I merely redirected it.”

He took her hand in his, turning it over to study the dark stains from the charcoal.

“You seem flushed, Emma. Should I call for lemonade?”

She pulled her hand away and wiped it on her apron. So he knew what he did to her … how he made her feel whenever he touched her. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of an answer, she glared at him. The second he had taken a seat so close to her, she knew what he was about. What he wanted.

Damn her for wanting it, too.

“When we’re in Town, we should visit the music hall. Maybe do some shopping,” he said absently. As though going about Town with her was an everyday occurrence. “I have invitations to a few private dinner parties I’ve yet to accept. Would that please you, Emma?”

There was a great buzzing in her head. She swore her heart swelled so much in her chest that it would burst right through her breast. This reaction shouldn’t take her by surprise. He didn’t want to divorce her. He wanted to keep her happy long enough to get her pregnant—that much was obvious.

“That would be nice,” she finally muttered. More than nice, to be in his company for a few nights. Her eyes grew misty at the thought of him caring enough to show her around Town.

To distract him from that embarrassing fact, she mustered as much calm as she could and untied the apron she wore. She lifted it over her head. Taking her time to fold the apron, she set it on the chair beside her.

When she turned back to her husband, his right eyebrow was raised.

Words clogged in her throat with the emotion welling up in her. He wasn’t going to abandon her once they were in London.

She leaned in close and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a clumsy attempt and she pulled back just as quickly as she’d collided with his lips, but Richard’s hand was strong and firm on her back to keep her from moving too far away.

Leaning forward again, she took her time in meeting his lips. She splayed her hands over both sides of his smooth face, lingering with her lips over his, and closed her eyes. Pecking softly at first, then growing bolder by tasting first the top lip, then the lower with her own parted mouth. This was what she would miss most when he left. Kissing him. She loved everything about kissing him.

He broke away. “I see that you approve wholeheartedly of the plan.”

He reached around to lift her over his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs, her skirts fanned around them. His hands found their way beneath all the silk and lace, landing on her cotton-covered thigh.

“I should tease you more often if it gets you on my lap so easily. You’re a darling creature.”

One of his hands reached under her skirts and around to her bottom. He squeezed her left buttock before sliding his hand forward, closer to the vee of her body.

“The door isn’t locked,” she said. But she made no move to get off his lap. She really wanted to continue. So much so that she tilted back so his hand was closer to where she wanted him to rub her.

“We’re decently clothed.”

She gave a short laugh. They wouldn’t be decently clothed for much longer.

His fingers moved back and forth over the spot she needed touched between her thighs. There was no need to rouse her passions; they were already blazing inside her, the evidence of that wetting his fingers through the material of her pantalets.

What a wicked man her husband was.

Bearing down on his hand harder, she silently demanded more from him. Truly vixenish behavior, if she did say so herself. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do. You’ve scandalized me.”

“Hardly, Emma. You still hold back.”

She sat down on his hand, stopping the sweet caress that was driving her to distraction. She ran her forefinger over his parted mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her upper lip. She wanted to taste him.

His tongue shot out to taste, then suck her finger into his mouth.

“You make me want to be very wicked, Richard. Make me want to do and say such naughty things.”

His hand moved closer to its goal even though she was crushing his hand. He still managed to slip his finger through the slit of her drawers and into her pulsing sheath.

His head dropped back to the sofa, his eyes closed on a groan. “Always so damn wet. I want to suck all the cream from you and then fuck you senseless.”

He pressed his finger deeper inside her. Pulling one of his hands out from under her skirts, he massaged and kneaded her breast.

“No boning in your stays today.” He squeezed a little tighter around her breast since there was less to impede his searching hand.

Instead of the soreness she’d felt on waking this morning, her breasts felt swollen with need.

“I was tender from everything we did last night.”

She couldn’t say aloud that her breasts were suffering so sweetly from his overfondling. Was such a thing even possible? It must be. Not that fondling was the only thing he’d done to them, and to the rest of her.

“I’ll be gentler.” He kissed the exposed part of her bosom. “I’m going to unbutton your bodice. I want to see more. Need to.”

Emma looked over the edge of the rose-chintz sofa to the door. It was closed, but did have a habit of creaking whenever it was opened. Still, she wasn’t sure she could be so scandalous as to allow him to do such a thing, in the middle of the day and in so public a room.