His hands trembled a little as he lifted her gown. She had lovely, slender legs, and his heart raced as he moved the garment higher. The spanking last year had only revealed so much, and he devoured her with his eyes now.
Her gently curved back was a work of art, long and delicately muscled, no doubt from her recent years of service. Matilda was exquisite, beyond anything he’d imagined. He glanced at her face to convey his appreciation but discovered she’d closed her eyes. A pity she could not revel in their first truly intimate moment together as he was doing.
Her skin was golden, even beneath her clothing where he’d imagined her paler. The shade hinted at foreign ancestry he couldn’t place. Her breasts were small and tipped with plum-colored nipples. Her waist was tiny and flared to generous hips, and at the apex of her thighs a nest of dark curls covered her sex. Her bottom, as he remembered fondly, was round and full. Perfect for his hand.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Her lashes fluttered and she met his gaze. “My mother?”
He smiled as her cheeks reddened with a blush. She blushed so frequently around him that he often wondered at the direction of her thoughts. Was she wicked of thought under her proper facade? “You’ve only spoken of your father and his career.”
“I, um.” Her long lashes fluttered again, not a coquettish flirtation but actual distress. Her hands twitched to cover her breasts and lower.
“Don’t do that.” William gently returned her hands to her sides. “Please continue.”
“I never knew her. She died when I was very young.”
“So did mine. I was barely six years old when Mama passed away. I remember her hands were gentle, but no more than that.” When Matilda failed to share her own confidences about her mother after a lengthy interval of silence, he concluded her late mother was something of a delicate subject or utterly unknown to her. He let the matter drop, not wishing to spoil the morning with unpleasant remembrances. She would speak of her mother eventually if she knew anything at all about the woman.
He circled behind her as she shivered. “You are so beautiful.”
There was a very long pause before she found her voice. “Thank you.”
He smacked her left buttock once, gratified by her shocked gasp. His fingertips tingled from where they’d touched her, and he rubbed them together, savoring the sensation. “Next time, don’t hesitate to answer me.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He took a stance behind her, admiring the slight reddening of her skin from his slap. “Three more for not using my given name in private as I have asked you to do,” he whispered.
Matilda gasped each time he flicked his hand out to administer a gentle discipline appropriate for her lapse, but only swayed a little. Four was enough to begin a day with. Too many and she might be overcome with fear as she had been on their wedding night when he’d suggested she share his bed. He needed her to understand that her virtue was safe with him and punishments were not lasting.
William moved to the chaise where he’d been sleeping this past week and lifted a fine and very sheer chemise that he’d chosen from the Cabot’s Haberdashery shelves. He carefully slid the garment over Matilda’s head, lifting her hair out of the way gently, and then found a cotton-and-whalebone corset to bind around her chest. He tightened the laces firmly, then had her sit on the edge of the chaise. She bounced up a little as the firm surface pressed against her tender bottom.
He knelt at her feet to hide his grin, covered her slender legs with new stockings, and tied the ruby-red garter ribbons beneath each knee briskly. When he was done, Matilda swiftly brought her knees together before he could glimpse more than the top of her thighs.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little.”
He gestured to the table. “Then sit and pour tea for us both please.”
Matilda fled across the room to where a table had been set for them earlier, and while she poured, William toasted bread. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you. And you?”
He sighed. “The chaise is too short.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He turned while the bread finished toasting and admired his wife’s proportions for a long while. Exquisite, but out-of-bounds. A pity. He carried the first slice to her plate when it was ready, then returned to toast another for himself. “Keeping your virtue intact was my idea, hence the separate sleeping arrangements.”
Matilda frowned as she tugged the sheer chemise a little farther down her legs. “I appreciate that.”
“But we cannot be strangers,” he said as he lifted his gaze slowly up her body. Her corset-bound breasts practically spilled out of the garments. He grew heated as he recalled what lay beneath. “For better or worse, you are my wife, and I can only sleep on that chaise so often before a servant catches me there.”
A deep frown line appeared on her brow. “I would not like to be gossiped about any more than we already are. I could easily return to the chamber upstairs.”
“No. I don’t care for the separation,” he said quickly.