“With Toby. After he survived his first lesson this morning with Marianne, he slept most of the day in any patch of sunlight he could find.”
“When I was a boy, there would be up to half a dozen cats sleeping with me at any one time. There are none now, since I spend so much time in London. Ozzy said it wasn’t fair to the cats, expecting to find me in my bed and the bed being empty and all. He said it put them off their feed.”
She laughed, a sweet, mellow sound. She was easing. Good. Finally.
“Shall I import some cats to sleep with us?”
The laugh fell off the cliff.
“There are occasionally fleas—mainly in the summer months. But that’s another thing a married couple can do together.”
“You mean pick fleas off each other?” She laughed again, only to stop abruptly when he opened the bedchamber door. It was to his room, not hers. He kicked the door closed behind him. He eased her down slowly, letting her feel every inch of him on the way.
“Now, my dear, we are going to think of you as a racing kitten. You are going to have your first lesson right now.”
“Is it an introduction to survival?”
He laughed, hugged her hard, and said, “The trainer’s survival, madam, not yours.”
20
SHE MOISTENED HER LIPS. “SHALL I FETCH MARIANNE?”
“Oh, no, it won’t be Marianne chasing you about the bedchamber. No one will be chasing an
yone, actually. It will be just me, teaching you to laugh and kick up your heels and groan when a wave of pleasure washes over you.”
She stared up at him as though he’d grown three heads.
“Let’s get you out of your clothes.” He didn’t bestow any kisses on her neck, her ears, her shoulders—no, he got that gown off her within a minute flat. He allowed her to keep her chemise on, but nothing else. He’d made a big mistake the night before, leaving her. He’d scared her, what with all his fine technique and overlong warm-up.
“Don’t move.” He was naked in under thirty seconds.
She gasped and backed away from him. He felt a stab of impatience. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew that his body was well formed, with not a patch of fat on it, and since he spent two days a week at Gentleman Jackson’s he knew he showed strength, but surely not enough muscle to scare her or disgust her. Nor was he overly hairy, like one of his friends who had hair curling on his back. “Come on now, Susannah, you’ve certainly seen a naked man before.”
“Well, no, actually,” she said, staring fixedly at his belly. “I haven’t. George always snuffed out the candles. I just felt him.”
“You’re jesting with me,” he said slowly, looking so utterly appalled that she was forced to laugh. But it was difficult, because he was naked, standing right in front of her, and he was eyeing her chemise like a hunter eyeing a pheasant.
“No, he never took off his clothes when the candles were lit. I didn’t realize, I hadn’t imagined—”
“It doesn’t matter. You are not to worry about it. Trust me on this, Susannah.”
Again, he didn’t hesitate. He got the chemise off her in a trice. Then he simply pulled her up tight against him. “Now,” he said. “Now. Forget everything that happened to you before right this instant. You’re my wife now. From now on, it’s just you and me.”
This way he had of feeling her, this way of letting her feel him—it was very intimate, yet all he was doing was simply holding her against him. It wasn’t bad, except for his sex pressing against her belly. George had hurt her. And surely he hadn’t been made like this. On the other hand, she really didn’t know.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she said in an air-thin voice while he was busy nuzzling her neck.
“Don’t be a ninny,” he said, raising his head. “It’s a wonderful idea.” He picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and dropped her in the middle. She landed sprawled on her back, her arms and legs wide.
“I like that. Don’t move.” He came down beside her, not touching her, just looking at her, starting with the top of her head, down to her toes. Then he turned to move the branch of candles closer.
She tried to draw away, but he grasped her arm, holding her still. “No, Susannah, no.” He didn’t turn into a wild man. He knew she expected that, curse George.
He looked down at her face, no other part of her, and she knew it. He kissed her then, a long, slow, deep kiss that lasted until she opened her mouth to him. “Well done,” he said in her mouth at the same moment that his hand cupped her breast. The weight of her breast, the heat of her flesh, it made his fingers tremble, made his hand jerk, very nearly made his teeth chatter and his jaw lock.
As for his bride, she nearly leapt off the bed.