Swallowing his impatience, he eased the boots off her dainty feet to reveal homespun stockings. “I’ll warrant ye’re a lass who ties her garters above the knees,” he teased, knowing it was true.
Clearly not remembering that he’d peeled off her wet stockings before, she nodded. The trust in her eyes roused the further interest of his tarse as his fingers danced up shapely legs and found the garters. He’d calmly performed his first major surgery with precision, but his heart raced and his hands felt clumsy as he pulled the ribbons free and peeled off her stockings. “I remember these pretty feet,” he told her.
He massaged her toes, then her ankles, then her calves, pushing up the hem of her gown as he went. He’d just glimpsed her thighs, hoping he wasn’t going too fast, when she asked, “What comes off next?”
Chuckling, he grasped her hands and helped her stand. “Impatient?”
“I have all kinds of wonderful sensations running rampant through my body,” she confessed, “and I want ye to see me naked.”
Torn between whether to strut around the room crowing like a rooster, or fall to his knees in humble thanksgiving, he eyed her gown. “What’s the secret to getting this off?”
Foreplay
Eala could scarcely believe she’d uttered such wanton words. Her father would be appalled. But her husband’s love had freed her from Rory Calhoun’s hypocritical censure. Her body thirsted to be one with Ambrose. “’Tis pinned in the back,” she replied. “The maid at the Bruces’ didna do it quite the same way as Phreine, but…”
“Phreine’s yer lady’s maid?” he asked as he embarked on unfastening the pins.
“I suppose ye could call her that. She used to serve my mother when she was alive. My father only let her stay on if she agreed to do other duties.”
“In other words, anything he required of her?”
“Aye, though I dinna believe he’d try to take advantage. Phreine would bloody his nose if he did.”
“Ta-da,” he exclaimed, peeling her gown off her shoulders. All thoughts of Phreine fled. Feeling unexpectedly shy, she clamped the garment to her breasts until the warmth of his kisses on her nape inspired her to let it fall. He took her hand and helped her step out of the pool of fabric.
She turned to face him, praying he would be pleased with what he saw. Her stays weren’t fashionable, her petticoat was plain and missing the bottom part Ambrose had cut off.
The fire in his gaze incinerated her worries as he traced the backs of his fingers across the swell of her breasts. “Beautiful,” he breathed.
For a long time, she’d been concerned her breasts had grown too big; now, she inhaled, scandalously hoping to expose her needy nipples to his view.
She’d always been ashamed to admit she wore front-lacing stays because Phreine wasn’t always available to do her up. But they proved to be a blessing—she could watch the intense concentration on Ambrose’s face while he slowly pulled the laces free of their eyelets, one by one.
* * *
Ambrose acknowledged it was ridiculous, but he was more nervous undressing Eala than he’d been sawing off Evan’s arm. He was confident in his abilities as a surgeon. Only time would tell if he was man enough to please the incredible woman he’d married.
When all the laces of her stays were undone, he paused, burning into his brain the first glimpse of the swell of her breasts emphasized by the feminine garment. He felt her intense gaze on his face and hoped she understood the gobsmacked admiration in his eyes.
His tarse saluted when he gently opened the corset to reveal her bounty. All that stood between him and his prize was the modest linen sark that did little to conceal nipples fighting to be free. She tilted her head to look up at the ceiling, showing off her long, slender neck. It suddenly occurred to him she’d been aptly christened. Feeling giddy, he lowered his mouth to suckle, first one then the other nipple through the fabric.
She moaned his name, sifting her fingers through his hair.
Suckling harder, he let the stays fall to the floor and got busy unfastening the silken ties of the padded roll around her waist. It, and the petticoat, soon joined the stays. As he helped her step out of the undergarment, he remembered cutting off the hem. He’d known then he wanted this woman. However, he didn’t linger on the memory because his eyes were drawn to the goddess standing before him, clad only in a sark.
His rock-hard manhood fought to be free of the confines of his breeches, so it came as a relief when Eala whispered, “Can I undress ye now?”
* * *
A thousand emotions swirled through Eala’s heart as she stood as still as she could under Ambrose’s intense gaze. For the first time in her life, she felt desired, wanted, beautiful, safe. It gave her courage. The urge to lift the sark over her head was powerful, but the room wasn’t overly warm and she preferred not to be shivering while she undressed her mate.
Clearly impatient, Ambrose sloughed off his frock coat and removed his cravat himself. When he started on the buttons of his waistcoat, she stayed his hand. “Let me,” she whispered, intending to prolong the task just as he had done when unlacing her corset.
He flared his nostrils as she slowly worked her way down the array of buttons. The elation of a new discovery surged. Teasing him was a thrilling aphrodisiac. “One more,” she announced, not surprised when he hurriedly removed the garment and flung it to the floor.
The linen shirt clung to his frame, emphasizing the muscles of his torso and arms, the breadth of his shoulders. Unwilling to remove it just yet, she bade him sit on the bed so she could kneel to unbuckle and take off his shoes. Gazing at his stockinged feet, she realized she had no idea how to get to the garters holding up the silk stockings. “I’m nay very good at this,” she confessed, noticing the room had heated considerably.
He took her hands and they both stood. “’Tis simple,” he rasped. “The breeches have to come off.”