“I’ll also need a new outfit for a special occasion,” Griff told him.
“Oh?” the tailor asked, eyebrows raised.
“A wedding,” Griff explained, winking at Susan.
“He’s prolonging the suspense, Mr. Carr,” she said. “The earl and I are to be married.”
The genuine delight that blossomed on Carr’s face was heartwarming. He shook Griff’s hand. “May I congratulate you both. Splendid news. Now, let’s get you measured, my lord. If I may suggest…”
He paused, frowning when Susan followed the men through a green velvet curtain into the fitting room area behind the shop. “Er…you might be more comfortable on the chaise, my lady,” he said, gesturing to the couch in the shop designed for ladies to wait for their gentlemen.
“I’m perfectly at ease with my fiancée observing the proceedings,” Griff told him. “She’ll no doubt have input into your suggestions.”
Apparently realizing there was little to be gained in objecting, Carr indicated a plush sofa in the fitting room and slid his tape measure from around his neck.
Susan sat and arranged her gray silk skirts, looking forward immensely to her first experience of watching a man being measured for new clothing.
*
Griff had beenmeasured for new clothing time without number. It was usually a tedious experience, but then he’d never undergone the process with a woman watching.
Susan’s avid perusal and endearing blushes—especially when the efficient tailor took measurements of his inside leg—turned the mundane into the erotic. If Mr. Carr noticed the swelling at Griff’s groin—and how could he not—he carried on in his usual businesslike manner.
Watching Susan squirm in her seat, Griff was seized by a lunatic notion to unbutton the front flap of his breeches, take out his throbbing lance and let her look her fill. “This is for you,” he’d whisper.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Carr asked, dragging Griff’s errant thoughts back to earth.
He cleared his throat. “Just musing aloud.”
The arousing notion of Susan finally setting eyes on the most intimate part of his body persisted as final arrangements were made with the tailor. Perhaps in the carriage on the way back to Thicketford Manor?
Upon leaving the shop, he was relieved to see Frederick had brought the carriage around to the door. Susan seemed as anxious to board as he was. They were locked in an embrace and kissing passionately before Frederick had climbed back into the driver’s seat.
*
Susan had neverbehaved so recklessly in her life, but then she’d never been in love before. A little voice in the back of her mind insisted she was behaving like an animal as she shoved Griff’s frock coat off his shoulders, tore at his cravat and pawed his chest, all the while suckling his tongue as if her life depended on it.
His growl led her to believe he liked her aggression. He cupped her breast with one hand and hiked her skirts up to her hips with the other. When his talented fingers played with her needy nubbin, it seemed the next logical step to reach for the buttons at the front of his breeches.
With their lips still locked together, he helped her unfasten the flap and guided her hand inside his smalls. Curling her fingers around his silky hardness nigh on moved her to tears. She recognized her first touch of intimate male flesh as the most meaningful experience she’d ever had. “Griff,” she murmured into his mouth.
“Susan,” he rasped in reply.
Lost in a haze of one rapturous release after another, she vaguely worried his groans meant she was squeezing too hard. As the carriage entered Thicketford’s gates then passed the main house, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Your touch inflames me,” he panted. “We’ll have to hurry if I’m to make it to the bedroom.”
Her initial instinct was to suggest they remain in the carriage and continue to bring each other pleasure, but Jenkinson’s face rose in her mind’s eye. “I’ll follow you to your chamber,” she whispered, reordering her clothing as he refastened his breeches.
“I’m afraid your cravat is a lost cause,” she said with a chuckle.
With a mock sigh, he removed it, exposing the tempting flesh of a strong neck she wanted to nibble. “I suggest you hold it to your breasts,” he said with a naughty grin, “otherwise your butler might wonder about the damp circles around your nipples.”
She looked down hastily, tempted to laugh, but Frederick had opened the door and was taking down the step.
She accepted the footman’s hand to alight, very aware of Griff behind her. She flounced past Jenkinson in the doorway of the dower house as if she hadn’t been engaged in scandalous behavior. Hopefully, Rebecca was nowhere about.
If her butler found it curious she clutched a cravat to her bosom, he showed no sign of it.
Struggling for Control