Beatrice wriggled closer to his side until they practically breathed from the same lungs and murmured, “I would not have it any other way, my husband. Except, perhaps, I should have liked to paint you while you swam in the Saumons’ lake that morning – it would have made for a fine thing to hang above our fireplace.”
Anthony chuckled, reveling in his bride’s unashamed sensuality and discovery of crass jokes, many of which he told her himself. “If only your past self could hear you now, my love,” he said. “I daresay that quiet, stubborn girl I met months ago would blush bright red to listen to you speak this way.”
She sat up then, Anthony’s sheets pooling at her waist, and playfully declared, “You are too sure of yourself, Sir. I still want all the same things I did then – now I just know how to get them.”
That exclamation made Anthony grin up at her before his eyes trailed down her exposed chest. “You had a great teacher, did you not, Beatrice?” he teased, reaching up to caress the flesh she so willingly offered him. “But then again, I suppose the eagerness of the student is half the battle.”
With languid movements, Beatrice smirked and lowered herself into Anthony’s lap. “May I show you everything I have learned, my love?” she asked, eyes twinkling with the same fire Anthony saw in the library on the first night of their acquaintance as her bed-mussed curls framed her face angelically.
Anthony reached up to tangle his fingers in her chestnut-brown tresses and smiled. “I would desire nothing more,Mrs. Grayson.”
The End?
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
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PREVIEW: ON THE WAY TO THE DUKE’S WEDDING
CHAPTERONE
“All right, Ladies,” Margaret Olsen, the Dowager Duchess of Braxton commanded, “On the count of three, I want you to tug as if your lives depended on it.”
“I don’t know about this, Your Grace,” Leticia demurred, glancing at her own reflection in the looking glass. She was standing opposite her Aunt Amelia Hudson, the Countess of Pearl. Both she and her aunt were holding the cords attached to the Dowager’s corset.
“Be bold, Lady Leticia,” the Dowager declared, bracing both hands on the bedpost to steady her position. Her high elegant cheekbones became even more pronounced as she clenched her teeth together and murmured, “You must do this.”
“I am not sure it is necessary,” Leticia replied, glancing over her shoulder at the gown that lay carefully spread across the bed. It was made of a soft, shimmering pink fabric that would highlight the brightness in the Dowager’s cheeks, but as it was made in the currently fashionable style, the gown would cinch right underneath the bosom and fall into a long column shape toward the ground. “I don’t think anyone will even be able to see your womanly form as it will be hidden underneath the dress.”
The Dowager rolled her eyes heavenward and gave Leticia an agonized look in the mirror. “Just do it, Girl.”
“But…” Leticia said slowly, stalling for time the best she could, “why don’t we ring the bell for your lady’s maid…Mrs. Hubbard? She’s probably much better at this than Aunt Amelia and me.”
“We could wait for Mrs. Hubbard,” the Dowager said with an almost mischievous gleam in her light-blue eyes, “but if we delay much longer, I won’t make it in time for the festivities today.”
Leticia snorted. “A whole weekend of festivities awaits. I can’t see how being late for one of the events will make any real difference.”
“Leticia,” Aunt Amelia scolded lightly, “try to be helpful, please. Her Grace needs our help. It is our duty to assist the Mother of the Groom in any way possible.”
“But to what lengths? Must we crack one of her ribs?” Leticia groaned, thinking of how, with the pair of them tugging on the stays, this situation could end very badly.
“Nonsense,” the Dowager replied haughtily. “I trust you both to do this. And furthermore, I am a Braxton…we never show weakness.”
A small laugh flew out of Leticia’s mouth before she could catch herself. “Well…yes,” she giggled. “I suppose you are a rather stalwart bunch.” She thought fleetingly of Richard, the Dowager’s son, who was set to be married in just three days’ time. She’d known Richard since her earliest days when she was still in leading strings, and she was forced to chase him and her older cousin, Harry, around the Estate. It seemed odd that someone so proper and austere as Richard, the Duke of Braxton, had made a match with the young and vivacious Miss Laura Loery. But who was Leticia to know one love affair from the next? She’d never even had a beau of her own, and if she was permitted to live as she chose, she wouldn’t become any man’s wife or property—ever.
“Indeed,” the Dowager said, giving her hips and shoulders a little shimmy. “Now, pick up that cord, dear girl. Amelia, use all your strength, and here we go…one…two—”
Aunt Amelia gave a mighty grunt and even though Leticia had been planning to take it easy on the Dowager, she also gave a forceful pull, not wanting the corset to sit lopsided. The Dowager gasped, and as she did, balloon-like, both breasts lifted and sat heavily, just as she’d intended. Leticia eyed the effects of their efforts in the mirror.
Perhaps, Her Grace is overdoing it.
She looked more like one of the young ladies already wandering about the grounds, seeking out their own future husbands, rather than the sixty-year-old Mother of the Groom. But Leticia held her tongue. It was not her place to say such things to the Dowager, and even though she knew Richard and his mother well, it still felt unacceptable to mention her thoughts on the matter.