Chapter Thirteen
Nash knocked lightly on Arabella’s bedchamber door. He’d given her enough time to bathe and prepare herself. He was looking forward to a night spent in his wife’s bed with her naked curves plastered against him in sleep.
Today had been particularly satisfying, despite Arabella’s faux pas with the animals at Blossom’s farm. He shook his head, considering how her behavior would have been viewed had a member of Polite Society been present. On the other hand, Blossom and his wife had been grateful for her assistance and had not seemed to think any less of her for her actions.
Otherwise, she’d made an excellent impression on his tenants, and the staff already turned to her for instructions, which removed a great deal of burdensome decisions from his shoulders.
Thinking of his tenants raised his ire again at the condition of his finances. He’d learned from one of his tenants that his steward, Edward Jones, had not been around to collect the rents for some time. It seemed his son, Randall Jones, had been collecting them on his father’s behalf. Randall had told the tenants that his father was ill and he was helping. A trip to the Jones cottage had shown it locked up tight.
He pushed all of that aside at Arabella’s response and opened the door. She stood there, all pink and glowing from her bath, in a thin cotton nightgown, her curves visible through the candlelight. The gown’s bodice was low enough that the creamy mounds of her breasts rose and fell as she took in breaths. Her hair had been brushed to a gleaming mass of locks draped over her shoulders. She smiled softly at him. He continued his perusal of her body then glanced down at her hands.
She held a furry scrap of some sort of animal in her clutches. Blood dripped onto her pristine white night gown. And the rug. And the counterpane. And her tiny toes peeking out from under the gown.
“What the devil is that, Arabella?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but one of the maids just brought him to me. He’s been injured and needs my attention.”
“I need your attention. We are not going to perform surgery again. I will ring for a footman who will take that—animal—to the kitchen and have Cook serve it up for breakfast.”
She gasped and clutched the animal to her chest, then swung around, her back facing him, protecting the creature. “No. He is only a little kitten. We can’t eat him for breakfast!”
“I insist. Well, not about eating the thing since I don’t fancy kitten stew, but you will have a footman take it to the kitchen and have one of the maids clean it up.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “That is my final word on this, Arabella.” He walked to the bell rope and tugged.
She continued to pet and murmur to the kitten about the mean man while they waited. Ordinarily her soothing way with the kitten would have blood pumping to his groin, imagining her stroking him instead of the animal. However, the sight of all that blood and the animal’s wails hindered any lustful thoughts.
A footman arrived, his eyebrows reaching his hairline when Nash had Arabella place the kitten in his hands. “Please see that one of the maids attends the kitten.”
“Yes, my lord.” He swallowed a few times. “And then what would you like us to do with it?”
Arabella shook her head furiously. No, he wouldn’t tell the man to have it cooked up. “Just find a basket or something for it to sleep in for the night.” He glanced over at Arabella. “And please have another bath sent up for her ladyship.”
Nash sipped on a glass of brandy in his room, trying very hard not to listen to Arabella in her bath. So far, he had not succeeded. He would read a few lines, then picture her naked body in the warm, scented water, beaded liquid sliding ever so slowly over her flushed skin.
He slammed the book shut, tossed down the rest of his drink and decided she’d had long enough to wash off a bit of blood. Determined to hurry her up even if she were still bathing, he strode across the room and entered her bedchamber, coming to an abrupt stop.
She faced away from him and apparently hadn’t heard him enter. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with strands of damp curls falling down the back of her neck. The creamy skin of her shoulders rose about the rim of the tub, urging him to place his lips there and taste the dampness of her flesh. She hummed softly, stroking her skin with a cloth.
He moved to the bathtub and knelt behind her. Her body stilled as he gave in to his urge and kissed her gently on her neck. She regarded him over her shoulder. “My lord? I am not finished.”
“I know.” He reached out and took the cloth from her hand and rubbed it with the lavender and lemon scented soap floating in the water. Pushing up his sleeves, he dipped the cloth into the water and smoothed it over her breasts. Her nipples immediately tightened and drew into two pouting beads. Her welcoming moan spurred him further, to nibble on her ear and lick the soft shell.
Arabella tilted her head to one side, and he dropped the cloth and used his fingertips to stroke her nipples before cupping them in his hands, kneading the flesh, feeling their weight. “Open your legs,” he whispered. She did as he commanded, her bent knees resting against the sides of the tub.
A whispered “yes” escaped her lips as his fingers slid between her ebony curls, caressing, stroking, petting, much as she had cooed at the kitten. “Do you grow cold, sweetheart? The water is no longer warm.”
When she turned her head to answer, he took her lips in a deep kiss, his fingers still fondling her intimate parts. His thumb circled and pressed against the jutting flesh that would bring her pleasure and eventually cause her to break apart in his arms.
Arabella whimpered when he withdrew his hands from the water. He moved to the chair next to the wall and scooped up a drying cloth Sophia had left there. “Stand,” he said, his voice raspy as he returned to the tub.
Her eyes grew wide. “Stand?”
“Yes.” He barely got the word out, his body so filled with lust he didn’t think he could manage a complete sentence.
Like a nymph rising from the sea, Arabella stood, water dripping off every curve, running down her legs, beading on her nipples. He sucked in a breath, holding the cloth, but did not wrap her in it, his eyes feasting on the sight. “You are stunningly beautiful.” The finest paintings in the Louvre did not compare to the beauty of this flesh and blood woman with curves and dips to tempt the most stalwart of saints.
Her soft laughter had his blood racing right to his cock. Before she could cover her luscious body, he extended his hand to help her out of the tub. Her flesh was pink from the bath, her dampened skin glowing. She took his hand, staring at him the entire time, her eyes never leaving his. Her breathing increased, her sweet breasts rising and falling, a sure sign she was affected by him watching her.
Gently, he dried her soft skin, taking his time, stopping at different points to caress, stroke, and fondle. She stood like a statue until he dropped the cloth and took her hands, placing them on his shoulders. He leaned in, the soft scent of her breath bathing his face. “I want you so much, my entire body aches.”
“As does mine.” She cast a siren’s smile and wrapping her hands around his head, drew him closer, kissing him softly, until he could no longer stand the gentleness of her kiss. Pulling her flush against his body, he covered her mouth with his, nudging her lips until she opened, then swept his tongue in, loving the taste of tea and mint on her breath.
An overwhelming sense of possession flooded him, almost bringing him to his knees.
Mine. Only mine.
Never in his life, with any of the voluptuous and skilled mistresses and courtesans he’d slept with, had he felt this sense of the right woman being in his arms. She fit him like a well-made leather glove. Her soft curves melted into his hard planes. He loved her silky skin, the scent that came from her hair, the mewing sounds she made when he touched her intimately. When he looked into her eyes, he felt as though he were drowning.
Her innocent, but enthusiastic, response to his touches fired his blood. Nash scooped Arabella up, striding to the bed where he laid her gently and after shrugging out of his banyan, brought his body down on top of hers.
His hand stroked her from her slender shoulders to the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. His fingers nudged her until she opened her legs wider. A low moan rose from her lips when his fingers delved into her moistness and warmth, circling, rubbing. “Do you like that, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” She drew the word out until it became a moan. Nash’s lips covered the nipple on her plump breast and suckled, pulling and tugging until Arabella began thrashing her head back and forth, her breath coming in gasps. “Please, Nash. Please. Do something.”
“What do you want, sweeting?” he whispered in her ear, his fingers busy at the entrance to her body, pushing in and out, stroking the swollen, damp part of her that would give her the pleasure every woman deserved. He gazed down at her face. She bit her lower lip, frowning in concentration as she attempted to reach the pinnacle he knew she longed for. That only he would ever give her.
“I want this agony to stop. I want…”
“I know what you want, my love. And I shall give it to you. Just relax, do not try so hard. When you fall, I will be here to catch you.” He kissed her closed eyes, her nose, jaw, then moved down to suckle on her breast once more. When she continued to strain, he moved farther down, kissing her flushed skin, covering her belly with feather kisses and slight nips. Placing his hands under her buttocks, he lifted and placed his mouth where his fingers had been and stroked her moist opening with his tongue.
Honey. She tasted like honey, and he could not get enough.
“Yes, yes. That.” Her breathing increased, and she fisted the sheets, calling his name over and over. Keeping his mouth busy, he looked up her thrashing body as a slight smile began on her lips, and then she stiffened, and a low keening erupted from deep inside as her body shuddered. He continued his ministrations until she collapsed, struggling to draw in breath.
As he watched her, something inside of him shifted. Something he did not want to identify. Instead, he kissed his way up her replete body and braced on his elbows, leaned over her, and looked into her hazel eyes.
All his past lovers had been merely practice for this one. This woman, in this time and place. He was home.
…
Arabella tried desperately to drag air into her lungs, but her chest heaved as though she’d run a race. She opened her eyes to see Nash staring at her, a definite look of male satisfaction on his face.
His warm lips covered hers, almost with violence, and she tentatively reached out for his jutting manhood. Would he be shocked and dismayed at her forwardness if she touched him? Would he tell her that was not what a countess did? He had seemed to enjoy her attentions there the last time they’d made love.
Her palm slid over his chest, tugging lightly on the soft curls that ran down the center to gather around the area she most wanted to explore. She continued on until she reached his hardened shaft. Nash sucked in a breath as her fingertips touched the incredibly soft skin covering steel. “Do you not want me to touch you there? I did the last time, but I don’t want to shock you.”
He smiled and held firmly onto her hand. “Do not be concerned with shocking me, darling. Anything we do here in our bed is fine as long as we both agree. And, yes, I definitely want you to touch me there.”
The grimace on his face as she slowly moved her hand over the oddly shaped member, and then encircled it with her fingers, made her think he felt pain. “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?”
A groan was his only answer before he took her face in his two hands and devoured her mouth. He nudged her lips and his tongue slid in, tangling with hers, then sweeping over the inside of her mouth. The tingling that she’d felt before started up again, and her breathing once more increased.
“That’s it, darling, keep doing just that.”
The words he’d uttered were endearing, names he rarely used. Perhaps men had to be in the throes of passion before they spoke such tender words. How many women had Nash called darling, sweetheart, or sweeting? A depressing thought she shoved from her mind.
Her fingers slid into his thick curls, tugging his mouth once again to hers. She could not get enough of his skilled kisses. His hard body that pressed against hers still didn’t seem close enough. She felt as though she wanted to burrow into him, become part of him.
“Sweetheart, I can’t keep holding off. I’m sorry.” He pulled back, then spread her legs with his knee, settling his muscular body between them. He continued his kisses and squeezing and molding her breasts. Slowly, the hardened part of him nudged at her center, and he moved into her, pulling out, then moving back in. It didn’t hurt as much as it had the first time, just a feeling of fullness.
“Oh God, you feel wonderful. So tight, so warm and moist.”
By the look on his face, that was either the worst thing in the world, or the best. He fully entered her, so their bodies touched, then he began moving. The rhythm grew from enjoyable to once again frantic as she shifted so the part of her that needed attention could rub against his manhood.
Nash leaned down to mumble in her ear, “Yes, keep moving like that. I love the feel of you underneath me. Your softness against my hardness.”
Although she needed no encouragement, his words spurred her on, making her feel as though she were a wanton. A woman who enjoyed her husband’s attentions, unlike what Mother had told her. “Doing one’s duty” was just that, a duty. Yet this was certainly no duty. This was wonderful.
As she moved, the warm feelings once again started to build as Nash thrust into her, again taking her breath away.
She sighed with delight, then licked his flat nipple, causing him to suck in a deep breath through his teeth.
He grabbed her hands and pulled them over her head. Holding them both with one large hand, he used the other one to massage her breast, tweak her nipple, his hips moving in rhythm. The roughness of his palm over the softness of her skin abraded her nipples, causing heaviness in her breasts and more moisture to gather between her legs.
“You make me crazy, Arabella,” Nash whispered in her ear. “You are so warm, so soft. I can’t get enough of you.”
His muscled body, and the grip he had on her hands, anchoring her to the bed, excited her like nothing he’d done before. She looked up at him, and he stared at her, his blue eyes almost black. Blond curls fell over his forehead, urging her to brush them back, but he still held her hands.
She wanted so badly to touch him, but he held firm as he bent his head and took her mouth in a kiss that demanded her surrender. He nudged at her lips, and his tongue swept in. They tangled together, her desire to feel that wonderful sensation again rising with each stroke of his tongue.
“Oh God, sweetheart, I can’t wait any longer.” His voice was hoarse, raspy. Just as that delightful feeling started to wash over her, Nash threw his head back and shoved one last time. Warm liquid flooded her insides, but she barely noticed since she was again riding a wave of her own pleasure.
Nash collapsed on top of her, having as much trouble breathing as she was. After a few minutes of them both gasping for breath, he brushed back the damp curls from her forehead and kissed the spot he uncovered. “I hope I did not hurt you.”
“No.” She shook her head, her voice barely audible as she attempted to catch her breath.
“Good. I am afraid I was a tad eager from staying away from you, so you could sufficiently recover from your fatigue.”
Nash rolled off her and pulled her to his side. They lay together, both of them regaining their breath. The silence was comforting until she began to feel chilly. When she shivered, Nash reached down and pulled the counterpane over them, pulling her even closer against him to share his incredible warmth. He seemed to be settling in for the night.
Almost as if he’d read her mind, he said, “I had always planned to share a bed with my wife.” He looked down at her. “Do you object to that?”
Another surprise. Although he’d slept with her in the short time they’d been married, she’d assumed it was because of her illness. Had she given it thought, it would have surprised her that he wanted her by his side all night. Typical ton married couples had separate bedchambers. And beds. Indeed, the thought of curling up against Nash’s warm body in the cold nights of winter sounded appealing.
“No.” She shook her head. “I do not object at all.”
He kissed her forehead again. “Good.” His fingers drew lazy circles on her arm.
Weariness settled into her bones. “I believe I would like to sleep now. It has been a long day.” She stifled a yawn and boldly kissed him on the lips and turned her back to him, snuggling into the covers.
A strong arm came around her waist and pulled her to his body. She rather liked having him next to her in bed. She wiggled her bottom a bit to settle against him, and he moaned.
She looked over her shoulder. “Does that hurt?”
“No, Arabella. Just go to sleep.”