He twitched inside his still-laced breeches as he longed to have her there and then, but he forced himself to take his time, and provide both of them the enjoyment they so deserved after a tortuous time apart.

He kissed her, hard, as his fingers found the back of her dress and began to undo the laces keeping her covered. Once he felt the open back, he pushed himself up from her, and deftly slipped her white muslin dress off her shoulders, easing it down her body and throwing it off the bed, where it came to rest in a white cloud on the floor. He then took one slim ankle in his hands, undoing her stockings from her garter, and slowly inching them down her leg, trailing his fingers in a path as he bared the soft skin of her calves.  Tackling her petticoats next, he began to become impatient, practically ripping them off. Thanking the heavens she wore no drawers today, he undid her stays, and finally found the body he sought as he rid her of her chemise.

When she was free of the garments after what seemed like hours, he gave her a wolfish grin. “You were amazed by a man who preferred his woman wearing breeches,” he said. “I can tell you, it’s a hell of a lot easier to pull off your breeches and linen shirt than this array of frillery.”

She laughed as well, until she noted the very serious, very determined look that came over his face. His eyes roved over her body, from the blonde hair piled on her head down the soft alabaster skin of her torso. He took in the swell of her generous breasts, the small waist, and the curves of her hips. His gaze traveled all the way down to the tips of her toes, before rising to meet her eyes once again. They were heavy with a passion that matched his own, fueling the flame within him.

“You are exquisite,” he breathed. “I am a lucky, lucky man.”

“I will ensure you do not forget it, darling,” she said with a grin, then, no longer content with simply lying there waiting for him, she sat up and reached out, first teasing her fingers along his lower stomach, then finally untying his laces and freeing him as she looked up into his eyes.

They had shared a bed as husband and wife many times over the weeks they had been married, but nothing could compare to the desire he now felt for her. It was as if he needed to physically show her the love he felt for her, the love he now recognized.

She lightly ran her fingers over his manhood, and he groaned, leaning over and placing his hands behind her on the bed as she grasped him with longer strokes. He knew he would not last long if she continued, and he wanted to make this time different. Reaching up, he took her hands and interlaced her fingers with his own, stretching them out behind her head. He boosted her up on the bed and let his eyes rove down to the swell of her breasts yet again, the pink tips straining up towards him. Still holding her wrists with one hand, his other reached down to tweak her nipple, while his lips found the other side, tasting her with the velvet of his tongue.

She moaned, and he moved reflexively into her, but he stilled himself for the moment, despite the way her hips rolled up toward him instinctively. He let go of her hands as he suckled her other breast between his lips, and her fingers came down to grasp his head as she pitched her body up toward him, practically coming off the bed. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, as he knew she would be soft, wet, waiting for him. But instead, he reached up to cup both breasts as he slid his lips down her stomach, trailing kisses down her smooth abdomen, circling her navel with his tongue.

He reached her mound, and he found the bud of her center with his thumb, circling it for a moment until replacing it with his tongue. She gasped as he licked at her, tasting the sweetness of her. She whimpered, and he slid a finger inside her silky wet folds. His circling tongue turned more persistent, and she dug her fingers hard into his shoulders. She cried out then, clutching him with her hands and pulling him tightly towards her. His vision seemed to blur as the wanting for her overcame all else, and he rose above her, taking in the red glow of her cheeks and the sheen of her eyes. She lifted up towards him, inviting him in.

He could no longer resist, and as his fingers dug into her backside he sheathed himself inside of her heat. She cried out, and he slid in and out with abandon. She matched him stroke for stroke, and he enjoyed nothing more than seeing the pleasure cross her face, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Olivia,” he panted, burying his head in her shoulder. “Oh Olivia, how I love you.”

And with that, he exploded into her, crying out himself as she clutched at him.

Finally, when they both could manage to speak again, she rested her head on the glow of his chest, and whispered softly, “I love you too, Alastair.”

* * *

An hour had never passed so swiftly. Alastair had made love to her many times before, but never like this. He had always ensured her enjoyment, her release, but today it was as if he could not get enough of her. Even as they lay together in the afterglow of their lovemaking, he continued to run his hands over her, kneading tension from her shoulders, running his fingers through the long tresses of her hair. It seemed but minutes later when Olivia heard a scratch at the door. “Duchess? Are you ready for me?” came the call.

“Another moment, Molly!” Olivia called, as Alastair slid her back towards him so that she was completely tucked into him, his body curled around hers.

“Only a moment?” he asked as his fingers burned a trail up her stomach and side to cup her breast.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, but recalled his mother and sister awaiting them downstairs and sighed. As much as she would have reveled in repeating their encounter, she grasped his fingers in hers and turned to face him.

“For now,” she said with a smile. “What do you say we go out tonight? To reminisce on our first days together?”

“That sounds splendid,” he replied, winking at her as he asked,  “Lady Atwood’s?”

“I think that would be appropriate,” she said. “This time, however, I believe I am content to go as Olivia Finchley, Duchess of Breckenridge. I am a married woman now, accompanied by my husband. It may cause a stir, but I do not believe it shall be overly scandalous.”

He nodded but added, “Of course you know how much I enjoy Olivia Finchley. Although Mrs. Harris is rather delightful, and she is an excellent whist player, I must have you know. I believe I somewhat miss her.”

“Perhaps she will make an appearance in your bedroom tonight,” Olivia said, looking up at him coyly.

“She can appear all she likes,” he replied. “I shall only have one woman in my bed however, and that woman is my wife.”

“Oh?” she looked up at him with a pout on her lips. “And what is so special about her?”

“A man cannot look at any other woman when he has found his true love,” Alastair responded, his eyes boring into hers in a way that made her heart beat furiously. “A woman who not only puts his interests before hers, but who makes his life more interesting than he ever thought possible.”

She smiled. “Would that be a compliment, husband? In my experience, many men do not enjoy ‘interesting’ women.”

“Well, then, it is fortunate you found a man that not only enjoys the interesting, but rejoices in it,” he said. “One thing is for certain. Life with you will never be dull, which was what I always feared of marriage. What I have come to learn, however, is that it is not marriage itself that becomes a bore, but rather how incredibly important it is to make the correct choice of the woman you shall spend the rest of your days with. Perhaps you were not my choice at first, my darling wife, but I choose you now, and will forever more.”

She smiled at him. “I suppose we unconsciously chose one another the moment we entered that theatre box together,” she said.

“That we did,” he said with a nod. “I fear this means I must also be grateful to your mother and that hideous woman, Lady Montgomery.”

“Ah yes, Hester,” Olivia said with a sigh. “One can only hope that one day she shall understand how her actions hurt the lives of others.”

She began rising from the bed when he tugged at her fingers.

“There is one other thing of import I wanted to discuss with you. I do hope, now that you are home, you will not discontinue your column for The Financial Register.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I honestly had not given it much thought since I made my decision. I’m not sure, Alastair. A duchess, as a columnist of a financial journal? It hardly seems proper.”

“When has proprietary ever concerned you?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a hint of laughter at the corner of his lips.

She swatted him. “Since I became a duchess! Well, perhaps since I have had time to reflect on the consequences of my impulsive ways. My actions reflect on you, and Anne, and your mother, and —”

He silenced her with a quick kiss.

“It would be much more shameful for you not to share yourself with the world. Your wit, your intelligence, your skill at seeing beyond what most men see and explaining the larger issues,” he said. “In fact, why do you not publish under your own name? I would be proud for everyone to know of what my wife is capable.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate your pride in my work, Alastair, truly I do; however my identity would destroy all that I have built up. Men will not listen to women about financial issues. You did not for a great deal of time —”

“I apologize for that.”

“I understand that, but that does not change the fact that men will not accept my advice as anything worth listening to, and that is if the journal would even continue to publish my work. No, I will have to remain P.J. Scott. However, I do enjoy the writing and so will continue to do so, with your support.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“And Alastair, there is one other thing,” she said quietly, and he looked at her expectantly. “You must use my dowry to pay the sum you owe by the end of the morrow.”

Molly had heard of the creditors’ visit from another servant and had told her, but Olivia did not want any of them to be chastised.

“How did you —”

“It matters not how I know, but that I do, and Alastair, you simply must put aside your stubbornness and your pride! If the money were in my name, I would pay it for you. Would you not do the same for me?”

“Yes,” he said begrudgingly.

“Very well, then you must do it for yourself. First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I shall put every penny back in the fund. Our children can have it.”

“Very well,” she said with the smile he came to know as the one showing her triumphant pleasure. “I know with your current investments you should not have any issues.”

“Not if I listen to my very knowledgeable advisor,” he grinned. “Now, shall we allow poor Molly to come in and prepare you for dinner?”

Olivia nodded, watching Alastair as he dressed with warmth in her heart. He nodded to her, a grin on his lips as he stepped through the adjoining door to his own chambers while Olivia donned her chemise and bid Molly to enter.

Olivia sighed in contentment. She had never imagined such a day would come, that she would find a man who desired her for more than her face or her body, but who would know of her longing for more than what the world expected of her and not only keep from judging her, but encourage her to continue her quest to share her knowledge with the world.

And share she would. She knew most women would be more than content in the role of a duchess, but she had always known that would never suit her. To have achieved her own dreams as well as her mother’s was something she had never thought possible, and now she was more grateful than she could have ever known.