There was a flurry of fabric, a whisper of silk, and then there was nothing over her buttocks but air. ‘Quite impractical,’ Grant observed. ‘I cannot imagine how this would keep you warm on a chilly evening.’ There was a tantalising pause, then one palm moved slowly over her right buttock. ‘This would, though.’
It was only a light smack, more noise than anything. Kate squeaked, then gasped as he did the same to the other buttock.
‘Warmer? Certainly pinker.’
What was warm was the thrust of his erection against her stomach. Kate decided she liked this game. ‘Beast! Savage!’ She wriggled against him and was rewarded by a flurry of light open-handed slaps. She realised the wicked sensation of being powerless while Grant did what he liked was making her excited, breathless and very, very needy. ‘Grant?’
‘Hmm?’ She felt the pressure of his lips on one sensitive buttock. ‘Shall I stop? Perhaps you are right and this isn’t the thing to be doing in the afternoon. We could get dressed and discuss the Parliamentary report in the Times.’
‘You haven’t checked the design of the front of the negligee. What if they stinted on ribbons?’
‘What an appalling thought. I would have to wrap you in a cloak and take you straight back to the shop to demand a refund.’ He turned her so she was sitting on his thighs and tipped up her chin. ‘A very becoming shade of rose. Are you flushed because you enjoyed being spanked, or at the thought of being carried through the streets in nothing but this flimsy thing and a cloak?’
‘Both,’ she admitted as he began to untie the ribbons, counting as he went.
‘…nine, ten…’ His voice was not quite steady as he gave up on the little bows and lifted her, then brought her down so she was straddling him as he sat. ‘I need to see it in motion,’ he said, his voice husky as he lowered her with aching slowness until he was sheathed inside her. ‘Like that.’ She held him, burrowed close against him so the friction of the fine gauze fretted her nipples, and his, and felt the control he had been tantalising her with snap. ‘Kate.’ He broke in six powerful strokes, took her with him into the whirlwind and then stayed, deep inside her, his arms around her, his forehead on her shoulder.
Just as she was sliding into sleep Grant murmured, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘Of course not. I knew you would never hurt me.’ She sat back, ran one finger down the straight line of his nose and smiled when, eyes still closed, he put out his tongue to catch the tip. ‘And you aren’t cross about all my shopping?’
‘Of course not.’ Grant opened his eyes and fell back on to the bed, bringing her with him. ‘I’ve kept you locked up in Northumberland away from all the shops for months.’
‘I’ve been extravagant, though.’ He shook his head, but she persisted with her confession. ‘I’m…nervous. It took my mind off things. It’s quite dangerous really, spending all that money. It must be like gambling or drink.’
To her surprise he didn’t laugh at the notion. ‘You are probably right. But don’t worry, if you can see the danger, then I doubt you are in it. But don’t be nervous, Kate. I’ll look after you. I won’t let the society sharks near you.’
‘I know.’ But you can’t protect me from the monsters I’ve unleashed myself, my love.
*
Grant climbed to the next step on the grand staircase leading to the ballroom of the Marquess of Larminster’s ballroom, the setting for the marchioness’s ‘surprise’ birthday reception for her husband. The event was a surprise for no one, least of all the long-suffering and newly sixty-year-old marquess, but he enjoyed indulging his wife and she enjoyed parties, the larger the better.
It was not the event that Grant would have chosen for Kate’s introduction to London society, for the place was full to bursting and the noise level indescribable. It was also packed with the important people Kate needed to make a good impression upon if she were to obtain the entrée to the right circles and the friendship and approval of the ladies who made society go round. And they were married to the men Grant mixed with socially at his clubs and would be forming alliances with, and against, in the House of Lords.
As he stood with as much patience as he could muster in the receiving line, he looked down at his wife again, still coming to terms with how sophisticated and elegant she looked. It occurred to him that the height of his hopes had been that she would ‘do’, pass muster, not be a disaster. How little faith he’d had. Somewhere, always in the back of his mind, was the image of the bedraggled, exhausted, desperate woman in that bothy, the knowledge that she was not trained up for this world, that she carried scandal with her.
Despite coming to know her—her courage, her humour, her intelligence, her breathtaking natural eroticism—he had still taken it for granted that sh
e could not cope with this world with its dagger-sharp criticism, its rivalries and sophisticated pleasures.
‘Grant,’ Kate murmured. ‘We’re moving again.’
Up another step, almost at the top now. She was still nervous, he could see the almost imperceptible tremor of the beading around the bodice of her gown, but she looked magnificent. Not a traditional beauty, she would never be that, but somehow something better. Elegant, charming, warm, he thought. And sophisticated with her new hairstyle. And the minx has been colouring her lashes with lampblack and, if I’m not very much mistaken, she’s using lip stain.
Like a soldier she’d put on her armour to go into battle for him. She makes me so happy.
The realisation hit him as though someone behind him had punched him between the shoulder blades. Happy. He was actually, positively happy. Not just now and again, like when he was playing with Charlie, or feeling the wind in his hair when he galloped unchecked across the moor, or won a hand of cards against Gabriel, but bone-deep happy. That had come with this marriage. Somehow he had moved, without him realising it, from simply coping with life and snatching what pleasure he could, to a feeling of inner contentment. But he had not been conscious of feeling happy. When did that happen? Just now? Yesterday? Weeks ago?
A sharp elbow nudged him in the ribs. ‘Grant, it’s us.’
‘Sorry, air-dreaming.’ Hell, in a minute he’d be shouting with laughter, capering like a fool for a fascinated audience. Grant found a social smile from somewhere, plastered it on and advanced on the marchioness. ‘Lady Larminster, may I introduce my wife, Catherine?’
‘Lady Allundale.’ The marchioness raised artfully curved eyebrows as she studied Kate. ‘Delightful,’ she pronounced.
‘Lady Larminster.’ Kate’s curtsy was perfectly modulated.
‘Larminster, here’s Allundale’s wife at long last.’ The marquess inclined his head and beamed at Kate, who curtsied again. ‘You’ve taken long enough bringing her to town, Allundale.’