Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

“What does that mean?”

“It means your mouth looks like an ill-sewn seam.”

She drew back in his arms and laughed. “Oh, Gray, show me what to do.”

It wasn’t a good idea. She was so giving and soft and pliant. He could haul her over to the sofa and take her down, right this very minute. She was just an envelope of black silk away.

He set her away from him. “I’ll show you everything you want to know on Friday. No, after our wedding—not Friday morning over kippers.”

“I’ll be too scared to eat kippers on Friday morning.”

“I’ll probably be too scared as well. Go to bed, Jack, alone. I won’t come to tuck you in. I wish to spare myself any more suffering.”

He saw that she didn’t understand. Well, she would come to understand as soon as he had the bishop’s blessing on his head to indulge himself in marital bliss until he was exhausted or couldn’t stand upright, whichever came first. He took a step back.

His good sense was cracking like an old mirror that had seen too much. He picked up Eleanor, who gave him a lazy look, stretched her head forward, and lightly bit his neck. He looked over at Jack, who was still standing there, undecided. “On Friday night, I want you to bite my neck, just like Eleanor did. All right?”

She nodded slowly. She took a step forward. “Actually, I could bite your neck right now, Gray. Surely no one could consider that debauchery.”

His eyes nearly crossed. “Yes, they could. If you did bite my neck and anyone saw you do it then we’d have to get married right now, tomorrow at the latest. Trust me on this. Go to bed, Jack.”

“Don’t you think it appropriate that you give me just a bit of preparation for my new job?”

A dark blond eyebrow went upward. “New job?”

“I’m going to be a wife. I know nothing about it. At least I know nothing at all about the fleshly side of it. My mother did train me how to deal with servants, from a flirtatious laundry maid to a tearful tweeny to a puff-chested butler. I know how to mend a sheet. I can do beautiful embroidery. I can even cook a bit. But, Gray, I don’t know a thing about my duties in the bedchamber.”

“Jack, I swear to you that you will learn very quickly, since I am an excellent instructor and you will have as many lessons as I can manage before I fall over in a heap. You don’t need to know anything. It’s best for your peace of mind that you come into this ignorant as a ball of clay.” Ball of clay? He was losing what little he had left of his brain. “Well, hell, all right. Come here.”

But it was he who walked quickly to her, grabbed her against him, and trailed his fingertip over her eyebrows, her nose, her jaw. He dipped his head down to kiss where his fingers had touched her.

Then he yowled.

Eleanor swatted him again.

“I forgot,” he said and peeled Eleanor off his shoulder. “Sorry,” he said, to both Jack and Eleanor, watching her as she strolled away from them, her tail twitching high in the air. Then he turned back to Jack, who just stood there, looking at his mouth. She looked interested, very interested. She also looked just a bit on the scared side. Well, this whole business wasn’t for the fainthearted.

He lightly stroked his knuckles over her jaw. “You and I will deal well together, Jack. Now, don’t close your eyes. Look at me straight on.” Very slowly he cupped her breasts in his hands. She jerked.

“No, just hold still. Look at me. Tell me how that makes you feel.”

She swallowed. Then, very slowly, she let her head fall back. He watched her eyes drift shut, her eyelashes sweep down. He looked at that white neck of hers.

He wanted that white neck, but he had to begin somewhere and he’d already begun with her breasts. He stroked her easily, ever so easily. He felt only soft black feathers and a single layer of silk between his hands and her breasts. He’d washed her breasts, drawn the damp cloth over her breasts when she’d been roasting with the fever. He’d stared at those breasts of hers and nearly swallowed his tongue. He cleared his throat, trying to tell his brain that speech was the best thing for him in this situation. Still his fingers didn’t move from her breasts. He cleared his throat again. “Jack, what do you feel when I caress your breasts?”

“I can’t see.”

“That’s because your eyes are closed. Bring your head back up and look at me.”

She did, her eyes shining and excited. Even though he was harder than the pink-veined Carrara marble mantelpiece, he kept his hands steady.

He leaned down and kissed the pulse in her throat.

He pulled the peignoir open.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Yes, your northerly female parts are really quite exquisite.”