A Proper Lord's Wife (Properly Spanked Legacy 2)

“I hope you are not too tired for…later,” he said, as they finished dinner. The servants had brought port, but he didn’t wish to linger over it.

“No,” she said brightly. “I’m not too tired. I wish to be a…a customary wife in all those…customary matters of marriage.”

Oh, my awkward dear. So you shall.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and dress for bed, then,” he said. “I’ll join you in, shall we say, half an hour?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll come to your room, Jane. Leave the door ajar when you’re ready for me.”

This spate of instructions seemed to leave her breathless, unable to speak. She blushed red again, redder than that morning, and somehow managed to excuse herself.

He stayed and sipped at the excellent port, master of his house, newly wed to a somewhat unconventional wife. He wanted to go to her, which surprised him. He wanted to play with her and learn what excited her, and show her what excited him. He was already growing hard, thinking of her upstairs waiting to accommodate him. Yes, he wanted her far more than he’d expected to, and started up the stairs a full five minutes before the half-hour had passed.

Chapter Seven

Joined As One

Though he arrived early to her rooms, he saw the door was already cracked open. He waited, listening before he entered, but heard nothing. He wondered if she’d already retired, but when he walked through the silent sitting room into her bedroom, he found her seated against her pillows, nearly obscured by the bedcurtain.

“Good evening,” he said. “How are you?”

“Very well. How are you?”

He was touched by the exquisite care she took to smile as she answered, even though he could read the nervousness in her gaze. By candlelight, her hair was not so orange, but more of a soft golden color. She had made herself very small in her bed, or maybe she only seemed small. It was a giant bed, wasn’t it, for a virginal maiden?

She was not wearing the nightgown he’d gifted her. He supposed he’d ruined it with bad memories.

He would try to make better memories for his wife tonight.

When he moved closer, he saw she was wearing a plain, girlish shift of gratifyingly thin cotton. Only her shoulders showed as she clutched the sheets against her front, but he imagined he’d be able to see her nipples through the material if she lowered them just a little. He was still dressed from dinner, but wouldn’t be for long. He unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat and set them over a chair, then walked toward the side of the bed.

“Can you help me, Jane? My valet’s the devil with these fancy knots.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

She left her clutched sheets and crawled to where he stood. It aroused him, and he helped her to her feet facing him. She was taller than him now, her fingers just at the height to loosen his neckcloth.

His eyes were just at the height to ogle her breasts.

Ah, they were lovely breasts. He did not stare at them, not yet. It was enough to see the tips of her nipples pressed against the thin gown, the points hard with anxiety or excitement. Her hair, which was pulled up in a chignon-and-curls by day, now hung loose, wavy and voluminous.

“Don’t be gentle,” he said, as she plucked ineffectually at his necktie’s folds. “You won’t hurt me.”

A smile smoothed the concentration in her features. “I think I’ve got it now.”

It took her about twenty seconds more to undo the largest knot and unwind the frills behind it. Her fingers brushed his chin, soft and warm, nimble and delicate. Even that touch sparked his blood. Who’d have thought a tentative wife would arouse him so, when he was accustomed to the brazen tarts at Pearl’s?

“There, I’ve done it,” she said proudly.

“Unwind it for me, then.”

She had to come closer to do that. He held her waist to help her balance as she perched on the mattress. The long silk neckcloth was wrapped twice around his neck and she undid it carefully, as if he were made of glass. He wasn’t fragile. In fact, he was a solid mass of inappropriate impulses.

Be calm, Ed. She is just a woman.

She would not meet his gaze, though he stared at her. When she handed him the silk, he tossed it upon his coat then turned back to her.

“My buttons, now.”

Why was he making her undress him? Did he enjoy her tentativeness, her fear? A little. At the same time, she must come to feel comfortable with his body. When politeness and basic decency compelled him to stop staring, he turned his eyes to her bedside table, now crowded with three formidable stacks of books.

“I see you’ve visited Somerton’s library,” he said.

“Yes, my lord. I mean, Edward.” She bit her lip as she shyly corrected herself. “It seemed too cold to go exploring out of doors, so I asked the way to your library and found it quite impressive and quite…quite full of books.”