found you.” Della hugged him. “If I were any more satisfied, I’d have expired from an excess of pleasure.” How I love you.
But to say that might make Ash think what she valued was his lovemaking. She did value his lovemaking, but also… him. The considerate, patient, attentive, passionate, luscious man she’d married.
The tenor of his movements shifted, becoming more sinuous. “Pleased to hear it. One wants to make a good first impression.”
“Yes, one does, and I’m failing miserably. You will think me the most selfish of wives.” She knew he hadn’t let himself find completion, and that created an island of worry in a lake of contentment.
“I think you passionate,” Ash replied. “And delectable, and my God… Della. I understand now why my married siblings are forever taking naps.”
She laced her hands with his. “Yours too?”
They laughed, which caused interesting sensations in interesting places, and then Ash was driving her up again. Her fuse was short, and the resulting explosion was all the more spectacular. When Ash withdrew and spent on her belly, Della was too replete to remonstrate with him—and also too grateful.
Chapter Eleven
Della slept on beside Ash, her breath breezing across his shoulder. She had loved him witless not only before they’d fallen asleep, but also in the middle of the night, no sound save her gasps of pleasure and the soft creaking of the bed ropes. Della liked to hold his hands when she made love, lacing her fingers with Ash’s and gripping him tightly.
He loved that. Loved that she sought every connection with him she could make.
He’d managed to withdraw both times, but it had been a near thing indeed. He’d have to work on his self-restraint, and what a fraught, delightful undertaking that would be.
Weak morning sun suggested the hour was upon them to rise, though Ash dreaded leaving the bed. This house party, which should have been an easy first outing as man and wife, was off on a decidedly troubling foot.
“So I did not dream last night happened,” Della said, rolling to her back. “You are a revelation, Ash Dorning. Rather than make sentimental declarations, allow me to state that Freddy Throckmorton knew nothing. Less than nothing.”
Ash would have liked to have heard her sentimental declarations. “I’m sorry. You trusted him, and he wasn’t worthy of that honor. Do I ring for a tray, or shall we run the breakfast gauntlet?”
Della lay naked, one pale breast peeking from beneath the covers. “Must we?”
Ash touched a fingertip to her nipple and watched her flesh ruche from that simple caress. “Today, we must. You and Mrs. Chastain need to greet each other civilly, and I must ignore William.”
Della traced Ash’s nipple with the tip of her third finger. “I still don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
“If you keep that up, we will be late for luncheon, much less breakfast. I would not bet on supper either.” And how he loved that she would make free with his person, no hesitation or missishness about her.
“The next time we get married, we are going on a true wedding journey, Ash. One where we can stay in bed for days, nobody knows us, and we recover from our bedsport with solitary picnics from which we return with leaves in our hair and grass stains on the knees of your breeches.”
Rather than tempt fate, Ash left the bed. “We can make a leisurely journey over to Dorning Hall when we leave here, take our time and all the pleasures prove.” He stirred the ashes on the hearth, then added half a scoop of coal to the embers. The chill in the air helped dissuade his cock from untoward ideas, though a surprising, naughty part of him liked parading about in the altogether for his wife’s delectation.
“You will think me ridiculous,” Della said, sitting up, “but I honestly do not want to be among these people without you at my side, Ash.”
He considered his tousled, lovely wife as she piled pillows against the headboard.
“Staying close to you will be no imposition, Della, but please assure me that Chastain did not in fact force himself on you.”
She gave the pillow a particularly hard smack. “He tried to force himself on me. I told you that. He and I had an agreement. We would essentially feign an elopement so that he could elude parson’s mousetrap, and I could retire to Kent in peace. We sent an anonymous note to his Papa, alerting him to our departure, but Papa