back against his mouth. “When I played the piano at Gray Covington and made a complete ass of myself?”
Three more buttons, and the dress spread out across her naked shoulders. “No. Before. At dinner the first night.” He kissed along her collarbone, feeling her ripple of surprise.
She drew in a sharp breath as his teeth grazed across her shoulder. “At dinner? I barely said a word to anyone. Aunt Agnes had admonished me to be silent.”
“Yes, but I saw you, Maggie. And when you arched over the piano,” he began to untie her stays, “I decided I would have you. I thought of nothing but tasting you. Burying myself in you. Savoring you as one does a fine wine.”
A quiver shot through her as the stays fell free. “I think myself much more common. Like scotch.”
Tony chuckled, sinking his fingers into her hair, pulling at the pins until the dark brown strands fell streaming over her shoulders. His hands reached around and cupped her breasts, carefully rolling her nipples between his fingers until she moaned. His cock hardened at the sound, throbbing painfully in response.
One hand slid down between her legs, feeling how soft and ready she was, though he’d barely touched her. “When I saw you again, hiding in the wisteria, determined to escape the attentions of Lord Winthrop, I had already decided to make you a most indecent request.”
“You never meant to allow Carstairs to have me,” she said.
“Nor anyone else.” His fingers moved against her, listening to the delightful sounds she made. He pressed the length of his cock against her buttocks.
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine,” he whispered, turning her face to him.
39
Margaret woke and immediately stretched out her arm, surprised to find the other half of the bed wasn’t full of gorgeous, muscular male. She sat up and looked toward the open door of her rooms.
Only Daisy’s plump form could be seen busily laying out Margaret’s clothing and bath towels. Steam floated around the maid in a thick mist.
Wherever Welles had gone, he’d ordered her a bath before leaving.
Margaret flopped back on the bed. She was ridiculously happy. While Welles hadn’t said he loved her, after taking all of his actions into consideration as well as his adamant assertion he had not been unfaithful to her, it was very possible Georgina’s assumption about his feelings had been correct.
I need to hear him say it.
Welles was a work in progress. When he was ready, he would tell her he loved her.
She stood and grabbed her robe at the foot of the bed, wrapping the silk around her naked body, and walked into her bedroom, sniffing the aroma of rose oil Daisy had put into her bath. The maid helped her out of her robe and into the steaming water.
Margaret closed her eyes and sank into the heated water with a groan. “Daisy, do you think you could check downstairs to see if there are any fresh currant scones?” She giggled. “Spare one or two for my husband.” When the maid didn’t answer, Margaret’s eyes fluttered open.
Daisy frowned. She’d been doing that quite a bit of late.
“Is there something amiss, Daisy?” Margaret trailed her hand in the water. The maid insisted she was content to stay in London. Romy had been saddened but glad Daisy would stay in the family, so to speak. But perhaps she was homesick.
“No, my lady.” But the maid was still looking at Margaret before a smile broke across her face. “I’ll go pull out one of your new day dresses. The green sprigged muslin? It’s very fetching.”
“Perfect.”
As she sank back into the water, Margaret’s glance fell on the latest letter from Cherry Hill, this one from Phaedra. There was a new barn cat who was quite a mouser, a stray the duchess had taken in. The cat had been christened Theseus for his bravery in clearing the barn of rodents. He was most appreciative of his new mistress and showed his affection by leaving the duchess dead mice and the occasional bird in her rooms. The letter detailed Phaedra’s attempts to find out how the feline was entering the house and depositing gifts for her mother.
The duchess had written a small note at the bottom of Phaedra’s letter. The duke continued to decline; the brief improvement at the news of Margaret’s marriage to Welles had only been temporary. Even the laudanum the doctor prescribed was no longer enough to ease his pain. She begged Margaret to convince Welles to at least return to Cherry Hill