wrapped his arms about her to keep her there. He smiled against her temple. He wanted to vent his frustration, but holding her as she laughed made his heart light just the same.
A huff of irritation escaped her, and then Poppy’s muffled voice rose up from the crook of his neck. “Bloody woman, going off to tup. I swear to God, Win, I could kill her.”
His fingers toyed with the loose strand of silken hair at her nape. “That is one way to shut them up.” When she choked out a weak laugh, he leaned back a little until she raised her head and faced him. As expected, she wore her warrior’s expression, one that promised mayhem and retribution, but fear lived there too, so guarded that he might have missed it did he not know her so well. “I could force my way in there, but we won’t get anything from her like that.” Softly, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I’m afraid we’re done for the night, sweet Boadicea.”
“Damn it, Win. What if she doesn’t know Moira Darling either? What if Isley’s led us astray?”
His hand slid to her neck and clasped it. When he spoke, his voice was far calmer than he felt. “Hear me, wife, we will find Moira Darling, and we will win. On my life, I swear it.” Cold foreboding touched his spine at the vow, for he feared it might come to that.
Chapter Twenty-two
London, 1869—The Wedding Night
Win?”
Sweat slicked and replete, Win had a hard time opening his eyes to focus on his new wife. Wife. Now there was a word he adored. Lying on the bed next to him, she wore nothing more than a gilding of candlelight and a soft, contented smile. He adored that too.
“What is it, sweet?” He threw an arm around her and pulled her closer, loving the feel of her sleek body against his. They’d known each other for such a short time, and it still felt as if he’d waited an eternity to hold her like this. “Stop jostling and let a poor man sleep. You’ve exhausted me completely.”
“Ha. Are you complaining?” That stern gaze did things to his insides. Made him feel illicit.
“Yes.” He smoothed his hand over her pert bottom before smacking it. “Exhaust me some more, will you? There’s a good girl.”
“Ack! Stop, you beast.” She laughed as he rolled over onto her, but her brown eyes were serious. He knew already that Poppy, once on a subject, would never veer off of it until satisfied—quite like him in that manner, actually. Not one to let him down, she put the question to him directly. “Do you have a nightshirt?”
He settled more comfortably, sliding his cock along her slickness just to tease. “Why, yes.” God, she was wet again. And her neck. It smelled of lemons and sex. He nuzzled it. “I don’t want to put it on if that is what you are asking.” Not now, not ever again. Though this was their wedding night, he planned to repeat their performance every night hereafter.
She wriggled again, making his breath quicken. Her endless legs tangled with his. He was going to lick his way down them later. But first, her breasts. Those sweet little plums that he’d yet to become thoroughly acquainted with.
“Can I wear it? Ah… ah… when we sleep… oh…”
Curiosity had always been his weakness. He released her nipple with a pop. “Of course, but why?” He’d hazy notions of sleeping skin to skin.
Almost idly, she traced the line of his brow before touching his lower lip. “I don’t like sleeping undressed. I hate the way the skin of my arm sticks to my side.” She kissed his neck and then his jaw. He blinked, nonplussed, and fairly distracted by the way she suckled his earlobe as she talked. “You should probably know, I also like to sleep on the left-hand side of the bed and hate floppy pillows.”
Her scarlet hair, now loose and free, spread out in a starburst on the pillow and ran in silk ribbons over his forearms where he braced himself on either side of her slim shoulders. Only he would see her like this. Only he would know her strange quirks. His heart clenched, and his breath caught. Slowly, he smiled. “You’re going to be difficult to manage, aren’t you?”
Her grin unfurled like a cat in the sun. “Extremely. Afraid, Win?”
He shifted, nudging her thighs farther apart with his own. “Afraid? I can hardly wait.” And