breath caught as he tugged at a knot in her corset lacing. Holding the strings that controlled her respiration fanned his arousal. She was so exquisitely trusting in his hands. He tugged, then released, her sensual sigh engorging his prick.
“I’m glad you think so.” She looked over her shoulder at him with her big brown eyes. “I wanted to make you proud.”
God, she made him hard.
He chucked the corset aside and cupped her curvy backside, now covered only by a thin linen chemise. She quivered as he squeezed her luscious arse.
“I am proud of you.” He pushed her chemise up, his touch proprietary. His nostrils flared as he took stock of his lady: her lush hips, indented waist, the firm perfection of her breasts.
“Even if my speech isn’t perfect?” she gasped out.
He stilled in the act of playing with her tits which were, indeed, perfect. He took her hands from the bed post and turned her to face him. With her hair still in its elegant coronet, she looked like a debauched princess in her transparent chemise that displayed her budded red nipples and alluring dark thatch. Lust pounded urgently in his veins, but even more pressing was the worry he heard in her voice.
“Your speech is fine,” he said.
“I made mistakes,” she said, her expression forlorn. “Even though I tried not to. I’m still ’aving…having trouble with my h’s.”
Her vulnerability unleashed a wave of tenderness in him. Her cheerful disposition sometimes made him forget how much she was doing to become a proper duchess. All that she was undertaking…for him.
He cupped her cheek. “You’re doing a smashing job, sweeting.”
“Mr. Stanton doesn’t think so.” She wrinkled her nose, adding candidly, “He’s tearing out what’s left of ’is…his hair trying to get me to say my h’s properly.”
It struck Severin that Fancy didn’t usually complain to him about…well, anything. It was probably the champagne loosening her inhibitions. He wanted her to know that, tipsy or not, she didn’t have to hide how she felt from him.
“Tell me more,” he encouraged. “Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t think you can,” she mumbled.
“Try me.” After a pause, he added, “I had to polish up my own speech, you know.”
“You did?”
Her surprised look reminded him that he’d glossed over the details of his past.
“’Ad to, luv, didn’t I?” he said in the Cockney accents of his youth. “Wanted to be a nob, so I ’ad to learn to walk and talk like one.”
“’Ow…how did you learn?”
Gazing into her wide, curious eyes, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell his wife that it had been Imogen who’d coached him. Back then, he couldn’t afford elocution lessons, so he’d learned by aping Imogen and her family. Day in and day out, he had listened to the Hammonds and privately rehearsed their accents and manner of speech. When he practiced with Imogen, she’d giggled, calling him her Knight-in-training and giving him pointers on how to further polish his accent.
But Imogen had no place in his marital bower, and he didn’t want Fancy to be distracted by his past. In truth, he had no problem concentrating on the present, not when his nearly naked wife was gazing at him with her soft doe’s eyes.
“I practiced.” He stroked her downy cheek. “It takes time.”
Fancy blew out a breath, her rosy lips rounding in a pout that made his cock strain with longing.
“That’s the problem,” she said. “I only ’ave…have a week until Princess Adelaide’s soiree.”
Ignoring his arousal, he said, “Tell me how I can help, chérie.”
“I don’t know that you can. I think…I think there’s something wrong with my mouth.”
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with your mouth,” he said with conviction.
In fact, he was about to explode watching her tongue wet those perfect, plump lips.
“Well, something ain’t working. Mr. Stanton keeps telling me to keep my jaw loose, to breathe the sound from the back o’ my throat, and I ’ave…have no idea what he means,” she said mournfully.
A proper gentleman would console his wife. Perhaps utter a few soft words of encouragement. He would definitely not have the depraved thoughts that Severin was having.
Truth be told, he had been entertaining the idea and waiting for the right time to introduce this particular variation on the theme to his wife. Now was probably not the right time but… He struggled briefly with his lust.
To hell with being a gentleman, he thought.
“I think I can help you with that, sweeting,” he said.