Thankfully, the butler returned to announce that dinner was served, and Constantine was saved. He wondered if it was only a temporary reprieve, however. Because being in the presence of an affectionate couple in addition to wanting desperately to shag his wife could very well push him to the edge of his control.
Sabrina yawned as Constantine helped her into the coach later that evening. “I beg your pardon. Between the preparations for the ball and this evening, I am exhausted.”
That settled the debate that had been going on inside Constantine’s head the past two hours: to take her to bed tonight or not. It seemed not. Despite the fact that his body was practically screaming for hers. Between the loving affection of the Brightlys, which for the first time seemed infectious, and the subtle flirtation from his wife, Constantine was at sixes and sevens.
“I enjoyed myself very much,” Sabrina said as the coach moved forward. “Did you?”
“Yes. Horace is a good friend. I’m glad you and Mrs. Brightly get on so well.”
“They are a devoted couple,” she said softly. “I’ve always noticed that, of course, but tonight it felt…different to be around them.”
Constantine tensed. She had noticed. “Different good or different bad?”
“Good, I think.”
Constantine relaxed. But only slightly. “I’m glad their fondness doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“I think fondness is an inadequate word.” She turned on the seat and faced him, stirring the air around him so that he was enveloped in her now-familiar scent. “Does this discussion make you uncomfortable? You seem anxious all of a sudden.”
“I’m not anxious.” He was bloody frustrated. But he could wait a little longer.
She took his hand between hers, then released him to discard her gloves, setting them on the seat on the other side of her. Carefully, she withdrew his glove, putting it aside with hers, so that they were flesh to flesh. “You feel warm.”
He was burning. Entirely for her.
She stroked her fingertips along his hand and then up beneath the cuff of his sleeve. He sucked in a breath, holding it, his entire body stretched taut as if on a rack. But this torture was sweet, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end.
“I do like anticipation,” he breathed, his gaze fixated on the pulse of her heartbeat in her pale throat.
“It seems prevalent of late,” she murmured, her body swaying toward him. Perhaps she wasn’t too tired…
He pulled off his other glove and cast it aside. “Yes.” Lifting his hand, he gently touched that spot on her throat, dragging his thumb down over the satin of her flesh. Her chest rose and fell more rapidly as her lips parted.
The tutor’s advice rose in Constantine’s mind, that he should talk to Sabrina to allay her fears. “Are you nervous?”
She swallowed. “Perhaps a little.”
“That’s all right,” he soothed, stilling his touch. “I will always go as slow as you ask. But I need you to ask. Can you do that?” He looked into her eyes and saw the apprehension recede.
“I can.” She clasped his other hand—the one that wasn’t resting against the base of her throat, splayed from the top of her bodice to her collarbone, which was disappointingly covered by the soft woolen shawl. “Now it is my turn to ask you… Why are you different?”
He wanted to say that he wasn’t, but he knew that wasn’t true. “Because I want to be. With you. As you have done with me. We didn’t start off right.”
“No, we did not.”
They’d been pawns, steered by their parents for their own ends. Constantine understood Sabrina’s parents’ motivation, but what of the duke’s? Why had he pushed Constantine to wed this woman?
It didn’t matter because he was married to her, and he didn’t regret being so. Not anymore. He realized in that moment that he had regretted it. Or perhaps resented it. A wave of guilt stole over him.
“I’m sorry for all the time before.” He bent his head and kissed her, trying to go slowly while his body was urging him go faster, to demand more, to take more.
Perhaps she sensed that within him. She released his hand and put her palms against his chest, pressing briefly, before she clutched the lapels of his coat. Parting her lips, she met his tongue, and a heady rush of desire swept him from head to foot.
The shawl had fallen from her shoulders when she’d lifted her hands to his chest. He slid his hand along her collarbone and upper back. He cupped her nape, cradling the velvety softness of her skin.
She slipped one arm beneath his coat and wrapped it around his back, pulling him against her as she angled herself into the corner of the seat. Tentatively, she moved her other hand up along his chest and over his shoulder.
Constantine rotated, positioning himself over her and bringing one knee up while his other foot braced on the floor against the jostling of the coach. His hat tipped forward, and he tossed it away. Then she kissed him with an abandon he’d never thought possible, her lips and tongue tangling with his.
He kissed along her jaw and neck, savoring the flesh he’d long wanted to taste. Rapture flooded him. This was madness. This was bliss.
“Constantine, please, I would—”
He froze. Then he lifted his head to look down at her. Cheeks flushed, she opened her eyes.
“I love hearing you say my name.”
“Constantine. Please. Touch me.”
With a soft groan, he kissed her again, without any hint of gentleness this time. The connection was hard and desperate, the culmination of a deep longing. He pushed the shawl away from her completely and cupped her breast through the silk of her gown. It wasn’t nearly enough to appease his desire, but she arched up, moaning softly.
Reaching down, he found the hem of her dress and pulled it up, exposing her legs. She gasped as he skimmed his hand along her inner thigh. Soft warmth greeted him, coaxing him higher where she was even softer and warmer. And wet.
Constantine stroked her sex, feeling how ready she was for him. Desperate to sink himself into her heat, he satisfied himself with using his fingers, sliding into her while he teased her clitoris.
Her hips moved to meet his thrusts as she clutched at his back and shoulder, her fingers digging into his clothing. Too damn much clothing. He wanted her nude and quivering, desperate with need as he was, beneath him.
The coach stopped. Lost in ecstasy, Constantine didn’t think they could already be home. However, the sound of the coachman climbing down from his seat was unmistakable.
Constantine hurriedly withdrew his hand and brought her skirts down to cover her. “We’re home.” He helped her sit upright.
Her face was still flushed, and he could well imagine her frustration. He shared it, but she’d been close to release. Leaning into her, he pressed a kiss beneath her ear before whispering, “We’ll finish this upstairs, where I will strip every bit of clothing from you and make you scream. I want to hear you come, Sabrina.” He felt the quiver that danced across her shoulders as she drew in and held her breath.
He couldn’t wait to get in the house.
The coachman opened the door, and Constantine climbed out. He reached up to help Sabrina down, then offered her his arm.
“You left these in the coach,” she murmured, handing him his hat and gloves.