He patted her bum affectionately, and some of the evening’s misery fell away. At long, long last, Della—she was Della Dorning now—was to be intimate with her beloved, and what did a serious bout of nerves matter in the face of that great joy?
She moved behind the privacy screen and finished undressing. “I will meet William’s bride,” she said when she’d put the toothpowder to good use. “I’m not looking forward to that.”
“And Mrs. Chastain is probably dreading the sight of you,” Ash said. “But being ladies, and sensible, you will doubtless once again disappoint the gossips. We will be the dullest couple ever to partner each other at piquet.”
“I’ll avoid the tables if you don’t mind,” Della said, emerging from the privacy screen as she belted her night-robe. “Chastain is likely to spend most evenings at cards, and he is not to be trusted.”
Ash was in a dressing gown as well, a purple silk banyan that picked up the color of his eyes. “I will happily pass on the cards as well, then. Chastain doesn’t cheat that I’ve seen. He’s at the Coventry often enough that we’d notice if he mishandled the cards.”
A cheat was very bad for business. A gaming hell was technically an illegal establishment to begin with, and a crooked gaming hell was a doomed business. The Coventry Club was a supper club, to appearances. The authorities either knew it to have too many discreet exits to be productively raided, or they feared to find too many of Society’s most powerful families ranged around the tables. King George happened by on occasion, as did his numerous brothers and their mistresses.
“Maybe Chastain doesn’t cheat,” Della said, taking the seat at the vanity, “but he doesn’t play well either. It has been my misfortune to partner him, and my observation is, he makes the impulsive play that a moment’s reflection would reveal to be the inferior choice.”
Ash came to stand behind her. “Allow me.” He withdrew her pins one by one, then undid her braid, putting the ribbon into the pocket of his night-robe. He brushed out Della’s hair more patiently than any lady’s maid ever had and took his time braiding it up again.
His touch was soothing and light, and by the time he’d tied another ribbon around the end of Della’s braid, she was pleasantly drowsy. He dipped a hand into her night-robe to cup her breast, and the lassitude acquired an edge of desire.
“I like that,” Della said, leaning back against his thigh.
“Mrs. Dorning.” Ash bent low to whisper in her ear. “You appear to have misplaced your nightgown.”
His hand on her bare breast was warm. His fingers brushing across her nipple created heat in the pit of Della’s belly.
“I am about to misplace my dressing gown too,” she said, “and I live in hope that you will do likewise.”
He added a second hand so both breasts were gently palmed and stroked, while against Della’s back, Ash’s cock provided evidence of burgeoning arousal.
“I’ll bank the fire,” he said, withdrawing his hands. “You douse the candles.”
Della would rather have feasted her gaze on her husband’s candlelit nudity, but that would give him an opportunity to feast his gaze on her unclad form. Now that the moment was upon her, she was simply not that bold. She blew out the candles, draped her dressing gown over the foot of the bed, and climbed under the covers.
Ash stood for a moment by the hearth, his back to her. What was he thinking, and were his thoughts happy?
He banked the coals, pushing them to the back of the andirons so the room was cast in deep shadow. Della nonetheless noted a sheath soaking in a glass of water on the bedside table.
“I won’t conceive,” she said, “not this close to my menses. We need not use the sheath tonight.”
Ash ambled over to the bed, draped his dressing gown atop Della’s, and paused. “You’re sure?”
“I’m as sure as a midwife’s wisdom can be. Sheaths aren’t foolproof either, you know.” And good God, her husband was a magnificent specimen.
Della had enough light to know that Ash was aroused, well endowed, and happy to let her see that. He put a knee on the mattress and situated himself on all fours over her.
“You are not to be stalwart and composed with me in this bed, Della. You will tell me when I’m blundering, or when I could pleasure you better by slowing down, speeding up, or going about matters differently.”
He hung over her, out of kissing range, and the covers came between them. “And will you be as forthcoming, Ash? Will you tell me what you like and how to go on as your lover?”
He laced his arms behind her neck. “God, yes. Kiss me.”
Della obliged, her hands skating over Ash’s chest and arms, until she was concocting vile curses aimed at the bedcovers.
“Damn you and your noble self-restraint,” she panted. “Please get under the covers with me.”
Ash sat back on his heels. “The covers are the only reason I have restraint, you daft woman. If you knew where I want to put my hands, my mouth, my cock…”
You daft woman. Even as a near endearment, the term stung. “And what about where I want your hands, your mouth, and your cock? What about my hands and my mouth?”
Ash flipped the covers off of her. “And your honeypot?” He stroked the curls between her legs, and the humor left his gaze. “Are you sure, Della?”
He brushed his thumb over a part of Della’s body that Freddy Throckmorton had had a dozen names for, and no clue how to touch. Quim, muff, cunny…
“Do that again, please.” Not that he’d stopped.
The mood shifted from playful to focused, with Della intimately exposed to her husband and racked by more desire than she’d thought possible. This was different from the interlude in the conservatory, because they were naked, on a bed, with all the time in the world.
And because this was merely a prelude to greater intimacies.
“You are so lovely,” Ash said, applying a bit more pressure. “I could look at you all night.” He used his free hand to caress her breasts, until Della caught him by the wrist.
“I want you inside me, Ash.”
“Then you shall have me.” He braced himself over her on his forearms and knees, but rather than join their bodies, he resumed leisurely kisses and slow caresses to Della’s breasts.
“You are driving me mad,” she whispered. “I vow I will seek revenge.”
“Hence the term marital bliss. I want this to be perfect for you, Della.” He raised up enough to peer down at her by the last of the fire’s embers. “I have this idea, which I know to be foolish, that if I can get this right, then our marriage will be safe.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I have the same idea. If I can get this right, our marriage will be safe. Maybe that means our marriage is already safe.”
Ash kissed her again, nothing leisurely about it. As his tongue teased at her mouth, he teased at her sex with his cock, until by slow degrees, he thrust, she rocked, and they joined their bodies.
“You are delicious,” Della said, locking her ankles at the small of his back. “Scrumptious and…”
He shifted up over her, changing the angle from scrumptious to whatever transcended scrumptious.