“I…” Kate made the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and she forgot everything she’d meant to say. He was staring at her with a burning intensity that forged a fire in the very center of her being, leaving her breathless, hungry, and desperate for something she did not quite understand.
And she knew that she could not make him wait. If she looked into her own soul, and looked with honesty and without delusion, she was forced to admit that she did not wish to wait, either.
For what could be the point? Maybe he would never love her. Maybe his desire would never be focused as single-mindedly on her as hers was for him.
But she could pretend. And when he held her in his arms and pressed his lips to her skin, it was so, so easy to pretend.
“Anthony,” she whispered, his name a benediction, a plea, a prayer all in one.
“Anything,” he replied raggedly, dropping to his knees before her, his lips trailing a hot path along her skin as his fingers frantically worked to release her from her gown. “Ask me anything,” he groaned. “Anything in my power, I give to you.”
Kate felt her head fall back, felt the last of her resistance melting away. “Just love me,” she whispered. “Just love me.”
His only answer was a low growl of need.
Chapter 17
The deed is done! Miss Sheffield is now Katharine, Viscountess Bridgerton.
This Author extends the very best of wishes to the happy couple. Sensible and honorable people are surely scarce among the ton, and it’s certainly gratifying to see two of this rare breed joined in marriage.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 16 MAY 1814
Until that moment, Anthony had not even realized just how badly he’d needed for her to say yes, to admit to her need. He clutched her to him, his cheek pressing against the gentle curve of her belly. Even in her wedding gown she smelled of lilies and soap, that maddening scent that had haunted him for weeks.
“I need you,” he growled, not sure if his words were getting lost in the layers of silk that still kept her from him. “I need you now.”
He rose to his feet and lifted her in his arms, taking remarkably few steps to reach the large four-poster bed that dominated his bedroom. He’d never taken a woman there before, always preferring to conduct his liaisons elsewhere, and suddenly he was absurdly glad of that fact.
Kate was different, special, his wife. He wanted no other memories to intrude upon this or any night.
He laid her down on the mattress, his eyes never leaving her charmingly disheveled form as he methodically stripped off his clothing. First his gloves, one by one, then his coat, already rumpled by his ardor.
He caught her eyes, dark and large and filled with wonder, and he smiled, slowly and with satisfaction. “You’ve never seen a naked man before, have you?” he murmured.
She shook her head.
“Good.” He leaned forward and plucked one of her slippers from her foot. “You’ll never see another.”
He moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly slipping each from its buttonhole, his desire increased tenfold when he saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.
She wanted him. He knew enough of women to be positive of that. And by the time this night was through, she wouldn’t be able to live without him.
That he might not be able to live without her was something he refused to consider. What smoldered in the bedroom and what whispered in his heart were two different things. He could keep them separate. He would keep them separate.
He might not wish to love his wife, but that did not mean they could not enjoy each other thoroughly in bed.
His hands slid to the top button of his trousers and unfastened it, but stopped there. She was still fully clothed, and still fully an innocent. She wasn’t yet ready to see the proof of his desire.
He climbed onto the bed and, like a feral cat, crawled toward her, inching closer and closer until her elbows, which had been propping her up, slid out from under her and she was flat on her back, staring up at him, her breath coming fast and shallow through her parted lips.
There was nothing, he decided, more breathtaking than Kate’s face when flushed with desire. Her hair, dark and silky and thick, was already pulling free of the pins and fasteners that had held her elaborate wedding day coiffure in place. Her lips, always a bit too full for conventional beauty, had taken on a dusky pink color in the slanted light of the late afternoon. And her skin—never had it seemed so flawless, so luminescent. A pale blush tinted her cheeks, denying her the bloodless complexion that the fashionable ladies always seemed to desire, but Anthony found the color enchanting. She was real, human, and trembling with desire. He couldn’t have wished for more.
With a reverent hand, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then slid them down her neck to the tender skin that peeked above the edge of her bodice. Her gown was fastened by a maddening row of buttons at the back, but he’d already undone nearly a third of them, and it was now loose enough to slide the silken fabric over her breasts.
If anything, they looked even more beautiful than they had two days earlier. Her nipples were rosy pink, cresting breasts that he knew fit his hands to perfection. “No chemise?” he murmured appreciatively, running his finger along the prominent line of her collarbone.
She shook her head, her voice breathy as she answered, “The cut of the gown didn’t allow it.”
One side of his mouth lifted into a very male smile. “Remind me to send a bonus to your modiste.”
His hand moved ever lower, and he cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it softly, feeling a groan of desire rise up within him as he heard a similar moan escape her lips.