She swallowed. “How so?”
He tossed aside the strawberry stem and folded his arms on the table. “We got only about a yard from shore before we sank. We landed in the weeds, the water only to our waists.”
“That’s all?”
He felt th S"3"idte corner of his mouth kick up. “Well, it would’ve been all had not Reynaud managed to land almost on top of a goose nest.”
She winced. “Oh, dear.”
He nodded. “Oh, dear, indeed. The gander took exception to us invading his pond-side cottage. Chased us nearly back to Vale Manor. And there, my tutor finally caught up with us and gave me such a caning I could hardly sit for a week. Haven’t really cared for roast goose since.”
For a moment, he held her laughing brown eyes, the room quiet, the servants somewhere out in the hall. Jasper could feel each inhale, feel time seem to pause as he looked into his wife’s eyes. He was on the precipice of something—a turning point in his life, a new way of feeling or thinking—he wasn’t sure, but it was right beneath his feet. All he had to do was take the step.
But it was Melisande who moved. She shoved back her chair and rose.
“I thank you, my lord, for a very amusing tale.” And she walked to the dining room door.
Jasper blinked. “Are you leaving me so soon?”
She paused, her ramrod-straight back still toward him. “I hoped you would accompany me upstairs.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes grave, mysterious, and just a little teasing. “My courses are over.”
She closed the door very quietly behind her.
MELISANDE HEARD A muttered curse followed by a sharp bark as she left the dining room. She smiled. No doubt Vale had forgotten Mouse’s leash tied to his wrist. She mounted the stairs quickly, not looking back. She could feel the beat of her pulse, was aware that he would be following her. The thought sped her feet as she reached the upper hallway.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her on the stairs, drawing swiftly closer. He must be taking the treads two at a time. She reached her bedroom door, her breath coming in short pants of excitement. She pushed through the door into the empty room and ran to the fireplace, where she whirled around.
Vale prowled into the room a moment later.
“What did you do with Mouse?” She struggled to keep her voice even.
“Gave him to a footman.” He locked the door.
“I see.”
He turned back to her and halted, his head cocked. He seemed to be waiting for her move.
Melisande inhaled and glided forward. “He sleeps with me usually, you know.”
She grasped the edges of his coat and drew them apart, urging it from his arms.
“In this room?”
“In my bed.” She laid his coat carefully on a chair.
“Ah. Indeed.” His eyebrows were drawn together as if he were puzzling something out.
“Indeed,” she repeated softly. She pulled loose hi Sullfons neck cloth and laid it on the coat. Her hands shook as if she had a palsy.
“In the bed.”
“Yes.” She unbuttoned his waistcoat.
He shrugged out of it and dropped it to the floor. She glanced at it and decided to leave it. She began working on his shirt.
“I would think . . .” He trailed away, seeming to lose his train of thought.
She drew his shirt off over his head and looked at him. “Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should sit down.”
“Why?” She wasn’t about to let this go the way of their wedding night. She laid her fingertips on his chest and traced down lightly over his stomach, reveling in the freedom to touch his bare skin.
He sucked in his belly in reaction. “Ah . . .”
She reached his breeches and found the buttons.
“Slow.”
“You think we should slow down?” she asked gently. She slipped buttons through their holes.
“Well . . .”
“Yes?” The flap of his breeches sagged open.
“Ah . . .”
“Or no?” She slid her hand into his smallclothes and found him hard and heavy, waiting just for her. Warmth pooled at her center in anticipation. She’d have him tonight—have him the way she wanted.
He closed his eyes as if in agony and said quite distinctly, “No.”
“Oh, good,” she murmured. “I concur.”
And she slipped her other hand into his breeches to cradle him.
He swayed a little before planting his feet.
She was caught in discovery. Oddly, her hands had stopped shaking, finally, now that she touched the most intimate portion of his anatomy. She could feel the crisp hair brushing the back of her fingers, and her palms were filled with hot flesh. She wrapped her left hand about his width and explored him with her right. Soft skin, granite-hard muscle beneath. The slight bumps of veins, a wide flanged head. She ran her fingertips across that head, sensitive skin to sensitive skin, and felt the tiny slit. The moisture that seeped from that slit. She rubbed the moisture in little circles and at the same time squeezed with her left hand.
“Oh, God,” Vale implored. “You make me weak, my lady wife.”
She smiled, a secret, feminine smile of triumph, and stood on tiptoe, his cock still in her hands. “Kiss me, please.”
His eyes opened, and he looked at her almost wildly. Then he grasped her arms and bent his head to kiss her. His mouth was open, wet, a little desperate—exactly the way she wanted it. She made a humming sound of pleasure in her throat and stroked Sat ope him firmly. He groaned and thrust his tongue into her mouth, his cock into her hands. She captured his tongue and sucked. His big hands dropped to her bottom, squeezing. A thrill of pure pleasure rushed through her center.
He pulled back suddenly, gasping. “Sweet my heart, maybe we should . . .”
No. She shoved his breeches down, off his hips. She examined his beautiful, bared cock and felt her internal muscles squeeze at the sight.
“Melisande . . .”
His penis was a dark red, proud and erect, his balls drawn up tight and hard beneath. She placed her thumb under the head, in that small, sensitive indent on the underside. “What?”
“Don’t you . . . ?”
She glanced back up at him. Her husband looked a little dazed.
“No,” she said quite firmly, and leaned forward to lick his left nipple.
He jerked in reaction and pulled her toward him, smashing her hands between them.
She relinquished her prize and, placing her palms on his chest, pushed him backward to a chair. He stumbled a step before bending impatiently and stripping off his breeches and smallclothes, followed by hose and shoes. He sat splendidly naked in the chair and then seemed to realize she was still dressed.