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Chapter Fifteen
Bethea awoke sometime later and stretched like a contented cat until she realized Camden was no longer in bed. She knitted her brow, patting the cool sheets beside her to make sure.
Aye, he was gone.
Disappointment flooded Bethea as she towed the bedding up beneath her arms and lay her forearms over the folded edge. Nonetheless, a smile teased the corner of her mouth. Camden made love to her again, this time with her on top before they’d both drifted to sleep.
Camden whispered all of the tantalizing, naughty ways he wanted to take her, and even as satiated as she was, her body tingled in renewed anticipation.
The entire household likely knew they’d spent the afternoon in bed, and for the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to feel a jot of mortification. She yawned and grasped the bedding to toss it back and go in search of her husband when the chamber door swung open.
Dressed only in a kilt, shirt, and stockings, and wearing a grin that would strip the clothing from a woman in a thrice, Camden carried a tray.
Not a doubt remained that every servant, as well as the guards, knew what they’d been about.
“I thought ye might be hungry after our bed sport,” he said, shutting the door with the heel of one foot.
“Aye.” Ravenous, in truth.
Bethea first fluffed the pillows and then sank into them, running her appreciative gaze over her husband. It was amazing what treasures clothing hid. Such a shame too, for she could quite easily gaze upon and explore Camden’s naked form for hours—days—and never grow bored.
He set the tray on a table and then, as if it weighed no more than a downy thistle, lifted the piece and brought it to her side of the bed. A sensual smile curving his mouth, he brushed several locks of hair off her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her. “How are ye feelin’?”
She reflected for a moment. “Only a wee bit sore, but that’s to be expected the first time.”
“Aye.” He handed her a piece of cheese and a slice of apple. “It will nae hurt again. I worried that perhaps I was a wee bit too large for ye.”
“Och, that wasna a problem.” Good God, was that sultry, siren’s voice hers? It was then that she noticed the three letters on the tray as well. Before she said anything more to puff up his already inflated manly pride, she raised an eyebrow, and she pointedly looked at the correspondences. “Have ye read them, then?”
Cutting a glance at the tray, he surprised her by shaking his head. He’d not tied his hair back into a queue, and he appeared every bit the marauder he’d been accused of being.
“Nae. Whatever those letters say affects ye, too. We should read them together. I want to do everthin’ with ye, lass. Make all of our decisions and choices as equals and partners.”
If Bethea hadn’t already been head over heels in love with him, that declaration would have catapulted her into loving him. But as she already adored him, his vow just sealed her love.
She cupped his jaw, reveling in the slightly rough texture. “Ye are so verra different than any man I’ve ever kent.” As much as she loved Keane, she couldn’t conceive of him waiting to read a correspondence addressed to him until Marjorie awoke from a passion-induced nap.
Patting the mattress, she scooted over, making room for him. “Come, sit beside me. I miss touchin’ ye.” She glimpsed a length of muscular thigh visible below his bunched kilt. “I find I quite like gazin’ at ye, too.” Feeling incredibly bold, she grazed a fingertip up the length of his hairy thigh, edging ever nearer his engorged shaft.
His kilt pulsed upward, and she jerked her attention to meet his sizzling gaze. “Careful, lass, or we’ll have to delay readin’ the missives a wee bit longer.”
Bethea bit her lip, trying to decide which she was more eager for, and at last, settled on the letters first and another rousing romp in bed afterward. “I saw a picture once, in a book at Trentwick Castle that Keane hasna idea he owns, of a man, takin’ a woman from behind.”
His blue eyes dark as the sky before dawn, he cocked a raven eyebrow, the planes of his face becoming more defined with his arousal. He touched his beautiful mouth to hers, and she seriously reconsidered her previous words.
Perhaps making love should occur first, else how could she possibly concentrate on the letters?
“Was she kneelin’ on all fours or bent over a bed? Or on her side, with him behind her?” he asked, throatily, evidently as aroused as she.
Her mouth went dry at the erotic images his words conjured, and she swallowed in an attempt to cobble together a coherent sentence. “Um, on her side, I believe.
How quickly he’d turned the tables on her, the rake.
“Ah, we’ll try that first, then,” he purred, as he grabbed an apple slice and the letters before wedging his large form onto the bed.
Bethea strongly suspected she’d spend much of the next few weeks naked and exploring all sorts of sexual fantasies with her husband.
What a fantastical thought.
