Page 19

And those are my responsibility to instruct now, aren't they?

That worried him far more than theoretical future dalliances. In Nicholas’ experience, marriages among the nobility were best kept flexible—one never knew where royal eyes would wander, or if the visitor to her boudoir was more important to the family fortunes than donning a set of cuckold’s horns.

“I want a simple life, my lord.” Amy took a significant drink of the scotch, coughed, and held it back for him. “Though, I suppose that does raise an excellent point. I don’t wish to stop you from your own, erm, activities. But if discretion is possible, I’d appreciate that as well. At least at the start.”

"No fear there, darling. I’ve never had the ready cash to afford a mistress, and I won’t take one until the finances are in much better order. Which is a long time from now. If ever.”

A contracted mistress was ideal but included all the business of keeping them clothed and housed, and what to do with any children. Being skint and fourth in line for a title, Nicholas had pursued only married women who would give cash instead of taking it—and give it they often did. He hoped he wouldn’t need to pursue that career for a while.

"Unfortunately, that leaves you to be both wife and mistress. A cruel fate indeed.”

“I shall endure somehow.” She smirked, leaning on her elbow. “Your sister told me about Clarendel Manor. I look forward to seeing it with my own eyes. We can talk of my allowance another time—”

“The moment the lawyers sort your inheritance,” he assured her.

“Good. Juliet has ideas for improvements, but I’d like to assess the situation myself before making decisions. If there are rooms you prefer to remain unaltered, you need only tell me so.”

"I leave such considerations to you and Juliet so long as we aren't left destitute by wallpaper." He stood closer and handed her back the flask. "Have a sip before we take shelter under the coverlet, and let's both pray the maids here have been thorough enough to keep the bedbugs at bay."

She wrinkled her nose and took more than a sip. Handing it back, she stared at the bed as though expecting vermin to scatter every which way. “Would you, uh, mind turning the covers down first? Just to be sure?”

"Throwing your lot in with a stranger is fine. But you quail at bugs?" Laughing, Nicholas crossed to the bed and flipped the heavy quilts back, revealing the warming pan and a few mended spots in the linens, but no bugs. "I suppose this is a bad moment to consider that inns are so often known for their rats—"

“Bugs are different.”

“Hm.” Nicholas admired her stubbornly tilted chin. “I almost believe you, darling.”

She slowly made her way to the bed, inspecting it one last time before sitting daintily on the edge to remove her slippers. “It is a nice mattress,” she commented. “Better than the one Juliet and I shared last night.”

"This place sits at a crossroads. They must be nicer, or the other inns will take their custom." He moved to the other side of the bed and shed his robe, setting it out within easy reach, before climbing into the bed in a rustle of linen, wool, and the crunch of the straw mattress beneath the down. He waited for her to lie down and drew the heavy winter covers back up but didn't press closer to her. Yet. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

“Unless that storm you spoke of finds its way here.” She turned to him. “Will you ... sleep? I realize how strange it must be to share a bed with someone who—”

"Someone who's about to be my wife? Yes. That's a puzzle." He moved his arm enough to trail light fingers along her soft wrist under the covers. "If my wife were here, I'd already have her shift off and be performing unspeakable things for her enjoyment. But here I am, with a lovely virgin who might be quite put off marriage if I demand too much of her."

“Mm.” She eased herself slightly closer. “If your demands are anything resembling the time we shared at your London house, I doubt you hear any complaints.”

"I’m willing to test that." He reached for her waist, dragging her shift up. "Untie your shift, Amy."

The room was bare of candles, but the light of the fire remained bright enough to see her features as he gave the order. Her honey-cinnamon gaze dropped, and she loosened the ties, fingertips grazing over skin he’d fantasized about all day.

Nicholas kissed her lips, teasing her silken thighs with one hand. He didn't have a plan yet beyond watching her come again. Maybe twice. "There's my brave girl. You like being touched, don't you?" He didn't need the answer—the honey slicking his fingers as he parted her folds told him. "Now, push the shift down. I want to see those lovely breasts."

She parted her lips, a soft, breathy moan escaping between them. Her legs parted, encouraging him to continue his ministrations as she tugged at her sleeves, pulling them off her shoulders, the neckline following the descent. Her collarbone gave way to the gentle swell of her full breasts. Amy lay on her back, her pert, pink nipples pointing straight up, begging for his attention.

"God, you are a beauty." He sampled the curve of her throat, breathing in her perfume as much as her sweet gasps. His fingers sought out her clit, pressing and circling her sensitive flesh to find what pressure brought moans and pleas. "That's it, Amy. Good girl. Let go..."

Her hips rocked against his hand, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, her grip tightening as her moans grew louder. “N—Nicholas, I ... oh!” Her back arched, and she threw her head back just before her body shook, a cry tearing from her throat, her nails digging into his skin.

Nicholas took advantage of her distraction to capture her right nipple in his lips, sucking, teasing, and pinning her arms while he slaked days of fantasies with her flesh. He settled on top of her, keeping her prone while he freed his aching cock. He didn't aim to take her, but placing his length against her dripping sex, rubbed along her swollen clit. His cock throbbed in answer as Amy moaned. "You aren't done, sweetheart."

Her knees bent on either side of his hips, cradling him securely between her thighs. The hand on his arm trailed higher, over his shoulder, behind his neck, curling when she reached his hair.

“I—I’m not?” She shivered beneath him, closing her eyes as she whimpered with each stroke. “Please. Don’t stop ... Don’t...”

He answered by raking his teeth along her left nipple, soothing with his tongue but not releasing her hip or letting her throes of pleasure dislodge the rhythm. "You'll be the most soiled virgin in the kingdom when we wed," he whispered against her throat.

Amy’s only answer was a moan. And then another. Her fingers tightened, pulling at his hair, and her other hand wrapped around his shoulder, holding on to him as though afraid she’d sink into the bed if she let go.