Page 75 of How to Tempt a Duke

Eleanor threaded her bare fingers through Charles’s and laughed. “The most outrageous wedding of all time.”

Charles reveled in the silky warmth of her palm resting comfortably against his. Eleanor was now the Duchess of Somersville. His wife.

The poignancy of that moment was not lost on him, and suddenly he found himself possessive of her, and eternally glad to have her at his side and not that of Devonington, or even Rawley.

She was his.

The celebration of their union was a quiet affair, and one that ended quickly—much to Eleanor’s delight. Or rather to her delight, excitement, anticipation, nervousness, and everything else that loomed in her expectation of impending intimacy.

Charles led her to his room at the inn by a gentle hand, his gaze locked on hers as he opened the door. Though he had been there only one night, his wonderful scent of rich, foreign spices lingered in a room identical to her own. He closed the door and plunged the room into total silence.

Her breathing came fast and her body buzzed with heady anticipation as he approached her.

“My wife.” His mouth lifted in a charming half smile. “Do you have any idea how long I have wanted you?”

Her heart leapt at such words. “I believe I do have an idea.”

He grinned and pulled her to him. His mouth lowered to hers in a slow, sensual kiss that told her they had all the time in the world, and that he planned to savor every second of it. His fingers skimmed down her gown and began to work at the delicate line of buttons going down her back.

“As beautiful as you are with this on, I imagine you are far lovelier with it off.”

A soft sound of longing hummed from the back of her throat as each button fell open in turn under his subtle touch and widened her gown further and further. He watched as he undressed her...as the fabric began to loosen and gape.

Wanton though it might be, there was a part of Eleanor that wanted him to disrobe her, to leave the hot tension of her skin exposed to the open air. And, if she were being entirely honest, a wickeder part of her longed to see him as well.

At last the gown slipped off one shoulder and Charles eased it carefully down to the ground, so she stood in only her unmentionables. Her heart pounded in her chest with an intoxicating blend of expectation and excitement.

Charles paused for a long, slow breath and then pulled free the tie holding her petticoat in place. It shifted from her waist and puddled on the floor. He immediately set to work drawing the bow from her corset, where it was laced up at the front, one loop at a time. Within mere seconds the strings hung limp at her sides and Charles swept his hands over her shoulders, caressing her as he pushed the corset from her body.

“Your chemise,” he said in a deep, smooth voice. “Take it off.”

Eleanor paused then. For it was one thing to have her husband undress her, and entirely another to do it herself as he watched. Heat singed her cheeks and the warmth in other places grew hotter still.

She took the smooth fabric between her fingertips, carefully pulling it up her body and over her head. She let it float to the floor and stood before him wearing only pale silk stockings tied at her thighs. He took his time taking her in, lifting his steady stare up her legs to her breasts, then settling on the thatch of red hair between her legs.

“Stunning,” he said. “It would appear I was right. As lovely as you were in your gown, you’re far lovelier out of it.”

He closed the distance between them and delicately ran a finger from her shoulder down the side of her breast, along the curve of her hip to her thigh.

Her breathing grew faster and her skin burned where he’d touched her. The pleasant throbbing between her thighs increased its tempo in eagerness to experience more of the pleasure they’d shared.

His hand curled around the swell of her bottom, feather-light, and he caught her lips with his own. The kiss was tender at first, until his tongue touched hers and the embers were fanned to flames. Eleanor lifted her arms to his shoulders and tilted her face toward his, her own tongue seeking and stroking.

His delicate touch at her bottom became more inquisitive, more restless, roaming up to her waist, up to her breasts, where he teased at her sensitive nipples, and then down, down, down to where he’d stroked her before.

At the first sweep of his finger over the source of her need Eleanor’s knees buckled. She pushed at his jacket, shoving it from his shoulders so it fell unceremoniously to the floor.

“I want to see you, too.” Her voice was husky with lust.

She moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fingers trembled, fumbling in her impatience to have him as naked before her as she was to him.

“Relinquish your stockings,” he said against her mouth. “And I’ll remove my waistcoat.”

She obliged, rolling her stockings down her legs. Her skin was alight with intense sensitivity, so that even her own touch along her thighs left her flesh prickling with pleasure.

Charles unbuttoned his waistcoat with expertise. And he did not stop there. He next removed the collar from his shirt, revealing a hint of curling black hair, before tugging the cloth over his head. Lines of muscle showed along his stomach in tight bands, and the power of his chest swelled beneath a smattering of black hair.

Eleanor drew in a soft breath.