Page 141 of Kathryn

He strode to his room, already tugging his cravat before he opened the door.

Court was waiting for him as always. If he thought it unusual that Gerrit had already removed his neckcloth, he kept the thought to himself but drew the correct inference: Gerrit was in a hurry.

He disrobed Gerrit with slightly more haste than usual, managing to have him washed, shaved, and garbed in his banyan in less than a quarter of an hour.

As always, Gerrit used the connecting door. His wife was still seated at her dressing table, wearing a dressing gown, and brushing her hair.

Her cheeks bore twin bright spots of color, and she was breathing more rapidly than brushing of one’s hair required.

His wife was excited.

So was he.

The pale column of her throat flexed, and her pearl-handled hairbrush rattled against the wood as she set it on her dressing table.

Gerrit placed his hands on her shoulders when she would have risen. “Stay a moment,” he said, his voice harsh with need as he stared at their reflection in the mirror. “La Belle et la Bête,” he murmured, taking a handful of her hair, the dark red spirals twisting around his fingers like living things.

“What did you say?” she asked, drawing his gaze to hers in the looking glass.

“Beauty and the Beast—it is a French story.”

The pulse at the base of her throat beat against her skin hard enough that he could see it.

“You are hardly a beast.”

That made him smile, a contortion of his ugly features that did nothing to improve his brutal appearance.

Her eyes widened at his expression, a rare one, he knew. Gerrit wrapped her hair around his fist and exerted pressure on her head until her back was pressed against his cock. “Open your dressing gown and show me what you are wearing.” His gaze dropped to her hands as they fumbled with the sash and then pulled the edges wide, exposing the pale pink half-stays and matching pink chemise beneath it.

He had always disliked the color pink, associating it with his mother. But right now, he could see the appeal.

“Raise your chemise.”

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, but she reached for the bottom edge of the garment and drew it above her knees, exposing the pink stockings and the darker pink garters that held them up.

“Higher,” he ordered, looking up to watch her face.

Her lips parted and she inhaled deeply as her hands lifted the garment until he could see the dark red curls of her sex.

“Part your legs.”

“Gerrit,” she said, making his name a plea.

“You know that you want me to see you,” he said, daring her to deny it.

A dozen emotions galloped across her expressive face: pride, arousal, and, finally, the headstrong, challenging glare she excelled in hurling his way like a gauntlet of old.

And then she spread her legs for him.

***

Katie had no idea what had got into Gerrit tonight.

Whatever it is, you like it…

She did like it. Because she was a wanton, hedonistic trollop. And she didn’t care about anything other than keeping that hungry expression on her husband’s face.

“Look at yourself,” he rasped, his eyes riveted to the part of her that a decent woman would never look at.