December 1825
“How do you like Woodbine Cottage, my lady?”
A happy laugh escaped Gemma, turning into puffs of vapor in the frostbitten air. On the other side of the still, mirrored surface of the pond, the little stone structure looked snug and inviting. It rested beyond the willow, contentedly nestled between a pair of evergreens, with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney that poked through the thatched roof.
“Is this truly for me?” She lifted her gaze to Sam, still feeling as if this were part of a dream. One she’d been living since summer.
Holding her hand, he tugged her into his embrace, pulling her flush against him through the layers of their winter clothing. “You asked if you could live in a one-room cottage at Dunnock Park. And I will always give you what you want.”
“As I recall very well from last night.” She grinned unabashedly, slipping her arms inside his greatcoat and earned a rakish grin from her husband. “Though surely you’re not going to make me live here. After all, I’ve grown quite accustomed to having a close proximity to the master of Dunnock Manor.”
As it was, they couldn’t make it an entire day without one of them tugging the other into the nearest room. The delicious truth of marrying an irresistible man.
He gave her a playful glower as he worked the top button of her redingote free and then the second one. “I’ll only send you here when you are bad and pretend to lose when we are playing cards.”
She sighed as he nuzzled the corner of her mouth. He nipped her chin and skimmed along the underside of her jaw. She tilted her head to allow him better access. “Can I help it if I enjoy the many ways you console me when I lose?”
“I rather like those as well.” Deftly unfastening the entire row of buttons, he slipped inside. His gloved hands surrounded her ribcage, thumbs beneath her swollen breasts, teasing her in slow, climbing sweeps as his mouth heated a path down her exposed throat.
Having experienced the wonders he could perform with his mouth, hands, and all of his other impressive parts, her body clenched in a damp, expectant rush. “Sam, take me to the cottage.”
“Afraid of scandalizing the woodland creatures”—his lips curved against her flesh, his voice a seductive murmur—“again?”
“Perhaps I’m merely eager to give you my present.” She slipped her hand between them, pressing her palm along the thick length of him until he was out of breath, his forehead pressed to hers and his eyes dark and drowsy. It was his own fault for unlocking the wild, hungry side of her nature. She couldn’t get enough of him.
They wasted no more time, their hurried footsteps crackling across the crystallized grass. And when he opened the door, a shower of dried woodbine petals rained down like wedding confetti, littering the floor of the snug cottage. Peering up, she saw that he’d rigged a basket overhead to spill when she entered. When she looked at him, he offered a shrug, a lopsided grin on his lips.
“I hope you know that I love you.” So full of joy, she couldn’t stop herself from launching into his arms.
He caught her handily, closing the door with his foot, and brushing his lips over hers. “I have an inkling.”
Then they were alone, closed inside this cozy space, the air sweetly scented and warmed by the flickering fire in the small half-circle hearth. She wanted to explore every detail . . . but later. Now, she only wanted him.
Sam shared her thoughts, ridding her of her redingote, and biting off his gloves before his hand slipped to the nape of her neck, drawing her mouth to his.
They’d become quite good at undressing each other. It was like a hurried game of expose and kiss. Her lips explored him, first beneath his cravat where a faint line of stubble met smooth, warm flesh. Followed by the hard protrusion of his Adam’s apple. The ridge of his clavicle where his shirt fell open. Then his waistcoat was gone, followed by his shirt, sailing overhead to land unheeded on the floor. She leaned close, her lips tingling as they swept over the smattering of crisp blond hair over his chest. A flat brown nipple. The firm bulge of a bicep.
Divesting her of her dress and her worsted petticoat, he picked her up against him, fitting her hips in perfect alignment with his. She became acutely aware of the suede texture of his still-fastened breeches along her inner thighs, and she couldn’t stop herself from clamping tighter around him. And with the hard summit of his erection, he teased the taut, pulsing bundle of nerves at her sex into a frenzy.
Her hips hitched, the pressure giving a sweet stab of pleasure. He wasn’t playing fair. At this rate, she would reach her own pinnacle before he was even inside her. She had to remedy that at once.
He turned around, pressing her against the door, his hand behind her head, cushioning her. Anchored by his lean, solid body, she reached down and nimbly freed him, his flesh heavy and scorching in her grasp. A few errant woodbine petals tumbled around them as she positioned him. Even though she was wet and eager, he stretched her fully, his thick flesh edging inside her in slow-burning, unhurried degrees. She could feel her walls closing around him, shrinking, clutching. Her back arched, reaching toward the crest of her own pleasure, seeking immediate release. Then, just as she felt her body cleaving to his, he went still.
Wedged inside her, Sam pressed his temple to hers, a faint sheen of perspiration shared between them. “Not yet, my love. If you go over the edge, I’ll surely follow.”
The thought of him losing himself sent an uncontrollable tremor through her, and one swift clench.
He groaned, his chest shuddering on a breath as he gave her a look of heated warning. She bit down on her lip to keep from grinning, knowing that neither of them would last long.
Proof of that was the way he took her mouth, devouring her. “Give me that grin, Gemma. I want to taste it.”
And she did, right before he rocked against her, seated fully inside her. She gasped as he withdrew and pitched forward, his thrusts in and in, so deep she was surprised she didn’t combust from pleasure. It kept building higher, so high it was hard to breathe. She broke from their kiss, her teeth sinking down onto his shoulder, holding on until—
She cried out, her body quaking, sparks lighting up behind her clenched eyes. Sam answered with a surprised shout, hips driving faster, endlessly, prolonging her shudders until he’d claimed every last one. Then he slowed, whispering a series of low, wanton murmurs, their bodies slick with pleasure.
Spent and blissful, they soon found themselves on an untidy pile of clothes. And they continued their game of expose and kiss but at a more leisurely, satisfied pace.
“Thank you for my cottage,” she said, lifting her head and lying half atop him, her leg gliding sinuously between his. “It’s the perfect size for the two of us.”
He reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear, his eyes glowing in the firelight, a smile on his lips. “Rather shortsighted of me, considering . . . ”
“Considering what?” she asked when he didn’t continue. Narrowing her eyes, she studied him closely. When she saw the tender way he gazed at her, she realized he knew her secret. “I wasn’t going to tell you until Christmas morning. The news is supposed to be your present.”
He shifted, turning them until she was lying back on his greatcoat. Propped up on his elbow, his hand brushed her cheek and skimmed down her body, pausing to mold around one of her plump breasts. “And I’m to wait until . . . June, I suppose . . . before this present arrives?”
Hmph. “For a man who claimed an uncertainty for reading people, you seem to have developed quite a knack for it.”
“Only because I find the object of my study utterly fascinating.” He kissed her softly, lingering. “Besides, was I supposed to miss the fact that your perfect nipples are slightly darker and so sensitive that I need only blow on them to bring them to a hard peak?” He paused to prove his point with a thin stream of air over the tip, and drew out a gasp from her, head back, her body bowing toward him. Then he moved lower, his hand splayed over her abdomen. Bending down, he kissed her there, gently, reverently. “And was I not supposed to notice how your slender stomach is firmer and with the faintest rounded swell, where my child is growing inside of you?”
She threaded her fingers in his hair, transfixed by a wave of such happiness that her eyes misted with tears. “I suppose I’ll have to find new ways to surprise you over the next few decades.”
He moved over her, pressed his lips to hers again, and grinned. “I look forward to it.”