Page 47 of A Devil in Silk (Tales from The Burnished Jade #3)
Across the room, Gentry caught his eye and gave the smallest nod. The time had come. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother. Did Clara ask if you’d care to dine with us in Bruton Street tomorrow night?”
She smiled. “She did. That would be wonderful.”
He kissed his mother’s cheek and followed Gentry to the door.
“Do I need to change clothes?” Bentley asked his friend.
Gentry looked at him, his grin broadening. “No. Where you’re going, you won’t need them.”
The journey to St James’s Street took ten minutes. Gentry nudged him when they drew up outside Porretta’s Bathhouse. “Your wife paid for exclusive hire. You have a private bathing chamber to yourselves tonight.”
“You helped her arrange it?” The thought of Clara lounging in a mineral bath like a siren of Rome had him hard in an instant.
Gentry nodded. “She asked Sofia, and I can’t say no to my wife either. Not when Clara suggested we have a room to ourselves, too.”
“Then why the devil are we still sitting here?” Bentley said, reaching for the carriage door.
Hanson, the burly attendant, greeted them in the marble-lined foyer, the familiar scents of mineral salts and exotic oils drifting on the warm air. He handed over keys to their private rooms along with plush cotton towels, his manner discreet but knowing.
Bentley followed Gentry down the lamplit corridor, the mosaic tiles beneath their boots glistening with a damp sheen. Steam drifted from the open archways, veiling glimpses of vaulted ceilings, marble benches, and pools that glowed like molten sapphire in the candlelight.
They paused where the passage forked. Gentry clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “This is where we part ways, Rutland. Clara will meet you presently.”
Bentley inclined his head, scarcely listening. His thoughts had already slipped to Clara and how she would look amid the shimmering water, her hair loose, her body bathed in the golden light of lanterns.
He unlocked the door and entered, the chamber hushed but for the ripple of water. The air was thick with the scent of rose oil, clinging to his senses, whetting his appetite. She was not there yet, but anticipation quickened his pulse all the same.
A small table had been laid with wine and a cold collation: slices of roasted ham, cheese, fresh bread and fruit. Clara’s touch was everywhere in the arrangement, indulgent and precise, as though she meant to feed his hunger and his desire.
Bentley’s mouth curved.
She had thought of everything.
He undressed and entered the pool, the warm water easing the tension from his bones.
Feminine whispers drifted through the door, punctuated by soft giggles and the light pad of slippered feet on stone.
He sank onto the submerged seat, the heat rising around his chest, his gaze fixed on the entrance.
Every nerve thrummed in expectation of her.
Nothing prepared him for the first glimpse of his wife.
Clara entered, clad in a flowing Roman gown of soft white that clung to her figure, the fabric fastened at one shoulder with a gilded clasp. Her dark hair was fashioned in a classical knot, loosened tendrils brushing her bare neck and collarbone.
He felt a tug in his abdomen when she locked the door.
“I loved every second of being your princess of Persia, Bentley.” She moved closer, taking a grape from the platter and biting into the soft flesh, licking the juice from her lips.
“You played the role to perfection.”
She smiled. “And now I thought I might tempt you as a Roman courtesan. Do you think you’ll survive it?”
His throat worked as he watched her lick another drop of juice from her lip. “Barely.”
“The Romans were known for their appetites and their impatience.” With a deft movement she slipped free of her sandals, then reached for the clasp at her shoulder. It gave beneath her fingers, and the gown fell in a silken rush, gliding over her porcelain skin until it pooled at her feet.
“ God above. ” The oath escaped before he could stop it. His gaze devoured her, the swell of her full breasts, the soft curves of her body, every inch a vision designed to undo him.
She stepped into the water, ripples breaking around her thighs as she moved towards him. “Roman wives were known for their boldness, too.” Her voice was low, almost trembling with need. “Are you ready for me, Bentley? Because I can’t wait. I need you inside me.”
“I’ve been ready since the moment you trusted me with your list.”
“If I had to create a list again, every adventure would be making love to you.” She reached him, her hands settling on his bare shoulders, her lips brushing his softly before she straddled his thighs. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. You make me feel like I can conquer the world.”
He entered her with one long, slow thrust, relishing her sudden gasp, the way she arched to take him fully, her body sheathing him in silken heat.
“I love you,” he whispered, holding her as though he would never let go. “You saved me from a life of misery. You are my beginning, my end, and every adventure in between.”