Page 52 of Miss Hawthorne’s Unlikely Husband (The Troublemakers Trilogy #3)

In the carriage, she sat opposite him, folded her arms and turned her head towards the window.

She had rarely been this angry in her whole life.

In fact, she was almost certain that she’d never been this livid.

He hadn’t done anything wrong, but there was a strange energy in her looking for a fight.

All she could see was that pale hand touching him and him not shaking her off.

She knew he couldn’t reasonably do it without drawing unwanted attention, that waiting her out was the best and most dignified approach.

But another part of her wanted him to shove the impudent hussy away.

“Are you not going to sit beside me?” he asked.

She didn’t reply but she didn’t move either.

She didn’t want to be too close to him. He was too magnetic, too attractive, too skillful.

He’d bewitched her into allowing him to seduce her in a public place with hundreds of witnesses.

She didn’t know what she would allow him to do in the relative privacy of a carriage. “Are you cross with me?”

“I don’t like her.”

“Yes, that much was obvious,”

She glared at him.

“I don’t like her either if that matters.”

It didn’t. “She is far too familiar with you.”

“Yes. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

She glared at him again. “You didn’t seem overly opposed.”

“I wasn’t sure how it would look if I did what I wanted to do.”

“You—” she cut herself off and looked away from him again.

“Why are you cross with me?”

“I am not cross with you exactly.”

The carriage came to a stop. She waited until they were inside their home, walking up the stairs to their rooms before she asked the question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

“Do you know her?

He blinked in silence for a moment. “I don’t understand the question.”

“My father said that he’d known her before this. That he’d met her before she was a wealthy widow.”

“Ah.”

“Did you?”

“Not exactly.” He glanced at Béa, “I’ll finish. You can come back in the morning for the rest.”

She glanced at Elodia for confirmation before nodding and taking her dress and petticoats with her.

“She behaves as though she’s known you for a long time,” Elodia commented.

“Do you think I’ve encouraged her?” he asked as he began unlacing her stays.

“No, but do you find her attractive?” She unhooked the front of her stays once they were loose enough and he laid them on a chair before removing his waistcoat.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“I don’t know.” She sat down at her vanity in her undergarments and began removing her jewelry. “She looks like every woman should look. For a moment, when you were standing there with her, it seemed almost natural.”

“More natural than us?” he asked, watching her closely with his hands in his pockets, one broad shoulder leaning against the bedpost.

She would be damned if she admitted to him that she was, in fact, jealous.

Her eyes drifted to her reflection in the mirror before her.

Lady Tremaine had said Richard had no doubt been with women built more like her.

It placed her own underdeveloped body in harsh perspective.

Unlike her father’s future bride, she was flat and square with skinny arms and a bottom that was far out of proportion.

Easy enough to disguise in clothing, but looking at herself now, in only her chemise and stockings, there was no way to ignore it.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and firm.

She met his eyes for a moment then looked away.

The anger had melted away, leaving her feeling small and cold.

There was an unease in the back of her mind that she wanted to go away.

His touch would chase it away surely enough, but she wasn’t sure she wanted it just yet.

Too much of her wanted to follow him anywhere no matter what it meant.

What if he wasn’t being honest about his attraction?

“Would you rather I not touch you now?” he asked.

She stood and walked over to him. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to his chest, pressing her back against him and turned her to face the full length mirror opposite the bed.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

His elegant hand came up to take hold of her jaw and lifted her head. “Look at yourself.”

“No,”

“àirén, look,” he murmured. His fingers were firm but careful, always careful with her. Her tear glazed eyes met his in the mirror. “Tell me what you are seeing.”

She shook her head, refusing to speak or meet his eyes. But she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to give up his touch or the feel of his strong lithe body at her back.

“Shall I tell you what I see?” he asked. She didn’t speak, but her head fell back against his shoulder. “Your hands,” he relinquished his hold on her jaw to bring one of her limp hands to his lips.

“Skinny,” she murmured.

“Slender, with the softest palms. I love watching them play the piano. I’m always jealous of your mouth when you lick your fingers. I’m especially fond of the way they feel on me, in my hair, on my skin.” He lowered her hand to her side and then moved his over her hips.

“Too narrow,”

“For?”

“Children,”

“Nonsense, they are perfectly serviceable for children.” His hands drifted up to her ribs to cup her miniscule breasts, cupping them gently in his palms. “These here,”

“Nonexistent,”

He squeezed and a shiver ran through her. “I beg to differ, but do you know what is particularly charming about them?”

She shook her head. His thumb brushed her nipple over her chemise and her knees buckled.

“They are so delightfully sensitive,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth as she arched into his touch. His breath skittered over her skin and she shivered. “All of you is so sensitive, your breasts, your mouth, this wonderous silken skin.”

She could hardly catch her breath, could barely keep her eyes open as she watched him touch her with masterful tenderness, with delicious intent.

He moved them backward towards the chaise at the foot of the bed and sat, resting her on his thigh.

She could feel him hard and insistent against her hip and moved her hand back to touch him.

He snatched her hand and moved both of hers into his.

“So impatient, I’m not finished as yet.”

“Richard,” she whined.

“Shhh, let me show you what a treasure, what a wonder you are.”

She wanted to argue, but the idea of moving from where she was or stopping him was debilitating.

With every word, every touch, that knot in her chest was unfurling.

No doubt it would return tomorrow, but right now, in this moment, she wanted to believe she was the woman in the mirror.

She wanted to be the brown skinned beauty in Richard’s arms, sprawled wantonly in his lap, breathless and ravenous, receiving her worshipful due.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

“Good girl.” He ran his hand down her thigh to her calf. “These legs here,”

“They are too big.”

“I love how strong they are. I love how tightly they wrap around me, how they grip me when you ride me.”

For a moment, she closed her eyes as a tear slipped through her lashes, rolling down her cheek.

“This bottom here.” His hand slid over it, giving the lush curve a daring squeeze. She wriggled into his touch wishing, for the first time, she had removed all her clothing so she could feel his hands all over.

“Tell me,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek with hers.

He smiled; his reflection wickedly amused. “I love how round it is.”

“It’s too big.”

“Not when it’s pressed against my cock.”

She shivered. That word.

“It feels just right. When you were drunk that one night and you sat in my lap, I thought I would die on the spot.”

“Served you right.”

“Such a cruel mistress,” he murmured against her neck.

“What else?”

“Fishing for compliments now?”

“Tell me,”

“I saved the best for last.”

His hand slipped under her chemise, then slid high on her bare leg, curving towards her inner thigh until he cupped her sex.

The sound that escaped her was almost feral, half gasp, half moan.

His fingers slid between her sodden folds, brushing her clit as he’d called it, and she gripped his leg, shuddering.

“This part of you here is so perfect, not many women have it.”

“A vagina?”

He snickered against her neck then slid two fingers inside her, his thumb braced against her clit to drive her mad. “Not quite. There’s a delightful little spot inside you just here,” his fingers flexed inside her and stroked an area of such sensitivity she forgot how to breathe.

“Oh God.” Yes, she loved when he did that with his fingers.

“Mmm,” he murmured, “I love that you have this àirén, it means I can please you so much more.” His fingers began to move in and out, his thumb brushing softly against the side of her clit.

She went rigid, her hold on his thigh tightening.

She clutched at the wrist of the hand between her legs as her breath shuddered past her lips.

“Look at me.” The soft command came again from him.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closing.

It took more effort than she’d thought herself capable of, but she met his gaze in the mirror again.

His lips were parted slightly, his eyes moving from where his hand was hidden by her shift to her face and back again.

He seemed enraptured by her, by them, by what he was doing to her.

Had he always looked at her like that or was it because he was watching them together?

“Every inch of you is beautiful, every inch was made for love, made to be loved and cherished. Nothing is wanting.”

She nodded weakly. She wanted it to be true.

Wanted to believe the woman she was watching was her.

That woman was sultry with perfectly even skin that seemed to glow with golden light.

Her eyes were wide and fathomless, her hair a wild mane of shining dark curls.

She was exquisite, especially as she was in his arms, reveling in his touch as he stroked her to tumultuous completion, her heart racing so hard it was uncomfortable.

He kept going, following every squirm of her body until there was nothing left, until she covered his hand with hers, a silent, desperate plea for mercy.

His hand stilled, resting against her. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in while his eyes burned into hers in the mirror, pitch-black and mesmerizing.

“Ellie,” he murmured, his hand fisting in her shift over her stomach.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, more. Make love to me. Do it here.”

His forehead dropped heavily onto her back for a moment, his breath branding her skin through her shift.

His hand retreated from between her legs to unfasten his breeches and pulled her shift up higher until she could feel his trousers against her bare bottom.

He pulled her closer to him with one arm, lifting her high against his chest. She felt him against her hard and hot, sliding into her slick eager sex from behind.

She arched backwards, her hips squirming as she slid slowly down his length, feeling it stretch and make room within her until she was flush against his hips.

She leaned against him again, feeling his body behind her, inside her, tense, breathless and hard as granite.

She felt dizzy and weak. He felt deeper than before, as if he’d never been this far inside her previously.

She wanted to move but moving her hips produced a sensation that was too overwhelming.

His hands settled on her hips and helped her to rock them back and forth in a steady rolling motion that rubbed him against that spot inside he’d shown her with his fingers.

It felt so perfect. Everything he did to her, everything he made her feel, was like heaven.

She didn’t know how he was able to make her feverish with desire every time.

It made her want to rock her hips harder, to feel that shimmering cascade of sensation over and over, while his wandering hands chased its path over her stomach to her breasts, pulling her closer, caressing her body with wonderous intelligence.

And his midnight eyes followed every undulation of her hips, every gasp that parted her lips, every shudder.

She reached behind her to hold his cheek and press his face to hers, anything to keep her grounded while he drove her towards another peak.

She couldn’t stop herself from clenching down harder on him when his hand once again dipped between her legs, under her shift where her sex enveloped his.

His fingers caught her clit between them, the desperate churning of her hips giving her the extra friction she needed to send them both over the edge.

A voice cried out, thin and desperate with rapture.

He pulled her squirming body hard against him, his hips thrusting up into her.

She heard the groans he buried into her hair and against her neck, the moans she pulled from his chest, the harder she rolled her bottom against his groin, that additional force sending her spiraling into ecstasy.

Her head fell back as she cried out, her eyes barely open but unable to look away, hypnotized by the sight of them together.

All the while, he observed her with that hungry, focused, worshipful gaze, one hand buried between their legs, the other curling lightly around her throat, tender and palpable, holding her in place.

All she could feel was him, and even when her eyes finally rolled back as vicious delight dragged her under, all she could see in her mind was his face as he watched her.