Page 47 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

London – Kensington

Jemie took hold of Frances’ hand and pulled her to him. He clasped her tightly and laid his forehead against hers. “Oh, my love. Are you sure?”

“Very. And I don’t mean to sit on your lap, this time,” she added, for the avoidance of doubt. She hesitated. “Do you think me fast?”

“I think you are exceedingly fast, but I’m grateful for it,” he murmured as he framed her face with both hands, tilted his head, and kissed her with exquisite tenderness.

Frances sank into the warm strength of his body, wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back. Frances’ entire body thrummed with desire at the feel of his lips against hers and when she broke their embrace, he trembled in her arms.

“Come to my room,” she murmured against his mouth, feeling exquisitely bold. “Once my maid has left, will you come?”

He pressed a kiss to each eye, down her nose, and back to her lips.

“I will be there.”

***

Grace readied Frances for bed in the same way that she always did, but this time, as the door closed on her maid, she undid her hair and ran her fingers through it.

She also, daringly in her mind, loosened the strings of her nightgown at the neck, letting it fall about her shoulders in what she hoped was a seductive fashion.

A fire crackled gently in the grate. She turned the gas lamps low, pinched her cheeks, shook out her hair again, took a deep breath, and waited.

When the door finally opened, her heart raced in her chest. She stood up as Jemie slipped in. He closed the door quietly and turned the key in the lock. She expected him to come to her. To take her in his arms, but he hesitated.

“Tell me you are sure about this,” he said softly. “I won’t be angry if you’ve changed your mind.”

She didn’t think she could love him more, but seeing the concern in his eyes, hearing him give her the chance to back away should she need to, solidified something inside her.

Something precious. Something warm. Drawing a breath to steady her, she walked over to where he stood and placed a tender hand on his chest.

“I want this. With you. No-one else.”

He caressed her hand and kissed it, screwing his eyes tightly closed, pressing it against his face.

“I want you too,” he murmured against her hand, his breath hot. “So much. For so long.”

She stroked his hair. “You might have to be patient with me.”

“Take all the time you like. I want to please you. Show you all the beautiful things a body, your body, is capable of.”

He looked at her and she kissed him softly. Chastely.

“Your Galatea again?” she mused.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not making you. I told you. You are already there. I simply found you. Unearthed you. The you that no-one else sees.” He kissed her again. “That makes me the luckiest man alive.”

Her heart was so full at his words it was hard to breathe and for a moment she thought she might cry. She stroked his face and gazed into his eyes. “It works both ways. I see a Jemie that I don’t think other people see.”

“Really?” His eyes widened.

“With everyone, you are a larger-than-life artist. Someone who performs, entertains…” she paused and smiled. “Someone who creates magic and delights in showing it. In private, you are patient, strong, caring…”

He flushed at her words.

She pressed her lips to his again, this time lingering. “Teach me about passion, Jemie.”

He drew her closer still, so her body pressed against his, feeling the warmth of him, “That, my love, I can do.”

He kissed her. Gently, softly, but then more insistently and it sent shivers up through her in spikes of pleasure.

The air between them was heavy and the passion that had simmered beneath the surface since their first kiss roared into life.

She pressed back and he opened his mouth and kissed her with an achingly intense rhythm.

She followed willingly, embracing him with a need that frankly startled her.

He groaned into her mouth and pulled her tightly against him, letting her feel his arousal.

Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled his lips away and mouthed hot kisses down her neck before coming back to her lips and they kissed for the longest time until they both needed more.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, dropping kisses all over her face. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you.” He pulled back and took handfuls of her hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of seeing your hair like this.” He combed his fingers gently through the long locks.

Frances’ lips curled into a soft smile. “It was one of the first things you said to me. How much you admired my hair.”

He drew a strand to his lips and kissed it. “I wanted to see it loose. I knew I wanted to paint you, but I wanted to paint you naked, on my bed, with your hair cascading over your body.”

Frances blushed at his words. “You did, even then?”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Then, and every moment since.”

The naked devotion in his gaze gave her the strength to banish any self-consciousness she felt.

She tugged at the ribbons of her nightgown, awaiting his reaction as she did so with delicious anticipation.

She fervently wished she had experience in such matters.

Wished she could do it more alluringly, but she did the best she could.

She unlaced the gown, eased it over her shoulders, and allowed it slide to the floor.

The look on Jemie’s face was all she could have dreamed of.

Mouth slightly open, eyes so dark she could fall into them, a tremble in his hand, and breathing like he’d run a mile.

“Frances. Oh, my love.” The words tumbled out on a shaken breath.

She wanted to apologise for her body. Four babies had taken their toll. She was still slender, but not like she once was in her youth, but the burning passion in his gaze as he lingered over every inch of her told her there was no need.

He seized long strands of her hair and let it cascade through his fingers and in that moment, she felt truly desired. Truly loved.

She swallowed. “I’d like to see you too.”

Without taking his eyes off her, he dispensed with his coat and cravat, throwing them on the floor behind him.

His waistcoat went the same way and then he was pulling his white shirt over his head, ruffling his gorgeous curls, and emerging with a smile.

She loved his chest so much. Loved the hair, the muscles, the solidity of it.

She put her hands out to touch him, but he backed away.

He quickly dispensed with shoes and stockings.

He stood in his bare feet and bare chest and his hands fell to his trousers.

Frances’ mouth was dry, and the longing that swamped her intensified.

“Don’t stop now,” she whispered.

He unbuttoned himself and pushed his trousers and under garments down to stand before her completely, utterly, gloriously naked.

“Oh,” she whispered with a blush. “Oh, Jemie.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Look at me like that and this is going to be over before it starts,” he said nervously.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to take a long time with you and I’m afraid I’m going to spend like a green lad the minute I touch you.”

For the first time in her life, taking a long time sounded positively delicious, not something to be dreaded or simply endured.

“You mean you might reach your crisis quickly?”

He nodded uncomfortably and took hold of himself with what looked like a hard squeeze.

She licked her lips, feeling bold. “Perhaps we could do it more than once?”

His lopsided smile widened. “I can try.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. “You don’t have to.”

“Darling. I want to make love to you all night long. However, men need some time after they have… ah, spent… to recover sufficiently to do it again.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s fine. I’m happy to wait until you recover.”

“You are an absolute delight,” he told her.

“Well, Frederick never took more than a few minutes, then disappeared for months on end, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not au fait with the etiquette here,” she said, with more humour than umbrage, making Jemie laugh and that dispelled any remaining nervousness between them.

“When you say you need time to recover, I’m hoping it’s sooner than a month?”

He laughed again delightedly as she hoped he would.

As he always did. He never failed to understand her.

“Come here, you,” he growled, scooping her into his arms and making her shriek with laughter as he carried her like a maiden in a fairy tale to the bed.

He laid her gently on the cool, white sheets and then arranged her hair just as he wanted it.

The laughter subsided as he gazed down at her.

“I want to draw you like this,” he whispered. “I need to draw you like this.”

She held out her hand. “Then you shall.”

He pushed the covers away and lay beside her.

She waited for him to climb atop her, but he didn’t.

He leaned over her, bringing their naked bodies together in a way that stole her breath.

He kissed her as his hands explored her body.

He took one of her hands and placed it on his hip.

An invitation for her to touch him too? She let her fingers glide over the smooth skin of his back and felt him shudder.

She let them drift lower, over the swell of his rear and he moaned and pressed harder against her.

He pulled his mouth from hers, and proceeded to kiss every part of her he could, driving her towards something just out of reach. When he took her breast in his hand, she arched against him crying his name.

He pulled away but she clutched at him. “Don’t stop… It’s… Oh…”

He growled softly and then his hands, and his lips showed her exactly what passion was. When she was a burning bundle of sensation, he shifted so he could skim a hand down her stomach. When he moved lower, the burning, needful sensation reached screaming pitch.

“Is this good?” he whispered against her skin.

“Yes…” it came out as a low moan.

“Are you ready for me? Can you help me?” He took hold of her hand and drew it down between them.

Bemused, she took hold of him and guided him inside. It was fiercely intimate, but his care of her, his consideration rather than blundering in made her catch her breath.

He brought them together, sunk deep inside her and braced himself on his elbows. He looked down at her as if searching her face, making her close her eyes and moan softly.

“Good?” he whispered, stilling.

“Very.” She opened her eyes and beamed at him. “It didn’t hurt at all.”

He groaned, buried his face in her neck, and moved. Slowly at first, but with a gathering pace and Frances clung to him, utterly swamped by the joy of the intimacy, and at the overwhelming emotion that threatened to overtake her. It was a sensation she had never felt before.

“Jemie,” she murmured over and over as she strained again for that something that hovered just out of her reach.

He shifted his position, adjusting his hips, bringing him into closer contact and increased his pace to something more frantic, desperate, and Frances clutched at his back, squeezed his hips with her thighs and then her world exploded, and she threw her head back on the pillow with a shout not caring who might hear.

Jemie didn’t stop. His movements became jagged, ravenous, until he too groaned and sank deep into her, pressing so tightly it felt like they were just two halves of a whole.

Tears leaked from her eyes as she stroked the back of his head. His breathing, like hers, was stertorous, and it was a while before he moved to look at her.

He lifted himself up and gazed down, searching her face. He wiped at the tears with his fingers.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Frighten you?”

She smiled. “Not in the slightest.”

“So, these are happy tears?” he ventured cautiously.

“Very happy,” she murmured, her chin quirking again as she did so.

He held her for the longest time. Eventually, he rolled to the side, but kept her close. They lay together like that for a long time. Frances loved every silent moment.

Jemie was the first to speak. He looked at her, face oddly serous. “I should have taken precautions to prevent a child.”

Frances blinked. She supposed he should have but they had both been lost in the moment.

“If there are consequences…”

Frances placed a gentle hand on his face.

“If there are consequences, we will manage things. All will be well.” She couldn’t think of anything she’d love more than to carry Jemie’s child, but she had to face facts.

“I had a terrible delivery with Elinor, and I think something may have been damaged because I’ve never caught again. ”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I would love to have your child, but I don’t think I can.”

He captured her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Let’s just be happy with what we have. It’s more than I ever thought I could.”

She stared into his eyes and smiled. “Me either. I never understood why anyone would want to take a lover, because it didn’t seem the most pleasant of tasks.”

“And now?”

Her smile widened. “It certainly has some advantages.”

He chuckled and threw back the covers, padding to the washstand. He surprised her by bringing her a cloth and a towel. It made her blush.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He turned back to the washstand and attended to himself, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his clenched buttocks and muscular back.

He turned back to her, utterly unabashed by his nudity.

“Would you like me to go?” he asked.

She shook her head, so he climbed back into bed, settled beside her, offering out an arm. She shuffled closer and lay her head on his chest with him enveloping her. They lay quietly, Frances’ fingers trailing through the hair on his chest, until Jemie yawned deeply.

“Will you sleep here?” she asked. She’d not slept in the same bed as a man since Frederick first bought a large enough house for separate bedrooms years ago, so early in his success.

“If you would like me to. Should I turn out the light?”

“Leave it on. I’d like to be able to see you if I wake up in the night.”

His answering smile was downright wicked. “My love, I can assure you we will be waking up in the night.”

“Really?” She giggled at the thought.

“Really.”