Page 30 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
H er face scrunched up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?” She blinked, and the wicked grin that spread across his face instantly made her hackles rise at once.
“Oh, you will, my tigress,” he drawled, his hands going to grip her waist and he was hoisting her up before she could even blink. “When I finish your education on why I am to be your only lord.”
Samantha gasped, her cheeks exploding with heat. “Ewan!” She slapped at his shoulder. “Put me down this instant!”
But Ewan wasn’t listening. No, he just lifted her higher until she had no choice but to lock her legs around his waist to keep from flopping around like a dead fish. Then, he walked back up the stairs, long strides eating up the distance to their chambers.
“Your nephew has arrived, Ewan.” She told him, trying to sound stern, but her words only came out breathless. “You cannot possibly be thinking of?—”
“Not only am I thinking it,” her terribly aroused husband said, “but I intend to show you, as well.”
By the time they reached the bedchamber, Samantha’s heart was hammering beneath her ribs, and not from the climb.
He kicked the door shut behind them and crossed the threshold in three long strides. She barely had time to protest—though heaven help her, she didn’t truly wish to—before he laid her down upon the mattress with a reverence that stole her breath.
His mouth found hers before she could speak, silencing any retort with a kiss that left her dazed and breathless. She felt the weight of him over her, the press of his body so achingly familiar now, and yet it never failed to unravel her.
Fingers traced the line of her jaw, her throat, the silk-covered swell of her breasts. The bodice of her gown gave way with practiced ease beneath his hands. Heat bloomed low in her belly as his lips followed the path his fingers blazed, until she arched beneath him, helpless against the tide.
She clutched at his shirt, her hands slipping beneath the linen to feel the heat of his skin, the taut ripple of muscle as he moved over her. Each touch was deliberate, every kiss a slow coaxing, until she was all sensation—every thought, every breath, every heartbeat tuned to him alone.
He murmured her name like a vow as he entered her, and her breath hitched at the exquisite joining. Their rhythm built slowly, an intimate dance of body and soul, until the world outside their room faded to nothing.
This time, the release stole through her in waves, her fingers fisting in the sheets as she cried out into the cradle of his shoulder. And as he followed, groaning her name like a broken prayer, she held him close, her heart so full it ached.
“Scoundrel,” she gasped after a short time passed. “What would you have done if your nephew had chanced upon us?”
Ewan pressed a kiss to her temple, his chuckle like honey dripping down the insides of her thighs.
“Oh, he will learn to live with it,” he said, laughter in his voice as he said it, “He is an adult now, is he not?”
Samantha gasped. “You are impossible!” She said, but she could hear it in her voice, that she wasn’t as affronted as she let on. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“It will take a few more minutes for him to wash,” he murmured against the back of her hand. “What say you we squeeze in one more, hm?”
Her face bloomed with heat again, but she did not resist when he sealed her mouth with a kiss. If this was what married life was made of, then she supposed she liked it.
Oh, she liked it very much.
“I cannot believe you convinced me to attend this,” Ewan muttered as their carriage approached the Worthington estate, where a garden party was being held to celebrate the engagement of Lady Worthington’s niece. “Garden parties are tedious affairs at the best of times.”
“It will be good for Percy to practice his social graces in a less formal setting,” Samantha pointed out, adjusting her bonnet. “And Jane will be there. I haven’t seen her in nearly three weeks.”
At the mention of her sister, Ewan’s expression softened slightly. “How is she faring? Your uncle’s last letter suggested she’s been in high demand this season.”
“Indeed,” Samantha confirmed, a note of pride in her voice. “Jane has always possessed a natural charm that draws people to her. Unlike her elder sister,” she added with a self-deprecating smile, “who was always too blunt and bookish for most gentlemen’s tastes.”
“Their loss,” Ewan said firmly, taking her gloved hand in his. “Though I confess I’m selfishly grateful for their poor judgment. Had you been surrounded by suitors, you might never have become my duchess.”
The simple declaration warmed her from within, and she squeezed his hand in response. “A most fortunate twist of fate, indeed.”
The garden party was already in full swing when they arrived, the Worthington estate’s extensive grounds filled with the cream of society in their summer finery. Colorful parasols dotted the lawns like exotic blooms, while servants circulated with trays of champagne and delicate refreshments.
Percy, resplendent in a new waistcoat of peacock blue that somehow managed to be both elegant and slightly too eye-catching, immediately spotted a group of young ladies and made a beeline toward them, though not before Ewan caught his arm.
Already, they’d had to compromise on his outfit, he had no plans of letting his nephew run amok here.
“Remember,” he said quietly, “no dramatic recitations, no grand gestures, and for God’s sake, no impromptu poetry unless explicitly requested.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Percy agreed solemnly, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he was already calculating how broadly these restrictions might be interpreted.
“And Percy,” Samantha added, “perhaps limit yourself to two metaphors per conversation? Quality over quantity.”
This unexpected advice made both men look at her with surprise before Percy broke into a delighted grin. “Brilliant strategy, Aunt Samantha! Restraint as artistic choice rather than limitation. I shall consider each metaphor a precious jewel to be bestowed only when truly warranted.”
“That’s… not precisely what I meant,” she began, but Percy was already striding confidently toward the group of debutantes, his posture suggesting a man with a mission.
“You’ve only encouraged him, you realize,” Ewan said, watching his nephew’s retreating figure with resignation.
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But at least now he might think before launching into florid descriptions of a lady’s eyes as twin pools of celestial radiance reflecting the divine spark of her immortal soul .”
Ewan’s startled laugh drew several curious glances from nearby guests. “That was disturbingly accurate. Has he been inflicting his verse on you during our morning rides?”
“Every day,” she confirmed cheerfully. “Though I must say, his sonnets about dawn over the eastern meadow were quite lovely, if one edited out approximately two-thirds of the adjectives.”
Before Ewan could respond, a familiar voice called out, “Samantha!”
Jane hurried toward them, looking enchanting in a gown of pale yellow muslin that complemented her fair coloring perfectly. Behind her, at a more sedate pace, came Lord Tenwick, his usual sardonic expression softened by something Samantha had not observed before when he looked at her sister.
“Jane!” she exclaimed, embracing her sister warmly. “How wonderful to see you. You look absolutely radiant.”
“As do you,” Jane replied, stepping back to study her sister with keen eyes. “Marriage clearly agrees with you. There’s a glow about you that wasn’t there before.”
Samantha felt herself blush, acutely aware of Ewan beside her. “Nonsense. It’s merely the warmth of the day.”
“If you say so,” Jane replied with a knowing smile that suggested she wasn’t fooled in the slightest. She turned to Ewan with a curtsy. “Your Grace, thank you for bringing my sister today. I’ve missed her terribly.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Ewan assured her, bowing over her hand. “Though I fear we’ve been remiss in our social duties lately. Valemont has kept us rather… occupied.”
The slight emphasis he placed on the final word sent another wave of heat to Samantha’s cheeks, and she was grateful when Lord Tenwick joined their circle, creating a distraction.
“Lady Jane has been kindly showing me Lady Worthington’s famous rose garden,” he explained, his gaze lingering on Jane’s face in a way that immediately caught Samantha’s attention. “Her knowledge of horticulture is quite impressive.”
Jane dimpled prettily at the compliment. “Hardly that. I simply enjoy flowers and have pestered various gardeners with questions since childhood.”
“An admirable pursuit,” Lord Tenwick replied with unusual sincerity. “I find curiosity one of the most attractive qualities in a person.”
The exchange, innocuous as it was, carried undercurrents that made Samantha glance at Ewan, who raised an eyebrow slightly in acknowledgment of what they were both observing.
“Perhaps you might continue your tour,” Ewan suggested smoothly. “I believe Lady Worthington’s collection includes some rare specimens from the Continent that would interest you, Ralph.”
“Indeed,” Lord Tenwick agreed, offering his arm to Jane with a smile that transformed his usually sardonic features. “If Lady Jane would be so kind as to continue as my guide?”
“I would be delighted,” Jane replied, taking his arm with a grace that belied the slight tremor in her fingers that only a sister might notice.
As they walked away, Samantha turned to Ewan with wide eyes. “Did I just witness what I think I witnessed?”
“If you mean Ralph looking at your sister as though she hung the moon and stars, then yes,” Ewan confirmed, his expression a mixture of amusement and surprise. “I’ve never seen him so… earnest before.”
“Nor Jane so composed,” Samantha mused, watching the pair’s retreating figures. “Usually, she’s all effervescence and enthusiasm.”