“You smell so sweet, like a daisy.”
“You simply must stop calling me that! I insist on being addressed as Theo.”
He had backed her against the wall and a hand was now wrapped around her breast. “I can’t,” he said, rather thickly.
“Why not?”
“Because you may be Theo when we’re at breakfast, or at a play or something, but when I’m holding you like this, you’re my Daisy.” He took her mouth again and Theo melted against him, thoughts fading before the onslaught of his mouth and his hands and the arrogant strength of his body against hers.
“Can’t do this,” James said hoarsely. “You’re too sore. We’re only kissing.” He guided her over to the sofa on the far side of the room and began plucking her hairpins, destroying all of Amélie’s work in seconds. He was unweaving a braid that had taken Amélie a good ten minutes to concoct. “Couldn’t you just leave your hair down when you’re at home?”
Theo giggled. “Can you imagine Cramble’s face if I begin wandering about the house with my hair around my shoulders?”
James’s face loomed over hers, and he kissed her again, hard and dominant. “What if, as your husband,” he growled, “I ordered you to?”
Theo felt a shiver go all the way to her toes. When James got that look, that possessive, tigerlike look, she felt the most embarrassing desire to simply melt into him and do whatever he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tracing the line of his full bottom lip with her fingers, “but no one can ever dictate how I look or dress again. I made that promise to myself five years ago, when Mama began trying to compensate for my face by embellishing my gowns with frills and ruffles.”
James frowned.
“She can’t bring herself to admit it, but she wanted to make sure that everyone knew I was a girl,” Theo explained.
He had discovered the precariously attached scrap of raspberry silk and pulled it out without further ado. Without a fichu, her bodice showed a great deal of cleavage. “She thought you didn’t look enough like a girl,” he said, sounding stunned. He bent his head and licked a wet, warm path over the curve of her breast.
Then he reared up again. “What if, as your husband, I ordered you to leave off your drawers?”
She laughed at him, loving the way he was testing the limits of his power. “That would depend on how I felt about you at that moment.”
“And how do you feel about me at this moment?” he demanded.
She arched up, just enough so that she could run her tongue along that sweet lower lip of his. “What would you do if I ordered you to do something?”
His lips parted, and he took a deep breath. “Whatever you want,” he said, his voice fervent. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Then I’d like you to sit quite still,” she said, twisting about and tumbling off the sofa.
James sat obediently. His eyes were black with excitement. “I am yours to command, my lady.”
“Pull down your breeches,” she said, her blood racing.
Without blinking, James stood up and did exactly as she demanded.
Theo stayed on her knees and pointed back to the sofa. He sat down. His organ seemed, if possible, even bigger than it had the night before. At the very sight of it, a little warning twinge came from Theo’s private place.
“All the time you were kissing me last night,” she said, reaching out to caress him, “all I could think about was what it would be like to kiss you.”
“Oh Lord,” James whispered. “I won’t survive it. I won’t.”
“I did,” Theo said, throwing him a saucy smile. She bent over and tasted him.
James let out a hoarse sound and Theo dipped her head a little lower, exploring the velvety feeling of him.
It must have been his groan that prevented her hearing the sound of the door opening. Or perhaps it was the dizzying sense of power Theo felt.
But a second later the sound filtered into her head. She leapt to her feet, met the eyes of her father-in-law, and fled in the opposite direction, straight through the closest door, which led into the morning room. She slammed the door and leaned back against it, her heart pounding as if she’d run from an assailant.
She felt sick. The duke had seen . . . He’d seen everything. He’d seen her there, bending over James’s lap.
“Oh God.” Her knees were too weak to support her; she slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Through the door, she heard the rumble of James’s voice as he spoke, but the words were indecipherable. The sound reminded her, with sickening vividness, of how he had been sitting before her, breeches around his ankles, and she buried her face in her hands.
Did it have to be the duke? Hadn’t she suffered enough humiliation in the last few days? Would it have been worse, though, if a footman had interrupted them? She could have dismissed a footman. No, she would never turn out a person for being unlucky enough to see her behave like a doxy.
They’d have to retire to the country for the next month. Or year.
The muffled sound changed pitch; her father-in-law was speaking.
Shifting to the side, she stretched up and opened the door slightly. If he was calling her a brazen slut, she might as well know the worst.
But he was laughing.
Laughing!
Her heart thudded a panic-stricken rhythm in her throat. Was laughter better than scorn? Or worse? It felt better. Maybe this sort of thing happened often to newlyweds. After all, she and James could have been caught actually making love. And if she hadn’t been so sore, they probably would have been. Theo turned her ear to the crack of the open door.
“I returned to London because I heard about the ugly duchess business,” the duke was saying. “Thought you’d want me to threaten a few reporters, maybe even shut down one of those scandal rags. But it looks as if you’ve been too busy to worry. Who cares if she’s ugly? Obviously it makes her more grateful, huh? I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw she was servicing you as eagerly as any tavern wench might for tuppence.”
Theo’s head dropped forward onto her knees. What did she expect from the duke? Her mother had declared him a coarse fool years ago, and she was obviously right.
“In fact, it’s because she’s ugly,” the duke continued. “You could never get a proper lady on her knees like that—”
“Silence!” James snapped.
Thank God he was saying something, Theo thought numbly.
“I don’t care for your tone,” his father responded, instantly switching to his characteristic angry bluster.
“You are not allowed to ever say anything about my wife,” James replied. His voice, in contrast with his father’s, was icy cold, controlled, and yet deeply dangerous.
Theo took a shuddering breath. At least James was defending her.
The duke seemed not to notice the threat in his son’s voice. “I’ll say anything I want!” he bellowed. “I picked the girl out for you, didn’t I?”
“You did not!”
“I did! You didn’t want to marry her, but I expect you’re glad now. I told you, didn’t I? I told you they were all alike in the dark.”
“I’m going to kill you,” James stated. Years of experience with James’s temper told Theo that his self-control was reaching its limit. He hated it when that happened, when his shouting resembled that of his father.