“Yes.”
“Merciful God, Ivy, look at you. You’re sweet and pink down there. Did you like what you did to me?”
“You’re the one who made me stop,” she whispered. “I would have done more. I would do anything for you.”
He took off his coat, rolled it up under her head, all the while rubbing his shaft between her folds. She raised her hips to take him into her body. “In a carriage,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer, teasing her with shallow thrusts, his hands sliding under her bottom to enable a deeper penetration.
“James?” she said, shivering as if she’d never be able to stop.
“No.” He shook his head. “I haven’t done this particular act before in this carriage.”
“What an unsatisfactory answer,” she said breathlessly, opening her eyes to look at him. He stared back down at her with a dark possession that robbed her of everything but her desire to be his. “Why was the footstool there?”
“For the resting of one’s feet,” he said, lowering his face to hers.
His mouth captured hers at the moment he impaled her on a deep stroke. “Oh.”
She thought she would slide off the seat. He kept her anchored with his hands and the powerful driving of his body that brought her closer and closer to release. “I love you, scoundrel,” she whispered, meeting him thrust for thrust, matching his rough play with unrestrained passion. “But I want more.”
“Are you certain?”
“Must I beg?”
He withdrew slightly, allowing her time to draw one breath before he grasped her buttocks and drove his cock inside her. She could not bear the tension that built until she thought she wouldn’t survive another second. When at last she broke, he pumped harder into her body until he came with a shudder of relief that she felt through her own waves of pleasure.
“Comfort of all comforts,” he murmured, collapsing atop her spent form.
From the window she could see that it had started raining. They had not noticed during their frantic mating. “James,” she said, stroking the damp black hair upon his cheek.
“My beloved.” He paused, a note of hope in his voice. “Again?”
“You’re crushing the life out of me. And if I’m not mistaken, the carriage has slowed pace. We can’t be discovered like this.”
He exhaled and lifted himself from her tingling limbs. “Damn,” he said, reaching into his vest. “I have no handkerchief.”
And before Ivy could avail herself of her reticule, he unknotted his neckcloth and gently blotted the evidence of their lovemaking from between her thighs.
Ivy pulled down her skirts and sat back against the squabs with a sigh. “Do you have another cravat somewhere in this carriage to replace that?”
“No.” He appeared unconcerned. “Not unless you had the foresight to place one in our hamper.”
“No,” Ivy said, taking note to do so in future. “Oh, really, it’s pouring, James. You won’t be able to arrive in London missing your neckcloth. Wendover and Sally will perhaps for the rest of their lives wonder what—”
He was the duke. Who would question his state of dress or undress? She had no choice but to surrender to the situation. He would only respond with an answer similar to the one he had offered her about the footstool, and that response would have to be accepted.
“Ivy.” She was startled when, after restoring his own appearance, he said her name and gathered her into his embrace. “Your presence is a solace to me. I admit there are times when you provoke me to extreme measures, but I have never known this peace with another person.”
“May you always feel that way about me.”
The thrum of rain upon the carriage roof could not compete with the primal beauty of his soul exposed to her. “Isn’t that what marriage vows mean?”
Chapter 34
James always made an effort to travel in comfort, in luxury, but traveling in love was a novel experience, one that neither rain nor rutted highways could ruin. However, the weather ruled out any chance of a twilight picnic. That heavy carriage lumbered through the black deluge until even the coal braziers burning inside the vehicle could not counteract the damp.
As night approached, they stopped at a crossroads inn and took a meal in a private room with Wendover, Sally, and the children. After they’d washed and warmed themselves in front of the fire, a waiter served them roast beef, potatoes, and French beans on Wedgwood ware.
Ivy considered pinching one of the table napkins for James to use as a neckcloth. She folded it and tucked it into her throat, evaluating it as a fashion accessory. It might pass if one stood a mile away, but it definitely wouldn’t deceive the experienced eye. James glanced up at her, grinned, and shook his head.