Peatrie eventually brought the tea cart and she poured while Blix read. She absolutely couldn’t help smiling at some of the passages. It appeared Mr. Pipkin had indeed found a new prodigy authoress. She was a young lady from Yorkshire whose story was an honest, slightly painful look at the sometimes ridiculous strictures of the ton, of the elaborate rituals of the upper crust of English society.
She dropped her spoon and when she bent to retrieve it, spied something purple beneath the sofa. Reaching for it, she withdrew a long ostrich plume, dyed a most awful shade of purple. Her memory flashed a story Robert had relayed to her in a letter, of one of Sherbourne’s practical jokes that had to do with Wrotham being a stick and Sherbourne dressing as a matron in full purple regalia. He gave no details, so she suspected it had to do with lightskirts, probably that Wrotham was involved with one, or some such. She’d wished she had seen Sherbourne, and had laughed merely at the thought of him dressed as a matron.
“What have you got there?” her husband asked curiously.
She waved it about. “I believe this belongs to Mrs. Sherry’s turban.” Briefly, she told him the story, then watched as realization dawned on his face. He quickly resumed reading, but when Peatrie returned to inquire if they needed anything, he asked, “Did Mrs. Sherry pay a visit to my sister while I was gone?”
“Yes, Your Grace, she did.” His brows lifted slightly. “She’s quite a large lady, with bad knees. I believe Lady Bonderant was happy to receive her, however, and they spent a good amount of time in her bedchamber, having a nice coze. Mrs. Sherry was delighted to take home some dress patterns for her daughter, Imogene.”
Blix shot her a glance before nodding thoughtfully toward the butler. “Very good, Peatrie. Thank you. We’ve discovered a part of Mrs. Sherry’s headpiece here beneath the sofa. I wonder if you’d be so good as to have it delivered to her, with my compliments for attending my sister in my absence? I believe she’s staying in Grosvenor Square with the Earl of Sherbourne.”
“I’ll do so immediately, Your Grace.” Peatrie made his way toward Jane and took the plume before bowing himself out.
When the drawing room door closed, Jane blinked at her husband. “I’d not have thought it of you, Blixford. A practical joke?”
He shrugged as he looked back to the manuscript, but not before she caught the distinct twinkle of devilment in his eyes. “Shall I continue?”
“I suppose,” she said, trying not to sound too interested, even though she was dying to know how Miss Engstrom would manage to get Mr. Donovan to come up to scratch, or how her sister, Lucinda, would fare during her first country dance, or, in fact, how Mr. Tenwhistle might manage to convince his uncle, the marquess, to fund his exploratory trip to the continent of Africa.
The hour grew late by the time he was finished. He looked up and asked, “What say you? Shall we publish Miss G.’s manuscript?”
“Of course. It’s delightful.” She rose from the sofa and almost, almost thanked him for reading it to her.
But she did not.
She went upstairs and made ready for bed, then climbed in and awaited him. He wasn’t long opening the door from her dressing room, which connected to his, and his bedchamber beyond. He strode in, completely naked, his shaft already partially erect.
Good. He would do the deed and be gone quickly.
He was still smiling. Surely his face would crack if he kept it up much longer.
Moving next to the bed, he hauled her to a sit and quickly discarded her night rail, despite her protests. “I want you naked,” he said simply as he slid in beside her and drew her near to hold her close and kiss her, apparently unconcerned with her total lack of response and the absence of any limberness in her body. She was as a plank of wood. It took a great amount of concentration to remain so. He was determined not to be fair at all, not to honor her request that he be done with his conjugal duties as swiftly as possible.
No, instead he moved his mouth across her skin, very slowly, lingering at her breasts before he moved on to the apex of her thighs. He spread them apart and kissed her there, before he opened his mouth and licked her. She closed her eyes and thought about sheep. She thought of the book she’d been reading.
He began to suck her essence, the sounds he made reverberating about the room, making her even more aware of what he was doing. She almost moaned when he slid a finger inside of her. She bit her lip and concentrated on moving her thoughts far away. Tomorrow, she would go over the household with Mrs. Humphries, make a list of linens and dishes and . . . oh, dear God, now he was loving her with his tongue, mimicking his finger, which had reemployed itself by rubbing firm circles around her nipple, coaxing it into a hard peak.