The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(70)
“Devil take it, Jane, I was merely funning you. Of course you’ll be a marvelous duchess, and a good wife of whom I shall be proud.”
“Except when I play the pianoforte?”
His hands slid about her and began to lather her breasts. “Even then, I will applaud the effort, for I know how much you dislike it.”
The combination of slick soap bubbles and his giant hands massaging her breasts brought on yet another bout of yearning.
“I confess, this is about as close to true domesticity as I have ever been. It’s a bit of a novelty to give a woman a bath.”
“Hard work is its own reward.”
“Yes, I begin to comprehend.” He slowed his hands and gently tweaked her very erect nipples. “Jane?”
She looked toward the window. It was now completely dark outside. Night had fallen. “You surely know a woman’s bosom is something of an erotic place, and mine has just been attended to with loving care. Did you expect I wouldn’t react at all?”
Bending close, he kissed her cheek and made his way to her lips. “Hold the thought, and I’ll show you something of interest after supper.”
“I look forward to it.”
Raising up, he cupped his hands to fill them with water, which he cascaded across her back and front before he stood and reached for a towel. “The water grows cold and I’ll not have you taking a chill. Besides, I’m ready for my turn.”
Dutifully, she rose from the bath and allowed him to wrap her in the towel before he lifted her free of the tub and set her on the rug to finish the task of drying her body. She wasn’t a child, and perfectly capable, but she didn’t stop his ministrations. In his shirtsleeves, splashed with water spots, the Duke of Blixford knelt at her feet and rubbed her legs dry with concentrated care. She thought domesticity suited him. How original. And endearing. “Thank you, Blixford.”
He stood and tossed the towel aside. “Would Your Grace care to choose a night rail?”
“No, she would not. I’d prefer my maid to make the choice.”
Striding to the dressing room, he disappeared around the doorway and she heard the sound of a wardrobe door opening, the rustle of fabric, and the door closing. He reappeared with a nightgown of pale yellow silk and a matching dressing gown that was nothing but lace. It was the one she’d acquired specifically for her wedding night, something made more for the benefit of masculine eyes than functionality, and she was pleased he’d chosen it. Not surprised, because it was far different from her ordinary sleeping attire, but pleased, nonetheless.
He didn’t dress her in the gown just yet. Instead, he moved her to the dressing table, sat her upon the stool and methodically removed her pins. When her hair was loose, he took up her hairbrush and gently brushed out the curls, his concentration focused on his task. She watched his face in the glass and warmed at the sight. “You’ve something of a predilection for a woman’s hair, haven’t you?”
“Not any woman’s, Jane. Yours. Your hair is so soft, and shining, and beautiful, especially against your bare back.”
She couldn’t be certain of course, but she deeply suspected his imagination at the moment involved her hair and his naked skin.
He glanced at her in the glass and smiled slowly. “You’re wondering what I’m thinking.”
“Yes, and I’ve a fair idea, I believe.”
He laid the brush aside and ran his hands through her hair, nodding. “I believe you are correct. You won’t plait it before bed?”
“No.” She stood and turned to remove his shirt. “But we’ll never get to bed if we don’t move along. Let’s get you in the bath so we can have our supper and turn in.”
“Are you hungry, Jane?”
Her hands flew over his buttons. “Starving.”
He was solemn when he said, “Life takes many strange turns.”
“It’s what makes it all worthwhile, to my mind. I never know what’s just ahead, around the corner, and I’m always eager to find out. Granted, sometimes what lies in wait is unpleasant, but then there are those moments that make up for all of it, that are such genuinely lovely surprises, we continue on in hopes of finding another.” She watched his eyes as he sat on the chair by the fire, his breeches undone but still riding his hips, and she knelt to remove his boots. “Do you consider our marriage to be a strange turn?”
He nodded.
She raised up and on her knees, between his thighs, bent forward to wrap her arms around his middle and rest her cheek against the soft hair of his chest. “You’re a remarkable man, and I’m grateful for your patience, and your kindness.”