He didn’t care. He crossed the space between them, caught her outstretched hand in his, and brought it to his lips to kiss. But just as he moved to release her hand, she reached out a finger and stroked his lips. Rory stood quite still, his body reacting to the contact as predicted, but his brain behaving as though he’d just been slammed over the head with a tree branch. He couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.
She ran her finger over his lower lip, tugged it down gently, then slid it into his mouth. He must have opened his mouth to allow the entrance, but he didn’t remember doing so. The next thing he knew, he’d closed his lips on her finger and sucked gently.
Her eyes were a dark green as she reached out and grasped his cravat. She pulled him against her body, and her finger was replaced with her mouth. The soft feel of her lips against his shocked his brain into activity. Rory wrapped his arms about his wife and returned the kiss. He should have kept things between them light and playful. It was the middle of the day, and they might be interrupted at any moment. But as soon as he felt the heat of her against him, as soon as her lips pressed against his, insistent and demanding, he wanted her enough to forget about anything else.
With one quick sweep, he lifted her off her feet and deposited her on one of the couches flanking the fireplace. She pulled him down on top of her and made a sound of pleasure when he slid over her. Desire shot through him, and he felt like he had at seventeen, when he experienced his first kiss and was thrilled that the pretty daughter of the local baker wanted to kiss him.
He wasn’t seventeen anymore, but the excitement of being wanted was still just as potent. Genevieve wanted him. She was eager to kiss him, touch him, be with him. Her desire freed his own. She hadn’t wanted anything when she’d come into the library but to see him. She wanted him and wouldn’t make an excuse to escape his touch or chastise him for behaving like a brute.
Genevieve’s mouth had trailed to his jaw and then the sensitive flesh of his neck, but now she paused. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he said, though he knew why she asked. He’d tensed and pulled away from her slightly. She must have attributed his actions to her own.
“You don’t like that?” she asked, gesturing to his neck. “Where do you like to be kissed?”
“I do like it,” he said. “I like everywhere you kiss me.” As though to prove it, he took her mouth with his again, then reached down and began to slide the hem of her dress up. His fingers caressed her stocking-clad calf as he did so, and his breathing quickened as he thought about her silky skin above the stocking.
“My lord.” The door swung open, and Rory looked up to see Gables step inside, carrying the small silver tray he used to deliver the mail. The butler’s gaze shifted to Genevieve, and he turned without a word and stepped out of the door, closing it after him.
“Please tell me that was not Gables,” she moaned.
“Fine. I won’t tell you.”
“How mortifying.” She pushed the hair that had come loose and fallen over one eye out of the way.
“He’ll never say a word about it,” Rory told her, helping her by tucking the stray hair behind her ear.
“But he’ll look at me,” she said. “And I will never be able to meet his gaze again. If I do, I’ll probably turn as red as a turnip.”
“You look pretty when your cheeks are pink,” he said. Her green eyes widened, and her cheeks, which had been returning to their usual color, flushed again.
“You think I’m pretty?” she asked.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he said. She pulled him down for another kiss, and this time he was certain Gables would make sure they were not disturbed.
“My lord.” Gables’s voice came from outside the door.
Rory sighed and lifted his head.
“I do not wish to disturb you,” came the muffled voice, “but you did instruct me to bring you any correspondence from Lord Kingston immediately upon receipt.”
“Damn it.” Rory pushed up and straightened his cravat. Beside him, Genevieve also scrambled up, tugging her skirts down and her bodice up. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I understand. I know you are worried about your friend.” She reached for her hair, which Rory was relatively certain could not be repaired without the help of her maid. “I shouldn’t have left Frances so long. I’ll leave you to your correspondence.”
Rory put a hand on her arm. He had no doubt King’s letter would concern the curse or his reduced circumstances, which he blamed on the curse. Rory had lived with the consequences of it for the last eight months now. He’d dealt with the anguish and the regret and the guilt on his own. He didn’t know if having Genevieve with him would help, but he knew he didn’t want to read King’s letter alone.
“Would you stay?” he asked, eschewing his first impulse to simply order her to stay.
Her green eyes softened to the color of a soft moss. “Of course.”
“I know you don’t believe in this curse or witches—what sane person would?—but perhaps a dose of skepticism is exactly what I need. Gables, come in.” Rory moved to his desk, pulling Genevieve with him.
The butler entered, keeping his gaze a good foot above the heads of Rory and Genevieve. It didn’t stop color from creeping into Genevieve’s cheeks. She ducked her head and stood beside Rory’s chair. He took the letter from the salver and dismissed the butler. The door to the library hadn’t clicked into place before Rory broke the letter’s seal and began to read.
Chapter Eighteen
Genevieve leaned overRory’s shoulder to read the letter. He smelled of amber, and that aroma mixed with the scents of old books and ink in the library made her want to linger close to him even longer. She wished she could drag her husband—she still couldn’t quite believe this man with the face of an angel was her husband—back to the couch so they might continue what they had started. She loved when he kissed her and touched her. He seemed to enjoy it too. If his scolding this morning was to be believed, he had wanted her in his bed when he came awake this morning. She could only imagine what delicious mischief they might have engaged in.
