She gulped. She tingled. “That sounds … quite serious.”
“It is.” He smoothed her hair. “Are you nervous?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not.”
“That’s the magnificent woman I married. Come.” He pulled her to the full-length mirror and stood her in front of it, placing himself behind her. He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck before meeting her gaze in the mirror. “Many men have desired you as a muse, you’ve told me. And I’ve seen it for myself as well. But let me show you why you inspire so many.”
Her eyes dropped.
He lifted her chin. “Look at yourself.”
When she did as he bid, locking eyes with her own reflection in the flickering firelight, he turned his attention to the buttons down the back of her gown. Slowly, bit by bit, she felt her gown loosen, gape open. His warm fingers delved into each side of her gown and pushed them apart until the garment slipped down her body and pooled around her feet. His fingers pressed their warmth into her back again and her petticoat followed her gown to the floor. He tackled her stays next, and she soon stood only in her thin chemise, stockings, and slippers. She shivered, but she was not cold. He circled around her, his eyes raking up and down her body. When he returned to his place behind her, he trailed a finger over her shoulder and down her arm, pulling the neck of her chemise down with it. He kissed her shoulder, then mirrored his actions on her other side.
When the chemise joined her other garments on the floor, he met her gaze in the mirror. “Who knew someone so tiny would have such long legs? You’re all legs, Lady Magnificent, and I want them wrapped around me.”
She turned, eager to meet his wish, but he nudged her back around to face the mirror. “Not yet. Do you see it, Maggie? Why they want to paint you, freeze you forever, have you for keeps?”
She swallowed, a bit unnerved by just how serious he seemed. “I’m symmetrical, I suppose. A … a bit of a blank canvas. They can paint me however they wish, howevertheysee me.”
“No. Your beauty goes beyond symmetry. It’s your spirit. It shines through every bit of you. You can’t contain it. And it’s that spirit that collects men’s souls, that makes them see the world better because of you. They desire to show the world what you’ve shown them through their art.”
She knew he meant his words to praise her, but they filled her, instead, with a heavy lump of dread. “Is that whatyouthink?” She held her breath and held very still. His speech before kissing her in her parents’ garden suggested otherwise. No, it proclaimed, otherwise. But the darkness, the excitement of the day, and the unfamiliarity of his intensity made her feel terribly unsure and vulnerable.
“I think those men seeatruth about you, but notallthe truths that make you Maggie.”
“And you do? You see all of me?”
He kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “I do,” he whispered into her skin.
She shivered. She burned. She turned in his arms. “I’d like to try the legs around your waist thing now.”
He wrapped strong hands around her middle and lifted her high above his head. “You are tiny, aren’t you. Might as well be a feather.”
“Put me down!” She laughed.
He obeyed. Mostly. He settled her against his chest, and it was the most natural thing in the world for her to wrap her legs around his torso while he hugged her to him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
His arms tightened, and his lips pressed against hers firmly, possessively.
She barely noticed when he walked them toward the bed and sat at its edge. She stayed entangled with him, unable—more and more—to tell where she ended and he began.
He leaned to the side, trying to lay her on the bed, but she wrapped her legs tighter around him, forcing him to stay upright.
“You like that, do you?” he asked between kisses.
She answered him with another kiss and arched into him when he chuckled. She loved to make him laugh.
“You’ll like other things, Maggie.” His words came in breathy spurts. “Let me show you.”
With a sigh, she relaxed her muscles, allowing him to lay her on the bed and lean over her. His hands bracketed her head, and his curls fell into his eyes. She likely had the most handsome husband in all of England. She would accept no arguments on the matter. She needed to see more of him. “You are still dressed.”
“Astute observation.”
“You should not be.”
“I knew you were intelligent.”