His Wicked Smile Read online

  She danced away. “I have a special gown and French perfume. I should bathe, powder, make myself ready for you.”

  “Did you do all those things before you came to my bed in the inn?”

  Flustered, she put her hand to her hat. “I don’t remember.”

  “I doubt it. You were quite business-like when you came in. It was wonderful, amazing, even without preparation.”

  “But it’s our wedding night,” she protested. “People gave me gifts.”

  He dropped his hands. “You are delaying, Ann. We only have so much time before Noel needs you. I thought you’d want to spend it with me.”

  She sensed the hurt he expressed, though his outer appearance and voice were calm. “I will need you to act as my maid at any rate, because I can’t get out of this dress on my own.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “I expect, once you’ve seen me out of my clothes, I never would have made it into a new nightgown and perfume.”

  “Unlikely,” he agreed. A hint of a smile carved a dimple into one harshly planed cheek.

  She unpinned her hat. A moment ago she’d been drawn to the fire but now it seemed scorching hot. She set her hat down on a table and pulled off her gloves, then unbuttoned her cloak.

  “You are quite stunningly perfect,” Gawain said, when her dress was revealed.

  “I’m pleased you think so.” She admired her groom in turn. Gawain was as beautifully dressed as she was, in a tightly cut morning coat. His gray silk ascot had a large sapphire pin in the center, the stone matching her necklace. “I am glad you had a photographer there. I think I will like this portrait better than the other one.”

  “Women always like their wedding photograph best. I think I would like you painted as well. As an odalisque.”

  She swatted at his arm. “I know what an odalisque is, Gawain.”

  He laughed and held his ground. “You would be perfect.”

  “No one is going to paint me nude.” She draped her cloak across a chair and sat down to remove her shoes.

  “In the best paintings, all you see is curves, nothing too revealing. Have you seen La Grand Odalisque by Ingres? Nothing shows, it is almost proper, yet incredibly alluring.”

  “So now you are singing the praises of some other woman? On my wedding night?” She stretched her toes, remembering what her mother had told her about her first wedding, and all of the henna tattoos laboriously painted on feet and hands.

  “No, she is not a real woman. We shall have to go to Paris so I can show the painting to you.”

  “I would like that. It is strange to be considered foreign when I have never left England since I arrived as a young child.”

  “You cannot deny some unusual facets of your character. Most women would not have left the security you did to chase after me to London. You’ve never really told me why you did it.” He watched her stocking-clad toes scratch along the plush carpet.

  Feeling exposed, she tucked her feet under her skirts. “I expect it was my pregnancy at work, but I felt suffocated, increasingly so as it progressed. For some reason I thought finding you would cure me.”

  “Many find marriage suffocating.”

  “But they aren’t marrying you. You are a restless man, Gawain Redcake. Life with you will never be the same day after day. And you appreciate my knowledge. That is extremely rare among white men.”

  “You only find white men attractive.”

  She tiptoed to him, feeling the deep pile of the carpet now that her shoes were off, and unbuttoned his coat. “All that pasty skin? What’s not to love?”

  “Some of me is permanently darkened after all those years in the sun.”

  “Just the back of your neck and your hands.”

  “You’ve noticed.” The dimple returned and she had a sudden urge to lick it.

  “I’ve paid attention. I’ve seen most of you a few times.”

  “And all of me?”

  “Just once. But I’ve longed to see it all again,” she admitted, unpinning his cravat.

  “So those Ayurvedic massages of my hip were merely a ploy on your part?”

  “Not entirely. It is hard to relax when you’re in pain and I’m so glad to see you walking without a cane again.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You’re a true predator without it.” She bit her lip and looked directly into his eyes. “If you needed it I wouldn’t mind at all, of course, but once I worked with you the first time I realized much of your discomfort could be alleviated.”

  “You were right. Your knowledge makes my life better.”

  “I hope my presence will, too.”

  He put his hands into her hair then, and began pulling out all the pins. Tension released as each pin dropped to the table. He massaged her scalp every time he pulled. The tips of her breasts tingled, then she began to warm at the top of her thighs. When she tried to take a deep breath, she found she couldn’t.

  “Stop!”

  His hands stilled. One lock of her hair had fallen completely.

  “My hair is going to get caught in the necklace, and I can’t breathe.” She stepped away, pressing her hands to her chest. She could feel the necklace against the tendons of her neck as she tried to take a breath.

  “Ann, stop. Relax.”

  She coughed. Black spots danced before her eyes. “It is so hot.”

  “You’re going to swoon. Come now.” He put an arm around her waist, another at her shoulder, and led her into the bedroom.

  The fire there had not been stirred so high. As her pulse beat harshly in her temples, he placed her in a chair by a writing table and lifted her hair. “I’ll take your necklace off. That will alleviate one problem.”

  In a moment, she felt the collar sag and he placed the necklace in her hands.

  “Now, onto these buttons. But I suspect the real problem is your stays. You cut your dress very small.”

  “I didn’t want to look like a woman who had just given birth.” She took shallow breaths, forcing herself to slow her breathing.

  “You are magnificent,” he said, tugging at the back of her dress, then swore. “I tore a buttonhole in my haste.”

  “I can fix it.” She blinked. The spots were gone. Good heavens, I nearly fainted.

  “All done with the buttons,” he said a minute later. “Now to unlace you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Who put you into this cage? Fern?”

  She put her hands to her flaming cheeks. “No, she isn’t strong enough. The wet nurse helped me.”

  “She must have arms like a stevedore.”

  She felt the tension release around her torso. Her fingers shook as she undid the buttons at the front of her corset. It was new and stiff.

  “I can do that too. However did you feed Noel?”

  “Jenna had to help me adjust some things. I think this dress will have to go into the trunk until he’s weaned. It’s just too much trouble.”

  “We’ll order loads of dresses for you next week, after we’ve settled into the house and unpacked. You’ll need a different wardrobe now.”

  “Being a new mother does tend to destroy clothing. Everything I own has gotten stained.” She had to admit the idea of new clothes was appealing. While she enjoyed embroidering, she could do without the toil of dressmaking. Also, she never wanted to embarrass her husband with the worry that his wife could be mistaken for a servant.

  “Do you feel better now? Can I finish with your hair?”

  She took a deep breath. Her heart was still pounding, but she’d recovered enough to glance around the room. “I think I’d like to finish removing my clothing alone.”

  He nodded. “I’ll get you a glass of champagne. I think you had better do the donning of nightgowns and powdering after all.”

  She reached up her hand and he clasped it. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I should have realized that dress and lovemaking were incompatible,” he said, kissing her fingers. “Beautiful a
s it is, it is too snug to contain those lovely breasts of yours right now.”

  “You’ve noticed?” she teased.

  He turned the chair around, then leaned over her, resting his forearms on the back of the chair. “I have hardly slept from thoughts of caressing your voluptuous curves. It’s maddening to be so close to you and yet not be able to touch you intimately.”

  Instinctively, she tilted her face up to him and he took her lips in a crushing kiss, the weight of his head pressing into her. She opened in response, but against all expectation, he slowed, softened. This wasn’t what she wanted, so she swept her tongue along his lips, inviting him to take possession.

  He pushed away, and ran a finger along her temple. “I’ll go pour our champagne. Open the door when you’re ready for me.”

  He left her hot and wanting. It felt good and she wanted to dance into his arms, be taken furiously and completely. She made quick work of her clothing and unpinned the rest of her hair, then looked around for her packages. They weren’t in the room. She put a hand to her forehead. How could she have left them in the sitting room?

  Gawain opened the bottle, poured, then took a sip of the champagne. First rate, just like the rest of this hotel. He wished they could spend a few days here, but Fern needed collecting. If any of his sisters lived in London, he’d have introduced her sooner to fix this problem, but now she was among strangers. And unable to speak. They had to encourage her to find language again.

  How long would Ann need before she came out? Surely she’d already recovered from the near faint, considering the passion with which she’d kissed him. But he had already decided to be patient.

  He heard a squeak behind him and turned to see a small brown foot peek between the door and jamb. A slim ankle followed it, then a shapely calf. He set down his wineglass, though his mouth had gone dry.

  Ann’s head popped through, her mouth forming a shocked circle when she saw him staring. Her leg was hastily withdrawn.

  “Come in. It’s warm enough,” he invited.

  “I left my packages on the sofa. I was hoping you’d be turned around.”

  “Come and get them,” he said, silk coating his voice.

  “Gawain!”

  He laughed. “I’ll get them if you really want me to, but I’d rather get a look at you. What I can see already shows promise.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You aren’t being very gentlemanly.” The door muffled Ann’s voice.

  “I’m your husband first, a husband who wants to see his naked wife.”

  “Do you even see my packages?” Ann watched until his back was turned as he hunted for them, then slid into the room. Surely this was a more grandly erotic gesture for a man who wanted an odalisque wife than waiting timidly in their bed with the door open. She would give her husband what he wanted, and in return he would love her.

  When he turned around, holding the packages, she curved herself into a pose, covering her stomach and mound but exposing her breasts. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and the packages dropped to the floor.

  She attempted a seductive smile. He shook his head, then stepped forward.

  “You minx. And here I thought my lusty lady had gone missish on me.”

  She had been right. This was what he wanted. Her fingers caressed the fine linen he wore. He stared into the deep cleavage made by her uplifted arms while she removed his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he pushed her away and held her at arm’s length for inspection.

  “Your nipples have darkened.”

  “That isn’t all that is changed.”

  “I found your curves alluring from the first. All that ripe flesh makes me want to sink my teeth in and take a bite.”

  Moisture gathered between the lips of her intimate flesh at his husky words. She lifted her hand and tucked it behind her head, before bending one knee to pose. “Where do you want to take the first bite?”

  He reached for her hip and pulled her to him, roughly. “Don’t tease me, woman.”

  “I wasn’t teasing.” Her breasts rose and fell against him with each fast breath. “Take me, Gawain. Whatever you want of me I cheerfully offer you.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Get me out of this damned shirt. It’s so tight that I cannot move properly.”

  “But so fashionable,” she teased, pulling the bright linen from his muscled shoulders and sinewy arms. “You still look like a soldier, my husband.”

  He snorted. “I was little more than a steward in the army, a butler at best. But now I have as good a seat as any cavalry officer. If I went back now I could tiger hunt with the best of them.”

  “I can see that,” she purred. Ambitious, her husband. Marrying her had not done him any favors, even if his family didn’t mind.

  He put his hand to his trousers and she immediately went to her knees to help him take off his shoes. As the rest of his clothing came off, she kissed her way up his strong, hair-dusted legs, not forgetting each twisted scar on his bad hip. His erection had jutted before she’d ever touched him, but now she saw moisture had gathered at the tip.

  She smoothed it over him and smiled. “You are ready for me.”

  He hauled her to her feet and crushed her against him. “But are you ready for me?”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, hoping to tease him further, but then his lips came down on hers. She met his lips, press for press, and his tongue, caressing his mouth, tasting the champagne. He overbalanced and dropped to the arm of the sofa.

  At his look of surprise, she decided to go in all the way and pushed him down so that he slid to the cushions, her on top of him. Coming up quickly, she displayed her breasts. With the groan of a dying man, he pulled her forward and took one into his mouth. The sensation sent electricity through her body. She wanted him inside her, and she wanted him now. The scent of his body reminded her of their lusty romp at the inn and all the pleasure it brought her. Her throat went dry at the memory.

  The champagne bucket was just behind the sofa on a table. She pulled the open bottle out and sipped directly from it while Gawain caressed her breasts. When he pulled back, surprised by all her wriggling, she dripped the bubbly liquid on his chest, then handed him the bottle and bent over him to lap it up. Using that as an excuse, she slid her body down his chest, leaving a trail of her intimate moisture on his belly. She was stopped by pressure from a hard rod against her bottom.

  Glancing up at him, she saw his waiting expression, his eyes half-lidded with desire. Her lips curved and her gaze met his as she found his erection and fit her tender flesh over it.

  He swore and grabbed for her hips, pulling her down in an endless, luxurious stroke.

  “Completion,” she gasped. “Oh yes, Gawain.”

  He helped her rise, then pulled down again. And again, until she found the rhythm that pleased them both. But neither of them could last long. She judged him to be as desperate for release as she, and perhaps as out of practice. When he grabbed for her breasts again, and sucked furiously on a nipple, she came in long, pulsating bursts, her body clamping viselike around him. He cried out and shuddered, her orgasm prompting his. When it was over, she rested her head against his chest and listened to his strong heartbeats, still feeling the aftershocks in her womb.

  He let out a deep breath. “More champagne?”

  “Didn’t the bottle fall over?”

  “I was a soldier, madam. We don’t waste good champagne.”

  She laughed and sighed. “Too content to move, thank you very much.”

  He stroked his hands down her back. “For the sake of interludes like this, I believe we can make this marriage a success.”

  She rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest. Exactly what she wanted to hear. A man satisfied in the bedroom would not look too closely at the disadvantages the woman in question brought him.

  “Why don’t we move our celebration into the bedroom?” she suggested. “Surely there is more passion where that came from. I believe it is your tu
rn to ride me.”

  Gawain made a snort reminiscent of a spirited horse. She poked him in the chest and sat up, reaching for the champagne bottle as she did.

  “Why don’t you take your packages now? I’m curious to see that gown you were so eager to slip into.”

  She smiled. “I can do that. I want to smell the perfume.”

  “I will stoke the fire while you do so, my pet.”

  She would have preferred “my love,” but at least her new husband had used an endearment.

  The next week passed in a flurry of movement. Boxes, trunks, and baggage moved from Ann’s flat, from the Redcake home, even from Bristol, as the Gawain Redcake family members installed themselves in their new semi-detached home in Battersea.

  Gawain lifted his eye patch as he looked out of the bow window in his new study one morning. He closed his right eye for a moment to see if he was right. Yes, he could discern the green of the well-watered lawn with his bad eye.

  He jumped out of his chair and ran to the study door, calling for Ann. But instead of Ann, Lewis appeared.

  “You’ve got your patch off.”

  “It’s working, old man,” Gawain shouted, leaping forward to pump his cousin’s hand. “My vision is coming back. I can see color again. I can even see that you’ve regrown that scraggly beard of yours. Get rid of it. It’s appalling. Looks like dead mouse bits fell on your chin.”

  “You should patch your good eye now and see if that strengthens the bad one.”

  “I’d be worthless,” Gawain said.

  “Just during a free hour now and then.” Lewis shrugged. “Makes sense that it would help. An eye is a muscle. Needs exercise to be strong.”

  Gawain stroked his chin. “You have a point. I’m too pleased with myself to even argue with you.”

  Lewis grinned. “Then this would be an excellent time to sell you a horseless carriage. What do you say?”

  “You’re lucky I’m rich.”

  Lewis clasped his hands together. “I’m mostly known for my steam engines, but I’ve started to experiment with some of the German models that are using four-cylinder, four-stroke engines. Want to give that a whirl? Absolutely the latest thing.”