Читать книгу The Historical Collection 2018 - Candace Camp - Страница 42

“Now, Richmond. Be a good little boy while I’m gone. Don’t give your godfather any trouble.” Emma tickled the babe’s pudgy chin.

“Don’t waste your breath,” her husband muttered. “He’s not going to behave himself. He’s my son, after all.”

Khan smiled down at the infant in his arms and spoke in a baby-friendly baritone. “The little marquess could pass the entire afternoon squalling and soiling his clout, and he’d still be easier to handle than his father.”

“That sounds about right.” Emma smiled, turning to her husband. “Well, my darling. What shall we do with our afternoon?”

“What indeed.”

They strolled away from Khan’s cottage, back toward the house. The late summer’s afternoon was drowsy and humid, and Swanlea was abuzz with bees and dragonflies.

“You likely have some estate business that needs your attention,” she said. “I have a few letters I should write.”

He said in a bored tone, “Oh, truly?”

No, not truly.

A rare leisure afternoon free of the exhausting demands of parenting? Just the two of them, alone? They both knew exactly how they were going to spend that time.

It felt like they’d waited ages. Ash preferred they keep the baby close at night, and Emma was glad to agree. But it did take a toll on one’s sleep, and the few bouts of lovemaking they’d managed had been, by necessity, hasty and furtive.

“How fast do you think we can get back to the house?” she murmured.

“We don’t need to get back to the house.”

His grip tightened over her hand, and he led her off the green. They found a secluded patch of grass within the wood, and then it was a storm of kissing and touching and a great deal of disrobing. Emma tugged at his coat sleeves and unbuttoned his falls. He helped her free of her petticoats and stays.

Once he had her down to her chemise, he slipped a hand inside to cup her breast. Two deep moans mingled in their kiss—one his, one hers. Her breasts were emptied from nursing, but still sensitive. Her heart was tender as well, wrung by loving pangs.

The more buttons he slipped free, the more uneasy she grew. She put her hands over his. “Just leave the shift?”

He seemed to read her thoughts. “Really, Emma. Don’t be absurd.”

“My body’s changed. You’re not the only one with some vanity.”

“I’m not even going to dignify this with conversation.”

The shift fell, joining the jumble of discarded clothing on the grass. Within moments, they added their bared bodies to the heap, tangling their tongues, limbs, breaths, hearts.

From there it was easy. Familiar. They made love in full daylight, not hiding anything. He moved against her, inside her. She held him tight in every way she could. They reached a toothache-sweet climax together, as if simultaneous bliss wasn’t a rarity but the most natural thing in the world. The sun rises; the wind blows; orgasms arrive in tandem.

And after that moment of transcendent bliss, when she brushed the damp hair from her brow and smiled up at her husband in satisfaction, Emma couldn’t have thought him any more perfect.