The Duke's Perfect Wife
Page 75

Eleanor might wear the bandages, but he was the wounded one, Hart thought as he stripped back the covers on Eleanor’s newly made bed.
Under Eleanor’s heavy coat, she wore one of the old serge gowns she’d brought with her from Glenarden. She saw his frown as she slid off the coat and shook her head. “Did you think I’d go traipsing across your lawn in satin finery? That is the trouble with ladies’ gowns, terribly impractical for a good tramp.”
“Why the devil were you having a good tramp in the middle of the night?” Hart helped her extricate her arm from the sleeve. “Did you want to make yourself ill again?”
“I am perfectly fine, thank you very much, and I was looking for you.”
“You found me.” Sick at heart, floundering. He’d turned, and there she’d been.
Tell her everything, Ian had advised.
Sorry, Ian. I’ve had enough heartache for one night.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Hart said.
Eleanor rose on tiptoe and kissed his lips. “You won’t.”
Did she say that because she trusted him, or because she was that sure of herself?
“I’ll leave you to sleep.”
Eleanor pressed another kiss to his lips. “No, indeed. Sleep with me.”
She left him to walk to the bed. In the circle of the fire’s warmth, she unbuttoned her gown and let it fall, then stripped off what little she wore under it. She hadn’t bothered with a corset or layers of petticoats for her stroll. Her round backside rose as she leaned down to pick up the dress from the floor. She smiled over her shoulder at him as she straightened up.
God help me.
Hart stripped off his coat and muddy shoes at the same time, nearly tearing the coat in his hurry. He shed waistcoat and shirt, undershirt and socks as Eleanor lifted her coverlet and got into the bed. She lay back against the pillows, her bandaged arm across the quilts, and watched Hart pull off his kilt and let it drop.
Her smile widened as her gaze went unashamedly to his naked arousal. She lifted the covers. “Come in and get warm.”
Hart slid in beside her, on her right side so he wouldn’t touch her bandages. He drew his fingers across her sleek shoulder, and kissed her skin.
Making love to her the conventional way might hurt her injury, but Hart didn’t mind being unconventional. He slid his leg across both of hers, putting them inside his bent knee. He kissed Eleanor’s lips, slow, light kisses, enjoying her softness.
She tasted delightful. Firelight brushed her skin, and her warmth beneath the covers was chasing away his bone-deep chill.
“Sit up,” he said.
Eleanor blinked. “Why?”
“Questions. Always the questions.” Hart kissed the bridge of her nose. “Because I want you to.”
Eleanor gave him a look that said he was hopeless, but she pushed back the covers and carefully leveraged herself to sit against the headboard. Her full, round br**sts peeped above the quilts. Hart ran his finger over one areola, delighting to watch it tighten.
With an agility Hart didn’t know he still possessed, he positioned himself before her, on his knees. He spread her legs around him, then slid his hands under her thighs and lifted her forward. Eleanor gave a startled gasp as she came to him.
“Rest your hand on my shoulder,” Hart said. “Don’t hurt your arm.”
Eleanor laid the bandaged wrist on his big shoulder. Hart moved her legs over his thighs until she sat against him, chest to chest.
“Comfortable?” Hart asked.
“Very.” Eleanor put her good arm around him and pulled him into a warm embrace.
Hart tucked his hands back under her bu**ocks, lifting them the slightest bit, so that his very needy arousal could find the place she opened. “You’re wet for me,” he said.
She laughed, which made her move against him in the nicest way. “I’m straddling the most glorious, naked Highlander.”
Hart licked across her lips while he pulled her down onto him, his stiffness sliding straight into the goodness of her.
He nipped her neck, then licked to ease the bite. He wanted to suckle every part of her, could imagine the taste of her warm br**sts, the skin of her throat, the heat between her thighs. He wanted to taste her and drink her and not stop.
Gently. She’s hurt.
Hart knew how to be gentle. Rough play had its place, but there were times when the softest love was the best.
Perhaps one day they could…
Tell her everything.
Eleanor touched his face, hers soft with pleasure, skimming her fingers along his unshaven jaw. She smelled of her lavender soap, the scent that broke him open inside.
Hart pushed into her warmth, feeling her close around him, encasing him a tight embrace. God, yes. Eleanor’s eyes slid closed, her head going back while she clutched his shoulder with her unhurt hand. Her nails creased his skin, the little moan in her throat exciting.
Hart and Eleanor were locked together, their bodies firmly against each other’s. Hart’s skin prickled, and Eleanor’s little sigh let him know she was feeling him.
He could stay here forever…
The small rocking motion formed a hot point around which Eleanor existed. It was an exquisite sensation, Hart inside her, their bodies pressed together, hips locked.
His eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils spreading as his passion took over. His face softened from its usual hard mask, his lips parting to let out an ah of satisfaction.
Hart’s entire body embraced her, sweat trickling along his skin. His muscles were firm, a joy to feel. He exuded power, and yet, his eyes had swum with tears while he’d traced the name of the son he’d lost.