The Duke's Perfect Wife
Page 76

You break me, Hart Mackenzie.
At the moment, he was watching her intently. As though to warn her that he was being kind now, but he was holding back. He could turn wild at any moment.
The thought excited her. “You feel good,” she whispered.
“You feel like fire, my wicked wife.” Hart licked her neck. “I want to love you the rest of the night and all through tomorrow.”
Yes. She wanted him inside her, wanted to hold him and have him hold her, where all was safe and warm.
He lifted a little, thrusting harder. “Don’t let me hurt you,” he whispered.
He’d never hurt her. Eleanor drew her good hand down his back, lightly scratching. Hart made a little noise in his throat, and when he looked at her, all traces of sorrow had gone.
“You make me glad I’m a sinner, Eleanor Ramsay.”
Eleanor couldn’t answer. Her arm throbbed, but she scarcely felt it as she held on to Hart, her husband. Every point of her awareness went to where they were joined, and she saw nothing, felt nothing, but him.
She was going to scream. And then her throat was hoarse as Hart laughed and called her his sweet, sweet lass.
“Eleanor, you unmake me.” Hart’s words were lost in his groan as he pushed up into her, holding her, and let go of his seed.
The feeling didn’t end. It went on, Eleanor squeezing him, Hart rocking into her, his arms around her to keep her from falling. They were locked together, one.
Hart stayed inside her as he quieted little by little, his face at last relaxed, the tension released from his body. Eleanor knew she was one of the few able to see this, the Scottish duke letting himself be at ease.
Hart kissed her, with the warm kiss of lovers who had found their all in each other. He held her in his strong arms, licking the trail of freckles that led down her neck, and she felt the scrape of his teeth.
When he at last lowered her to the pillows, Eleanor was half asleep. He withdrew, the friction of him going out almost as heady as it had been going in.
He eased Eleanor onto her side and pulled the covers gently around her, Hart warm at her back. His thigh moved between her legs, solid strength, which both excited and comforted her. Surrounded by that comfort, Eleanor dove into a profound sleep.
Hart jumped awake to a clatter, a crash, a sigh of exasperation, and a mutter of, “Oh, blast.”
He forced his eyes open. Sunlight streamed through the windows, landing on the warm indentation in the mattress where Eleanor had lain. The pillows bore her lavender scent, but Eleanor had gone.
Hart lifted his head, stifling a groan as his muscles protested. He found Eleanor at the foot of the bed in her dressing gown, trying, one-handed, to unfold something that looked like a cooking crane.
Hart rubbed his face, his hand finding deep stubble on his chin. “What the devil are you doing?”
Eleanor had mischief in her eyes. “Setting up the photographing apparatus. It’s a bit difficult one-handed. Perhaps you could help?”
Hart sat up. Eleanor beamed and went back to her task, as though it was perfectly reasonable for her to be wrestling with a camera the morning after making love with her husband.
“You want to take photographs now?” he asked.
“In truth, I wanted to take one of you lying uncovered in the bed, with you half on your side as you were. You looked beautiful with the sunlight on you. But I had to drop the tripod and wake you.”
“You were going to take photographs of me while I slept?”
She blinked, as though to say Why not? “Do not worry. I will show them to no one. They are for me to look at while you’re away in London winning your election or stuck in Parliament all day. I know you won’t be staying here much longer, so I must take opportunities as I can.”
Hart came out of the bed. Eleanor, unworried, kept rattling the tripod until Hart grabbed it out of her hands. “I’d thought you’d forgotten about this.”
“No, indeed. I am afraid I am going to be the sort of wife who refuses to let her husband run off to a mistress. If you see that I am adventurous enough to take nude photographs of you, perhaps you won’t need to turn to a courtesan like your Mrs. Whitaker.”
Hart opened the tripod with one yank and set it on the floor. “I told you, I have no interest in Mrs. Whitaker.”
“You will be away in London quite often, and you are a very passionate man.”
“Passions I control very well.” Except when I am with you. “Whatever you think of me, I am not a youth led by his desires. And I don’t intend to plant you here while I am in London. You’ll travel with me wherever I go.”
“Oh.” She looked surprised. “Will I?”
“Yes. It’s why I married you.” To keep you by my side, no matter what.
“I can see your point. I suppose you’ll look like a steady, married man if your wife is always at your elbow.”
“That is not the reason I had in mind, but believe what you wish. You can put away the camera.”
Eleanor unlocked and opened the camera in its mahogany frame. “I find the handheld cameras quite nice to use when my father and I are out in the woods, but I prefer the tripod when I take a portrait, so I don’t accidentally jiggle the image. Don’t you agree?”
“El.” Hart’s hand came down on her good wrist. “I told you my terms. Only if I get photographs of you.”
“You cannot possibly take photographs of me while my arm is in a sling. I would look ridiculous. Now, the light is very good, and we must take advantage of it.”