Tessa's Touch (27 page)

That comment made Sir George smile, as Tessa
had surely intended. Anthony had not missed the anxiety in the older man's
eyes. "I'm sure that's true enough. Don't worry, Tessa, I shall be fine
—and I'll answer every letter you send, to assure you of it."

Tessa watched the carriage as it retreated down
the drive, her expression a bittersweet mixture of regret and relief.

As they climbed the front steps of Ivy Lodge
together, Anthony realized with a sweet stab of anticipation that nothing now
prevented him from taking Tessa upstairs. The sun would not set for another
hour or more, but he refused to wait until nightfall —not when he had waited so
long already.

He had to smile at that thought, for in reality
it had only been a few weeks since he'd first met Tessa. But it felt as though
he'd wanted her for an eternity.

"Come," he said softly, guiding her
back into the house. "It is our time now."

* *
*

CHAPTER 17

Tessa felt a thrill go through her at his
words, and at the touch of his hand at her waist—intimate, even though they
were still surrounded by people.

"Let's go upstairs," he suggested in
her ear as they reentered Ivy Lodge.

"Now?" she whispered back, glancing
around at Lady Killerby, the remaining members of the Odd Sock Club, and the
servants cleaning up after the departed guests. Though she was nervous, she was
not unwilling —quite the contrary, in fact.

"They won't mind," he promised her.
Then, to Lady Killerby, "I'm going to show my wife to our chamber so that
she can rest a bit before dinner."

My wife.
He actually sounded proud when he said those words! Tessa felt a
delicious warmth spread through her midsection.

Lady Killerby nodded, commenting tactfully that
Tessa was bound to be tired after such a hectic day. There was a twinkle in her
eye, however, that made Tessa blush. She knew— they all must know— what they
were really going upstairs to do.

Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm,
Anthony led her from the room and up the stairs. "See?" he murmured.
"No censure whatsoever."

"Not censure, but . . . they'll be
expecting you to come back down, will they not?"

He chuckled. "I rather doubt it."

She knew she was turning even pinker, but said
nothing.

A moment later, he opened the door to his
chamber and stepped back to let her enter first. She looked around with
interest at the masculine but cozy room with its hangings of green and gold at
bed and windows and a comfortable-looking chaise by the fire, upholstered in a
cheerful floral print in the same colors.

He was watching her face for her reaction, and
looked relieved when she smiled.

"What a pleasant room," she said, and
his smile broadened. "It's just how I'd have imagined your chamber to be—
except for that chaise. I presume it was added for me?"

He nodded. "I did a bit of refurbishing
over the past week with you in mind, so I'm glad you approve. Lady Killerby
feared my tastes were rather too somber for a lady."

"Somber? Not at all. I find it soothing
—even cheerful. Like you." To cover her sudden embarrassment, she glanced
at the large hunting scene hanging opposite the window.

"Does that picture bother you?" he
asked. "It used to hang in my bedchamber in the London house I shared with
two of my brothers, and has only lately been removed here. I'll have it taken
down if you prefer."

Tessa understood his concern, for though it was
not bloody, the painting was rather energetic for a bedroom, with the hounds
and horsemen in full pursuit of a fleeing fox. She could understand why he'd have
liked having it in London, when he had to be away from his favorite pursuit.

"Not at all," she said warmly,
"for it captures this part of the world beautifully. If . . . if we should
ever have to live any length of time elsewhere, I'd rather like to bring it
along."

He grinned with apparent delight, then kicked
the door shut and swept her into his arms. "I think I must be the luckiest
man on earth," he told her. "You are unique, Tessa."

She gazed up at him, heart pounding, her lips
only a few inches from his own. "Is that a good thing, my lord?"

"It is indeed, my lady," he replied,
and closed the small gap between them, his lips warm and firm upon hers. He
tightened his arms around her, pulling her against him from chest to knee. She
reveled in the feel of his body so close to hers, wanting to be closer yet.

For a long moment he deepened his kiss, then
drew back, but only far enough to trail his lips along her cheek to her
earlobe, then down her throat. Her hair had been pinned up for the wedding,
which gave him easy access to the row of tiny pearl buttons down her back.

Nuzzling the hollow of her throat, he released
them, one by one, working his way from the nape of her neck to her waist. When
his fingers touched the bare skin above her shift and corset, she tilted her
head back and sucked in a quick breath at the contact, which sent a frisson of
excitement through her body. He glanced up at her and smiled, but his hands did
not pause in their work.

Her buttons undone, he slowly, gently slid his
hands up her back to her shoulders and tugged the dress toward him. Bringing
his lips back to hers, he pulled the gown open and down until it finally lay in
a shimmering pool of ivory satin and velvet at her feet. Then, still with
deliberate care, he went to work on the lacing of her corset.

As he undid the corset, it occurred to her that
he was amazingly adept at undoing buttons and lacings that he could not see. It
spoke of much practice. The thought cost her a pang, but then his lips were
against her flesh again and all she could think of was the present.

Soon her corset lay on the floor atop her
dress, leaving her clad only in her shift. She swallowed, tentatively placing
one hand on his broad chest, rising and falling beneath his blue superfine coat
and snowy linen shirt, wondering what was to come next.

"You're welcome to help me out of my
things as well, you know," he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive spot below
her ear. "I won't mind."

She swallowed again, then, with a shy glance up
at him, began to undo his intricate cravat with trembling fingers while he ran
his hands up and down her bare arms, warming them —and stoking the growing fire
within her. It took her a few minutes for, unlike him, she had no experience
with such things.

When she finally managed to undo the
intricately tied cravat, she unfastened the three buttons of his shirt, then
paused, feeling rather foolish. "I, ah, I think I'll need your help
here." Her voice quivered between nervousness and laughter.

With a grin, he pulled his shirttails from his
breeches and in one fluid motion swept the shirt over his head and off, adding
it to the growing pile on the floor. Her eyes widened slightly and she put out
a tentative hand to touch the crip, curling hairs on his chest. She'd been
right —he was a thoroughly magnificent creature.

At her touch, she heard him catch his breath,
then he again pulled her against him, her breasts now separated from his bare
chest only by the thin cotton of her shift. She could feel his arousal
straining against his breeches.

He kissed her with growing urgency, then began
untying the ribbons at the neckline of her shift, his lips still moving over
hers. After only the slightest hesitation, she slid her hands down his warm,
naked sides, then around to his front to fumble clumsily at the fastening of
his breeches. A low moan escaped him.

"I—I understand, I think," she
whispered against his lips. "It's like the excitement of the hunt —the
breathless waiting for the fox to be sighted, then—" She finally undid his
breeches and his rampant manhood sprang free.

He chuckled. "And then?" he prompted,
and then she was laughing, too, though her she felt herself thrumming with
desire —and curiosity.

"Every hunt is different, is it not?"
she said after a moment. "This is like none I've ever experienced, so I
don't know what comes next."

"I'll show you," he said, suddenly
serious. He led her to the bed, and she noticed with another prickle of
embarrassment that someone had already obligingly turned down the counterpane.

Seating her on the edge of the bed, he knelt
down to remove her slippers and stockings. It was a humbling yet heady
experience, having him on his knees before her like a servant. Rolling down the
first stocking, he paused to kiss her knee and smiled when she drew in her
breath at the sensation.

"That's nothing compared to what is to
come, my sweet," he said, removing the other stocking, then sitting beside
her to divest himself of his own shoes and stockings. His eagerness showed in
his haste, for he accidentally knotted one of his shoe laces while trying to
untie it.

"First check," he said with a grin as
he undid the knot. "There, now." He kicked off the offending shoe and
ripped off the stocking. "We're on the scent again— wouldn't you
say?" he asked with a wink.

Mutely, she nodded. She could hear her heart
pounding.

Standing again, he stripped his breeches the
rest of the way off, then tugged her to her feet so that he could pull her
loosened shift off over her head. Suddenly they were both completely naked.

It was all Tessa could do not to stare. She had
never quite realized that a man's body would be so different, so exciting, so .
. . large. She had seen horses mating, of course, and sheep, but somehow she'd
imagined that a human bonding would be more spiritual, less earthy. Now,
however, she felt like a mare in heat, as desperate for her stallion, and as
lost to reason.

"Come to me, Tessa."

Her last shred of hesitation disappeared and
she went willingly into his arms, hungry for the feel of his skin against hers,
his lips, his . . . everything.

For a long, breathless moment he kissed her,
deeply and passionately, a kiss that was a promise of unguessed delights to
come. Then, so gently that she wasn't sure whether he moved her or she him, he
drew her back down onto the bed. "I want this to be perfect for you,"
he whispered.

How could it not be, she wondered? Though she
didn't know exactly what to expect, she had no doubt that what she was about to
share with Anthony would be both profound and exciting.

He pulled her down beside him until they lay
side by side, then he pushed himself up on his forearms to gaze down at her.
Suddenly embarrassed, she made a move as if to cover herself, but he shook his
head.

"No, don't. I want to look at you, Tessa.
You are so beautiful. Even more beautiful than I'd imagined —and I've done
rather a lot of imagining these past weeks."

She smiled shyly up at him. "You,
too?"

Especially since knowing they were to wed, her
thoughts, her dreams, had been filled with Anthony: what he might say, what he
might do, what this particular moment might be like. All had fallen far short
of the reality —so far.

A tiny thread of uncertainty threatened her
enjoyment, but he seemed to sense it, for he lowered himself onto her until he
was kissing her again, this time with his body pressing against hers along
their whole lengths. Then, rolling onto his side, he carressed her, beginning
with her shoulder, her collarbone, then gradually working his way lower.

Tessa felt as though her whole body was licked
with flames as heat washed over her, spreading outward from his touch. He
splayed his hand against her chest, then slid it around to cup one breast.
"So beautiful," he whispered again.

She could have said the same, for the strong
planes of his chest, the defined muscling of his arms, made her think of a
painting or sculpture —a work of art. She'd always appreciated the lines of a
fine horse, but this was so much more . . . personal.
Mine
, she thought, with sudden exultation.

His hand was moving again, making circles on
her belly, spanning her waist from thumb to smallest finger, sliding lower.

"I think the hounds must be closing on
their quarry," she breathed, afraid of what might come next, but even more
afraid that he might stop.

"Soon," he murmured, "but there
is still much excitement to come." He captured her lips again for a long,
sweet moment, and even as he did so, his hand slipped into the tangle of curls
at the juncture of her thighs.

She gasped, but he took her gasp into his mouth
and deepened the kiss as, with one finger, he found the spot that hungered most
for his touch. Gently, so, so, gently, he stroked, and she felt her body tense.

More. She needed more! Arching against him, she
tried to intensify the contact, but still he was maddeningly gentle, taking his
time while she was ready to rush her fences, to meet whatever was on the other
side. She heard a small whimpering noise and realized it was coming from her
own throat.

Clutching at his shoulders, she tried to pull
him against her, to force him to . . . to what, she wasn't sure. But to do
something more. For a moment he resisted her, still stroking, still driving her
to the brink of some crisis, then he slowly rolled until he was again atop her.

Still kissing her, he began to move, rubbing
his length against hers. She felt his arousal, so near to the place that
demanded more and more of his touch, and shifted slightly beneath him, to give
him better access.

Gently, still more gently than she wanted, he
guided himself to her, massaging her sensitive nubbin with the tip of his
manhood. She groaned with delight at this new sensation, the excitement of
having him so close, then she opened fully to him, using her legs and arms to
draw him into herself.

Releasing her lips, he nuzzled her ear and
whispered, "Now, my love, we finally reach the climax of the hunt."

Rhythmically, he moved in and out, each time
delving just a little deeper. At the same time, he slipped a hand between them
so that he could continue stroking that tiny bit of flesh that was the heart of
her desire.