“Any man alive would be enraged by this kind of lying insult to his wife. Tomorrow I’m going into the office of each one of those rags that call themselves newspapers, and I shall put my hands around the neck of the proprietor, and—”
Theo put a hand over his mouth. “There’s no stopping it, James. The illustrations are everywhere. I saw people all around Hatchards, gawking at the window. And on the way home, I realized that a portrait of me in that ghastly dress is in the front of every store. I’m stuck with the label. For life.”
“Nonsense,” James said, more quietly. “Lots of people acquire unpleasant nicknames that are soon forgotten. Richard Gray was known as Little Dick for a while. And Perry Dabbes—Lord Fentwick, now—was Periwinkle. Then everyone forgot about it.”
“Apparently, they didn’t,” Theo pointed out. “You remembered both of those names without hesitating. And what’s more, I bet there are lots of men who think Periwinkle every time they see Lord Fentwick.” She hesitated. “Is that a reference to the size of his male organ?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I should think small would be a benefit. I’m certain most women would prefer it. They should boast about those nicknames.”
A little laugh exploded from his mouth. “Am I to take it that you’re sore from last night?”
“Yes,” Theo admitted. “I wish you had a periwinkle.”
“I’m glad I don’t, even though I am sorry if I hurt you in any way, Daisy.”
“My point is that no matter the size of their organ, at least they’re not ugly. It’s the worst thing you can say about a woman.”
James’s arms tightened again. “You are not ugly, Daisy. Do you think that I’m ugly?”
She glanced up at him. “You are breathtakingly handsome, and you know it. I’m very irritated just by the sight of you.”
“I may know it, but I don’t give a damn,” he said. “Still, a man’s got some pride. Why on earth do you think that I would marry an ugly woman?”
Theo thought of saying Because you just did, but she choked back the words. She didn’t really want to convince him that she was ugly. He and her mother were the only people in the world who idealized her this way. It was comforting to have a few people blind to reality.
“I would never marry an ugly woman,” James continued with the superb confidence that came from being born not only handsome, but the heir to a dukedom as well. “I have some pride, you know. I married you because you are delectable, and beautiful, and also because you don’t look like all those other girls.”
Theo sniffed. She hadn’t cried over the prints, but James was making her feel like crying now. “What do you mean when you say that I don’t look like the other girls?”
He frowned. “All pink and puffy.”
“But that’s what Bella looked like,” Theo objected. Then she stiffened. “Bella is part of your past, is she not?”
“I said good-bye to Bella the morning after I proposed to you. I gave her an emerald, though I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known how Father played ducks and drakes with the estate.” He was stroking her hair the way you might soothe an agitated cat.
“Oh, that’s all right,” Theo said, feeling a swell of generosity. “I’m sure she doesn’t have an easy life. But I have to say that she doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to me, James.”
“A mistress is one thing,” James said stubbornly. “A wife is quite another. I couldn’t bear having all that pinkness around every day. And besides . . .” His hand slid from her shoulder back to her breast. “I didn’t care for her bosom, to tell the truth. A man could suffocate if he wasn’t careful.”
Theo gave him a cracked bit of a laugh. “Must you do that?” she asked after a while as he continued to caress her breast. “It’s making me feel rather odd.”
“Why don’t you remove your clothes and we can make each other feel odd?” he suggested.
“James! People don’t do that sort of thing at this hour.”
“It’s almost evening,” he said, glancing outside. “And I’m pretty sure that people do it all day long if they’re lucky enough not to live with a passel of servants.”
“Do you wish you didn’t have servants?”
He rubbed a thumb across her nipple, and even through the layers of cloth she felt it so keenly that she actually jerked. “Do you like that?”
“I suppose,” she said uncertainly.
“I wish I’d been born a laborer,” James said suddenly, and quite ferociously. “I would be able to do just as I wish, and marry whom I want, and work in the outdoors and never have to spend hours with a man like Reede. Let alone have him look at me as if I were a veritable idiot. Which I am.”
“You are not,” Theo cried. “You know perfectly well that you could have had a first at Oxford if you’d cared to stay past a year.”
“Except I’d have jumped in a lake with stones in my pockets first.”
“That’s irrelevant. My point is that you were the top of your class at Eton, when you could be bothered.”
“Thank God that’s over.”
His hand started moving again, which Theo had to admit she rather liked. In fact, she was actually considering removing her gown, scandalous though it would be. “So you would truly like to be a laborer?”
“Yes.”
“You did choose your own wife,” Theo said softly. “You shocked everyone with your declaration.”
His hand tightened for a moment. “Yes. I suppose I don’t feel that I’m ready for marriage. If I have to get married, I wouldn’t want anyone but you.”
“Well, I would hate being a laborer’s wife, so I’m glad you were born to be a duke. It would be so exhausting to cook and clean and lay fires all day, and then just wake up and do precisely the same the next day. I would rather be planning a ceramics factory. And what did you think of my idea for having Ryburn Weavers specialize in re-creating the kind of figured fabric they wove in the time of Queen Elizabeth?”
“I think it is brilliant. I suppose what I most want is to be outdoors, and not suffocating in ridiculous neck cloths. I loathe starch.”
“We are so different,” Theo exclaimed. Even though it was something she’d known practically her whole life, it struck her anew. “I love thinking about clothing, and judicious use of starch can have such a gorgeous effect. Madame Le Courbier—that’s my modiste—and I came up with a wonderful plan to use blue starch to stiffen some fine pleats. She’s putting them at the wrists and the neck of a walking dress of cherry-colored twilled sarcenet with cord trim that will make it resemble the uniform of the Queen’s Household Cavalry.”
“I don’t recall any pleats on their tunics,” James drawled. He had tipped Theo forward, away from him, and now she realized that he was deftly unbuttoning her gown in the back.
“James, we can’t possibly do this,” she said, twisting about to look at him over her shoulder.
“What are we doing? I fancy sitting around with my wife while neither of us has any clothes on. You know there are religions where people behave like that all the time. ‘The Family of Love,’ I think one of them is called. My cousin was telling me about it in the club the other day.”
“Not your cousin Pink,” Theo said, allowing him to continue unbuttoning, because no matter how calm her tone was, her heart sped up at the very idea of sitting unclothed on James’s lap.
“He prefers Pinkler-Ryburn,” he replied, undoing the last button and pushing her gown forward, down her arms.
Theo pulled the gown farther down so that she could free her arms. “I really can’t bear him.”
“I can’t imagine why. After all, he’s as interested in fashion as you are.”
“No, he’s not. He’s just a heedless follower of other people’s ideas. He looks absurd. At the wedding his collar was so high that he couldn’t turn his head at all. And did you see the absurd coat he was wearing? It was lined in pink satin, and he kept fidgeting with it to make sure that everyone saw inside
.”
“He’s a macaroni, but he isn’t a bad fellow once you get to know him,” James said. “Why aren’t you wearing one of those corset thingies?”
“I don’t need to,” Theo said with a flash of pride. “They’re meant to keep in one’s stomach, but I don’t have one.”
“You have one,” James said, easing her back against him. He slid his hand down over her chemise, from her neck, over her breasts. “Right here.” His hand slid a little lower. “Like a path leading right to where a man most wants to be.”
Theo squirmed, half wanting his hand to slide lower, half wanting to jump from his lap. “I have an idea,” she said, rather breathlessly.
“What?” His hand slid a little lower.
“Well, the ugly duckling turned into a swan, didn’t she?”
James stopped what he was doing. But then he lifted her up and tugged her gown straight down to the floor. “How does this chemise come off?”
“There are just two buttons,” she said, lifting her hair to show him.
“Tell me about the swan,” he said, pulling her back down onto his lap.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Theo mumbled. She changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking about ideas for months, actually, ever since I debuted and Mama made me wear all those white ruffles.”
“Like the gown you threw out the window.” Nimble fingers brushed her hair to the side, leaving warm sparks wherever they touched her skin.
“Yes, like my wedding gown,” Theo said, bending her head forward. “Are you really unbuttoning my chemise?” It was a stupid question; she could feel his fingers at her neck.
“Yes.”
“But Amélie might enter any moment,” she said, rather panicked. “It must be time to dress for supper.”
“I told my valet to keep them all away until we ring. We will be dining here.”
“Oh.” The very idea of eating with James in such an intimate setting—though surely they would dress again—made her breath quicken. “I intend to develop my own set of rules for fashion,” she said, changing the subject. “The opposite of your cousin Pink. He merely imitates whatever the other fops are doing.”
“Rules sound good,” James said agreeably. He had the yoke of her chemise undone and was starting to slide it forward, off her shoulders.
Theo had a moment of panic, and then let him do it. He plucked her up and then pulled the chemise free. Without a word he nestled her back against his chest, quite as if she wasn’t almost entirely naked but for her lacy little drawers.
“That’s a very pretty garment,” he said, with a distinct note of masculine satisfaction as he ran a finger along the lace trim.
“I designed it myself,” Theo said. “It’s made of knotted silk. That’s double-edged lace.”
“What are your rules?” he asked in her ear just as one of his hands settled on her bare knee.
He didn’t seem to be looking at the lace, but Theo couldn’t think very clearly. She was too fascinated by the contrast of James’s sun-darkened hand on her white knee. In that moment, she actually felt rather pink and white, at least compared to his brownness. “Here’s one: Look to the Greeks.”
“Don’t,” James said. “They have an awful lot of facial hair as a rule, Daisy. Besides, you’re married to me now. You shouldn’t look at any other men.”
There was a note of hot possession in his voice that made her feel ridiculously joyful. “It’s not about men,” she said with a giggle. “I was thinking of Greek gowns.” She felt even more naked because James was still covered by his dressing gown except for where it gaped in the front. Although she could feel something beneath her. “You are no periwinkle,” she observed.
James laughed. “True.” He sounded suddenly happy, without that subtle grimness that hadn’t left his eyes even during the wedding ceremony.
She hopped from his lap, turning around with hands on hips. “Perhaps it’s time you removed your dressing gown.”
It was gratifying to see a hard pulse beating in his throat, and the way his eyes seemed to devour her. Perhaps she could live in a world in which she was thought ugly, as long as she had James waiting for her.
She came quite close and bent down to undo the knot holding his dressing gown in place. His eyes were hot and painfully eager. “So, is this a winkle, if it’s not a periwinkle?” she asked mischievously, brushing the organ that burst up the moment she pulled the fabric to the side.
He gave a husky laugh. “You may call it whatever you like, if you’ll just keep . . . ” His voice trailed off. She ran her fingers over his velvety hardness, coming down on her heels so she could see better.
“That’s a great deal bigger than I realized last night,” she said at last, her voice rather weak. She felt a painful little twinge between her legs at the very sight of it. A winkle indeed. With a capital W.
“But we did fit together,” James said. His breath was uneven. “Do you think you might take your drawers off, as long as we’re both undressing, Daisy?”
The timid side of her would rather that winkle didn’t come near her again. But it was James asking, so she nodded and stood up. She twisted to reach the tiny metal hooks that fastened her drawers, when James made a hoarse sound, like a little gasp. Under her eyelashes, she saw his body strain forward. He didn’t think she was ugly.
Instead of immediately unfastening her drawers, she started pulling pins from her hair, shaking it free so that it tumbled down over her breasts, all twisted strands of honey and cognac and amber. Her skin prickled at the touch of her hair, as if the strands were fingers caressing her.
“Daisy,” James breathed.
“My drawers are fastened with small hooks,” she said, hiding her smile. “I have to undo them carefully or I might tear the lace.” She slowly, slowly slipped the first hook from its eye, allowing the lace garment to dip lower on her stomach. Another hook; another glance at James from under her lashes. He was beautiful, and intimidating. With the third hook, the silk started to slide down her hips, but she caught it.
“Let it fall,” James ordered hoarsely. He was vibrating with impatience.
She grinned at him, feeling a flash of power. “Say please.”
Instead he reached out, lightning quick, and her smalls fell past the little twist of amber curls between her legs, down to her ankles.
“You don’t need to wear that sort of thing,” he said, his eyes feasting on her.
“I wear them because they are outrageous,” she told him. “Mama never allows me to copy French modes except in matters of undergarments. Though now it’s all different, of course. I no longer need obey her restrictions. I can wear whatever I choose.”
“I prefer to think of you with nothing under your gown at all. No corset, no drawers . . . just you, so I can touch you under your gown any time I please. Please don’t wear those things again.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!” It came out a squeak.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap again?” James shrugged off his dressing gown and then sat back, appearing not the least shy about the fact he was utterly naked and his male organ was in such a state.
In fact, his eyes made Theo feel warm and confident, as if she weren’t standing naked in a ray of sulky evening sunshine.
“Why don’t you come and get me?” she asked. “You can practice whatever it is you intend to do if you ever talk me into leaving off my drawers. Which you won’t.” Without bothering to look at him, she scampered to the other side of the bedchamber.
James didn’t run; he merely rose and padded deliberately toward her, his face as hungry as that of any self-respecting tiger. But what caught Theo’s attention was his body. It had shadows and definition, like a marble statue, but the similarities ended there; she knew it was hot and alive. And his male part . . . even looking at it made her feel giddily alive, flaring with heat and desire.
A nervous giggle erupted from her mouth as he drew closer. “This is so different from la
st night!”
“Why?” James asked. “Now just stay still, Daisy. Stay still.”
She danced sideways at the last moment and ran around the end of the bed. “Because we’re looking at each other.”
“I always look at you,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “I’ve looked at you ever since you grew those breasts. I just never let myself acknowledge what I was feeling while I looked. But it was hell the year you turned sixteen and suddenly started wearing lower bodices in the evening.”
Theo tiptoed backward. “You must be joking!”
His mouth tilted into a wolfish grin. “I had a cock-stand under my napkin for months. Months.”
“I had no idea,” Theo said, wonderment stopping her for a second. Which was just long enough for him to snatch her into his arms.
It felt as if they were touching for the first time. Last night, when they had consummated their marriage, it had been in the dark, and they had said almost nothing to one another. Theo had been too shy, fascinated and frightened, all at the same time, and couldn’t think of a remark that didn’t sound witless.
His chest brushed her breasts and a shiver went down her body. She put her arms around his neck. “Were you really lusting for me?” Theo marveled. “Right there in front of everyone. Really?”
“How could I not?” His hands slid to her slim hips and pulled her tight against him. “God, Theo, you were sitting there at every meal, and your breasts would peek out from the top of your gown, just begging to be touched. There was that time you spilled a glass of water down your bodice . . . do you remember?”
She shook her head. Her breath was ragged, and she couldn’t think clearly. Every time he nudged her or touched her, a swell of pleasure overtook her body.
“Your nipples turned into little acorns standing out against your gown,” he said, wrapping a hand around one of her breasts so they both looked down at his bronzed hand holding her. “All I could think was that they wanted this.”
He pulled her backward onto the bed; she fell on top of him and he rolled. A second later his mouth was on her breast. Spiraling waves of pleasure swept through Theo’s legs.