Page 47 of The Rake's Bride
Victoria began an exploration of her own. She tested the breadth of his shoulders, the lean muscles of his arms, the perfection of his chest and stomach with its fine dusting of black hair, the mouthwatering globes of his rear, the hardness of his thighs, and, finally, the turgid column of his sex. He seemed quite content to allow her to peruse him at her leisure with her greedy hands and mouth. She learned the musky, salty tang of his sweat, how sensitive his earlobes were, that his nipples reacted much like hers did to stimuli, that his member was impressive in both length and girth, and she could hardly believe he had fit himself inside of her. She bit her lip at the thought of doing it once again.
As if reading her mind, Rafe guided her to sit astride his hips. “Now, guide me inside of you,” he instructed gently. It wasn’t an order; she knew she could decline…but she’d be damned before she stopped.
Grasping his length, she fed the thick head inside of her body and slowly, carefully, lowered herself onto him. The position was so different from what they’d tried before. He felt larger, and it took her several thudding heartbeats to acclimate. Once she did, however, there was no stopping either of them.
What began as tentative lifting and dropping of her hips quickly devolved into frantic rocking as he thrust up into her. Their bodies worked in unison to stoke the flames of their passion. Each one of his grunts and groans drove her higher as her senses were nearly overwhelmed by everything Rafe was. She was swimming in sensations, so only a flick of his thumb on the pearl of her sex sent her tumbling into another release. As she climaxed, Rafe’s hands sank into her hips, holding her still as he pounded up into her with relentless force. He possessed her, claimed her, made her his own, until, with a guttural roar, he filled her with his seed.
Victoria collapsed onto Rafe’s sweaty, heaving chest, and all she could hear was the deep pounding of his racing heart.
As they dozed,Rafe realized he couldn’t have removed himself from that cocoon of contentment had he wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next weekspent at The Cottage passed in blissful peace, where Rafe, Victoria, and the children existed in a little sphere of their own making.
Without the constraints of London Society, Victoria felt more relaxed than she had in recent memory. Even back home in America, she’d felt somewhat on display as part of Boston and New York’s version of the upper class. In the Kentish countryside, however, she could traverse the fields with the children chasing grasshoppers and butterflies; she needn’t worry about nosey callers and curiosity-seekers, and she did not feel so judged. In America, she’d been scrutinized as an heiress and an example to Society; even after her marriage, she’d been an object of interest to those English who were either jealous or looked down upon her for the match she’d made with Rafe. This time spent away from prying eyes also allowed her to sit with the feelings she was developing for her husband, and helped her to remember that there was more to both of them than met the eye.
Rafe, too, was far more relaxed. Though she suspected his sense of fashion would always lean more toward dandified than rugged—not that she minded, of course—he’d worn his coats less often and tended to spend his days in well-cut breeches and linen shirts. The expert tailoring and interesting patterns of some of his garments prevented him from looking too much like he belonged out in nature, but that only lent to his charmas far as Victoria was concerned. She’d be watching the horizon for Rafe and Dominic to return from another afternoon of disastrous fishing and spot a flash of robin’s egg blue or a slightly unnatural green and know that they were on their way home.
She didn’t know if it was relief over resuming their marital relations, but her husband was freer with his affections, he laughed more easily, and the lines around his eyes softened some—likely because sleep had been more pleasant for all of them the past few nights. Victoria and Rafe had taken to sharing a bed each night since they’d come together after Dominic’s birthday supper. To say they were both pleased with the arrangement was an understatement; more than once, both had considered how fortunate it was that the children’s room was located on the opposite side of The Cottage when their cries and groans of pleasure were too powerful to stifle. Rafe did request one concession from Victoria as recompense for sharing his mattress with her: He demanded she stop wearing her nightrails, claiming he did not care for all the tangling fabric. But Victoria knew better. He enjoyed rolling over to find her nakedness waiting for him. Still, she’d obliged, quite content to experience the near-feverish heat of his flesh against hers. Even at rest, he was lean, taut muscle, solid and warm. Often, he held her in his sleep as if he were afraid she would dissolve. Victoria did not mind, though, because it made her feel all the safer and more cherished.
Some nights, Faith still craved Rafe’s arms to lull her to sleep with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin against her cheek, but those times were growing less frequent. When they did happen, Victoria had taken to sitting up with them, occasionally reading to her husband in a peaceful whisper by the light of a single low-burning candle.
The baby was also beginning to gain some weight, so much so that Nan and the staff had needed to sew her some newgarments. No one minded the extra work because they were so relieved that the child showed improvement. Woefully terrible with a needle and thread, Victoria had, instead, offered to go into town and purchase the materials they required. She picked a fine day with plenty of sunshine, donned an appropriately comfortable dress of dark green striped muslin and her walking boots, gathered her bonnet and reticule, and stepped out of The Cottage and onto the front drive.
Much to her surprise, Rafe had pulled up in front of the house, manning a smart gig and an elegant chestnut horse. He was dressed for London with his black beaver hat, ebony coat with gold buttons, patterned silver-and-purple waistcoat, impeccable buff breeches, and polished hessians. He transferred the long reins to one hand and tipped his hat to her jauntily.
“What are you doing?” Victoria had laughed as she finished pinning her plum-colored hat atop her head and checked to ensure she hadn’t forgotten her reticule.
“You required conveyance to the village; I happen to be available. The gig and horse were in the stables and are available for our use as part of the lease.” He grinned down at her and held out his gloved hand.
“How could I resist such an escort?” she asked, ascending the steps into the gig. No sooner was she settled than he snapped the reins and they were off.
Victoria squealed in surprise at just how quickly they were able to travel down the empty country lanes. Her husband was clearly a skilled driver, deftly avoiding ruts and divots as he drove them toward the village they’d passed on their way to The Cottage. One of her hands clutched the seat and the other scrabbled to hold onto Rafe’s bicep.
She felt him chuckle against her side. “Do not fear, I’ve a fair amount of experience driving one of these.”
“I do not doubt your skill as a driver,” Victoria said a little unsteadily as she tried not to flinch when they steered closely to the bushes growing along the side of the path. “I am unused to traveling at such a high rate of speed. Carriages and hacks do not travel this quickly in New York, Boston, or London.”
“A carriage wouldn’t,” he explained patiently and guided the horse through a turn. “This gig is sprung differently. It is lighter and nimbler.”
“I can see that.”
“Would you like me to slow down?” Rafe asked, a note of concern in his voice when he realized the severity of her unease.
“No, no,” she replied and gripped his arm a little more tightly. “I will be fine. I trust you.”
“Then why are your eyes closed?”
Victoria forced one eye open a sliver and regretted it as soon as she saw the speed with which the scenery passed by—it was a blur of shades of green, blue, and brown. Her eye closed once more of its own volition.
“I cannot help it.”
Immediately, the gig began to slow to a comfortable trot, and Victoria began to feel as if she could breathe again.
“Is that better, darling?” Rafe murmured at her side, transferring the reins to one hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She allowed herself to nestle against him as they bounced along at a more reasonable pace.
“Much,” she answered with a breath of relief.
