“I think you ought to check, just to make certain,” she said, turning to present the fastenings up the back of her gown to him and giving him a coquettish smile from over her shoulder.

  “What a sensible idea. I think perhaps a series of experiments, to determine whether you really exist, and if I am therefore the luckiest fellow alive, or simply delusional.” Inigo slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “I really am, you know, the luckiest fellow alive, I mean.”

  “I’m so glad you think so,” she said, “because I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  There was a low chuckle before he turned his attention to the fiddly buttons. It took some time, and a little cursing, but soon the yellow dress fell with a swish of satin and Minerva stepped out of it. Turning, she faced Inigo and held his gaze as she slid her petticoats down and undid the laces of her corset. Finally, she pulled the chemise over her head.

  “Shall I leave the stockings on, Inigo? I remember you liked them.”

  Inigo swallowed, his gaze falling to the matching yellow ribbons holding the stockings in place.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice husky. “I do like them.”

  Minerva moved towards him, pressing herself against him and shivering as his cold watch chain and buttons met her warm skin.

  “I was right,” Inigo said in a whisper. “You are perfect.”

  “Ah, but am I real?” Minerva replied, smiling at him and glorying at the wonder in his eyes.

  The way he looked at her made her feel beautiful and powerful, and as if she was the only woman in the world. For the life of her, she could not understand how anyone could choose a fortune or a fancy title over a man who looked at you in such a way. How lucky she was that Prue had helped her see sense, and how very much she might have missed.

  She gasped as Inigo arms went around her, crushing her to him while he kissed her, his mouth at once tender and demanding. He let her go a moment later, breathing a deal faster than he had been.

  “You appear to be real, but I think it requires further investigation,” he said, with every appearance of gravity.

  “Oh?” Minerva said, excitement coiling in her belly. “What kind of investigation?”

  “Hmmm,” Inigo said, moving around her, his heated gaze a brand against her skin as he circled her, prowling like something wild that might pounce at any moment.

  She couldn’t wait.

  His fingers slid over her moved, around her waist, over her back and shoulder, down over her breast, detouring to circle one peaked nipple and then down, down her belly to the soft curls between her thighs.

  “I think I must taste you next,” he murmured, the words sending mad shivers racing over her and a liquid heat blooming inside.

  Before she could even consider mustering a coherent answer, he had lifted her up and moved her to the bed, sitting her down on the edge.

  Inigo knelt before her, spreading her thighs and leaning in to press a soft kiss to her stomach. “This is my favourite place to be,” he said, a wicked look glinting at her from those striking grey-green eyes that had captured her attention all those months ago.

  “Mine too,” she said, feeling a wanton and terribly bold to admit to such a thing, but his expression betrayed his pleasure at her words. She watched as he ducked his head to trail his tongue over her inner thigh and sighed, lying back on the mattress and abandoning herself to the moment, knowing that he loved her, and that her pleasure was also his.

  The first sweep of his tongue had her gasping and arching off the bed, so much that he slid his hands up her thighs, pushing them further apart before holding her hips down so she could not wriggle. From then on it was a hazy blur of intense pleasure, the soft, supple length of his tongue, the slight graze of his shaven chin against her most private flesh, and then the intimate caress of his fingers as he slid them deep inside her. It was a slow, intimate siege against her sanity, dismantling it by increments as the tension inside her built and built, until she was shaking and helpless and crying out, begging him for release.

  Her breathing was ragged as she chased the gathering sensation that promised her peak was close, but Inigo’s touch remained just elusive enough to deny her. She squirmed and bucked, trying to force his mouth closer, to give her the delicious push that would send her over the edge, but he only laughed softly, his fluttering breath a torment against her overheated skin.

  “Please,” she begged him, reaching down to grasp at his hair, beside herself as the sensations become too much. “Please, Inigo, please, please….”

  At last he took pity, settling upon the tender bud of her sex and licking gently but with increasing speed until she shuddered beneath his touch, her vision whiting out while she rode on an exultant wave of pleasure that seemed to rush on and on until she was a pliant tangle of limbs, utterly spent, dazed and content.

  As the world drifted back into focus, she became distantly aware of herself, and then of a rustle of fabric. Minerva lifted her drowsy eyelids just enough to see Inigo tossing his clothes in an abandoned heap on the floor. A low chuckle escaped her, which sounded wanton and knowing, and not at all as she expected as he climbed onto the bed, an unmistakable look in his eyes.

  “Too late,” she murmured sleepily, feeling like a lazy cat. “You’ve ruined me. I’m good for nothing now.”

  He snorted, shaking his head. “I married you, so you can’t be ruined, and we’ll see about that.”

  She squealed as he grabbed her and rolled her on top of him. His arousal was hot and hard between her legs, pressing against the tender flesh and she gasped with surprise as a jolt of pure sensation fired through her.

  “Oh,” she said, moving her hips to do it again.

  Inigo closed his eyes and groaned, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so sleepy as she’d thought. Her skin was wet and slick and moved easily against his silky length and Minerva sat up, bracing herself against his chest, watching him watch her, revelling in the hunger she could see in his heavy-lidded eyes. His breath caught, his hands going to her hips, guiding her movements as he rocked up towards her, intensifying the sensation. To her surprise, pleasure coiled inside her once more, quicker this time as she watched Inigo come apart beneath her.

  “Minerva,” he rasped, as though he was fighting for words, fighting to speak past the force of desire. “Inside you… please… need it….”

  It wasn’t exactly a coherent sentence, but it wasn’t difficult to comprehend, either, especially when he turned her onto her back, settling between her thighs.

  “Yes,” she said, almost breathless as he looked to her for approval.

  That little remaining breath was stolen as he thrust inside her, deep and powerful and sending her nerve endings into glittering little eddies of delight, making her shiver and sigh and cling to him as he moved inside her. Minerva closed her eyes and gloried in it, in his broad shoulders, the heat of his skin burning against, hers and the sense of completeness, of rightness, at being where she belonged, with whom she belonged.

  She sighed, a long, indulgent breath of wonder while the shimmering edge of her peak came closer, chasing the rest of the world far away until there was nothing outside of the two of them and the joy they brought one another. Inigo made a harsh sound, crying out as he held her close, before burying his face against her hair. His body shook, jerking helplessly with the power of his release. The sight of his face, taut with concentration, his large frame helpless as the pleasure took control of him was enough to send Minerva over the edge in his wake, holding on tight to the only man she had ever wanted, or would ever want.

  Chapter 20

  Dear Minerva,

  I am so very happy for you. The wedding was lovely, and I cried buckets. Your husband looked utterly dazed at his own good fortune, as well he might. I have every expectation of seeing you both settle into a wonderfully happy marriage. Do write to me soon and tell me of your plans. What is your new home like, and how is it to live with such a clever fellow?

  I must thank you also for your discretion. I confess it was like being sat upon thorns to be in the same room as Lord Rothborn. I felt certain everyone should see me blush and know everything whenever I felt his gaze turn my way. He is a strange man, capable of being so very kind and yet so distant too, but I am determined to know him better. Though he does his best to thwart my efforts, I am not to be dissuaded, as he will learn to his cost.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Jemima Fernside to Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir.

  4th February 1815. Beverwyck, London.

  Matilda set her book aside and sighed. It was a dull day, the rain coming down in sheets with no end in sight. It was unlikely she would receive any callers today to alleviate the tedium and keep her mind busy. Determined not to allow herself to fall into a fit of the dismals, she took herself off to her writing desk. She’d received a letter from Aashini that morning, confirming that she would come and stay with Matilda for the weekend, and that was certainly something to look forward to. It had been so lovely to catch up with her friend at the wedding, more so to see how very happy she was. In the meantime she would content herself with writing her a reply before perusing the January edition of La Belle Assembly. Perhaps a new outfit would cheer her up, and there were always lovely illustrations of the latest styles to sigh over. That would surely keep her busy.

  She’d just settled herself before a clean sheet of paper when there was a knock at the door and her butler, Baines, appeared.

  “The Marquess of Montagu for you, Miss Hunt.”

  Matilda jolted, surging to her feet so quickly she nearly overturned the chair.

  “M-Montagu?” she stammered, her voice faint, one hand going to her throat, where her heart seemed to have lodged and begun beating at a ridiculous pace. She’d never dreamed he’d call upon her at her home and to see him here, in her own parlour, was so extraordinary she was immediately sent into a flurry of nerves.

  There was no mistake, though, as he strode into the room, immaculate and coldly beautiful as always. She curtseyed as he entered, at least having enough presence of mind to attend to the formalities. He glanced around to see she was alone and frowned.

  “Do you not have a maid who can sit with you, for propriety’s sake?”

  Matilda gave a startled laugh. “It’s her day off, and that you should ask me that….”

  He turned back, hailing the butler who had just left the room. “Stand outside the door. I will only be here a moment.”

  Matilda heard Baines’ murmur of agreement and Montagu walked in, leaving the door ajar.

  “I will not keep you, Miss Hunt, only there is something… I have news which I must share with you that I fear you will find distressing, and so I wished to tell you in person before you read of it tomorrow morning.”

  “News? What news?” Matilda said, perplexed and alarmed by his presence.

  She put a hand out to find the chair back, as her legs felt somewhat unsteady, but really, what news could Montagu have to share with her that she would find distressing?

  “Miss Hunt, I….”

  He hesitated, and for the first time Matilda felt he was uncertain of himself. This was so altogether out of character that she could not help but stare.

  “Miss Hunt,” he began again, and then took a deep breath. “I know what you think of me. You have never been shy in giving your opinion, and I cannot pretend that anything you have said was unfair. I have not hidden my desires from you, and nothing has changed in that regard. However, I pray that you will hear me now. No matter if you believe me false, I swear to you I did not do this to further my own ends. I once told you that I do not lie, and I will not do so now. I would not blame you for believing ill of me but, in acting as I have, I had only your best interests at heart.”

  Matilda gazed at him, unblinking and utterly lost. “Forgive me, my lord, but… but I believe I have misunderstood, or perhaps I am just being hen witted today, but I have not the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

  Montagu nodded and lifted his hand, which she now saw carried a folded news sheet.

  “An early edition of tomorrow’s story,” he said, giving it to her.

  She took it, staring blindly at the headline Hell on Earth. She glanced at the text, gathering it spoke of the terrible conditions in a textile mill in Derbyshire. Something stirred in her mind, but the marquess’ presence befuddled her too greatly to think clearly. She looked up at him, none the wiser, relieved when he spoke again.

  “I admit that it was because of you I sought to investigate your Mr Burton. I had heard rumours disturbing enough to make me worry about the kind of man he was. I know it was in my best interests to discover a good reason why you ought not marry him, but I swear I did not… I did not realise….” He paused and his jaw grew tight. “I could not allow you to marry the man without knowing the truth of who he is. I am far from a saint and I know it, but this… this is wickedness,” he said, gesturing to the paper she held in a trembling hand. “I pray you can forgive me for my part in exposing this, and believe that I did it to protect you and those who have suffered in such vile conditions.”

  Matilda stared at him and then back at the headline, scanning the text, which spoke of horrific working conditions, of deaths and injuries, and the maltreatment of children.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, sitting down heavily in the chair, staring at the page as the text blurred before her eyes.

  It slipped from her nerveless fingers to the floor without so much as a rustle of paper.

  “Matilda.”

  She looked up, stunned to find the marquess crouched down before her, his hands reaching for hers and holding them tight. It was remarkable to see those cold silver grey eyes fill with concern, with compassion. She’d not thought such a thing possible.

  “Is there anything I can do? A glass of water? Let me send for one of your friends to come to you.”

  Matilda stared at him, too horrified and shaken to take it in, hardly even registering he’d used her given name, that he was still holding her hands.

  “No,” she said, her voice faint. She felt unsteady, sick and ill, and she wanted him to go for she was sorely tempted to throw her arms about his neck and sob at the awfulness of it. She withdrew her hands from his with difficulty, folding her arms across her stomach lest the desire to abandon herself to his care overcame her. “No. I’m perfectly fine. Thank… thank you for….”

  Montagu picked up the abandoned news sheet, setting it on the writing desk beside the blank sheet of paper she’d put out.

  “Thank you for exposing… for those poor, poor….”

  Her voice cracked and she shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth and taking a deep breath. The effort to steady herself was enormous, but she had to take herself in hand. It was not her who had been harmed. Her pity ought to be reserved for the wretched souls who’d died or been maimed by a rich man’s greed and carelessness. It was they who had suffered, who suffered still. When she spoke again, she was calmer.

  “I should like you to leave now.”

  Montagu stared at her for a long moment and then nodded. He got to his feet and then seemed uncertain what to do next, loath to leave her alone after bringing her such tidings. “If there is anything… anything at all I can do…?”

  “I think you’ve done enough,” she said.

  She hadn’t meant it as a rebuke, far from it, thinking only of the families, the children forced to endure in such abject misery, but he flinched all the same and his bow was stiff as he saw himself out. A part of her wanted to call him back, to explain she was grateful, that her words hadn’t been the reproach they had appeared to be, but she was too shocked, shaken to her core, and once she heard the front door close, all she could do was cry.

  ***

  “What are you thinking about?” Minerva asked.

  Inigo smiled at her reflection. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her pin her hair up, and seemed mesmerised by the process. Her maid would arrive today so, for now, she’d chosen a simple style. She regretted that they were no longer to be left all alone. The housekeeper had arrived early that morning, but Minerva had not seen her yet. The breakfast that had been sent up on a tray had been marvellous, though, so she was expecting great things.

  “Nothing,” he said, as Minerva turned on the seat to look at him.

  “Don’t tell fibs. Honesty, remember,” she scolded gently. “I can see you are worrying, so tell me what is on your mind.”

  Inigo huffed out a soft laugh and leaned towards her. He reached for her hand and pulled her from the dressing table stool onto his lap. Minerva went without protest and sat down in a flurry of skirts, sliding her arms about his neck. That was too perfect a place to be not to tug at his head and demand a kiss. A fair amount of time later she sighed happily, gazing up at him with a dreamy smile.

  “Now you’ve messed my hair up.”

  “So I have,” he murmured, stealing another kiss.

  “No, stop,” she said, shaking her head and pressing a finger to his lips. “Stop distracting me.”

  “You started it,” he protested as one hand slid up to cup her breast, squeezing and caressing in a most diverting manner, before his other questing hand tried to disappear up her skirt.

  “Stop! Inigo, you’re doing it on purpose,” she protested, grabbing hold of his roving hand and trying to keep it still. “Now, tell me what is worrying you, or I shall tickle you again.”

  He glowered a little at her. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Of course I do, you’re just upset because I made you squeal like a little girl.”

  “I did not!”

  He looked so indignant that Minerva gave a very unladylike snort of laughter.

  “Did too!”

  To prove her point, she wriggled her fingers into a sensitive spot on his side. Inigo gave a high-pitched yelp and squirmed away, falling back onto the bed as Minerva gazed triumphantly down at him.

 

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