How To Seduce A Sinner

Chapter Thirteen

Carter knew he was making progress. Not as far nor as fast as he would have preferred, but progress nonetheless. He was starting to know his wife, beginning to learn her likes and dislikes, to understand how her mind worked. Well, as much as any man could understand the intricacies of a female mind.

Dorothea hadn’t cringed at his intimate words yesterday morning. True, she had tightened her jaw and been resolute in her bearing, but she had stood and listened to every word. Stood and shivered and been intrigued by the erotic pictures he had painted in her mind. With time, with patience, with the right approach to seduction, Carter firmly believed he could turn Dorothea into a sensual, exciting woman, who would crave rather than cringe from his touch.

Sooner would be better than later, he acknowledged with a wry grin. The sexual ache that was curled so tightly inside his body was a constant companion, and not a welcome one. But it was necessary to undergo this torture to achieve the ultimate prize, and he was committed to making the sacrifice.

Today he was taking Dorothea into the village to visit the shops. He could tell she was surprised at the suggestion, but pleased, too. After all, what female did not noticeably brighten at the prospect of shopping?

It was a beautiful, sunny day. The sky was a deep azure blue; the few clouds that dared to appear on the horizon were puffy white balls that floated lazily across the sky. Forsaking the large, cumbersome coach, they drove alone into the village, cozily seated next to each other in Carter’s open curricle.

He identified a few landmarks along the way, but for the majority of the journey they were silent. But it was a good silence, a comfortable silence. Carter’s spirits lifted. Another sign of the progress they had achieved in their relationship.

Though it was not market day, the village streets were bustling with activity. They received many curious stares, and Carter smiled and doffed his hat to those souls brave enough to meet his gaze.

“Where shall we begin?” he asked Dorothea after he had secured the carriage horses and assisted her out.

“The millinery shop,” she replied. “Mrs. Simpson told me that the widow Jenkins has been struggling lately to pay her bills. I’m sure our patronage will be appreciated.”

The bell placed strategically on the door tinkled merrily as they went inside. A middle-aged woman hurried forward from the back of the shop, pulling up short when she caught sight of her patrons. Standing still as a post, her eyes bulging, her mouth open, the woman stared at them in a speechless trance.

“Mrs. Jenkins?” Dorothea said softly.

Visibly shaking off her stupor, the woman took a step toward them. “Yes? Hello. Or rather good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon. I am Lord Atwood and this is Lady Atwood.” Carter smiled. The shopkeeper continued to stare. Well, it was no wonder the woman had trouble paying her bills. She had no skill at all in dealing with customers.

“Our housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson, told us about your lovely shop,” Dorothea said as she slipped to Carter’s side. “I can see she was not exaggerating the quality and selection of bonnets available.”

“Oh, my lady.” Mrs. Jenkins fairly gushed as she curtsied very grandly. “I am so honored to have you frequent my humble little establishment.”

“We are most happy to be here, are we not, my lord?”

“Delighted.”

Carter hardly knew where to look. There were hats and ribbons, gloves, and other feminine fripperies artfully displayed on and behind the counters. Far too much lace and feathers and silk for his tastes. Now, if there had been some sensual, female undergarments in view he might have taken more of an interest.

Dorothea, however, was clearly in her element. At Mrs. Jenkins’s urging, she took a seat in front of a cheval mirror. The only other empty chair was a dainty, gilded piece. Carter eyed it with suspicion, doubting it would be comfortable and concerned it would not hold his weight. Wisely, he elected to stand.

“You have a most unusual selection of hats, Mrs. Jenkins,” Dorothea proclaimed. “Do you design them all yourself?”

“I most certainly do. After consulting all the latest fashion plates, of course. If I may?”

Mrs. Jenkins turned to her right and lifted a concoction off the counter that resembled a fruit basket. Carter saw Dorothea’s eyes widen momentarily in true alarm, but she quickly recovered. Casting a broad smile at the giddy Mrs. Jenkins, Dorothea obligingly removed the simple, elegant hat she wore and placed the fruit monstrosity on her head.

“Ahh.” Mrs. Jenkins’s sigh of excitement was so loud it could easily be heard the length and breadth of the street. “It looks perfect on you. Even more beautiful than I envisioned. Don’t you agree, my lord?”

Carter managed to hold back his grunt of laughter. He was no expert of fashion, but even he knew the bonnet was a horror. “Everything my wife wears looks beautiful, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Jenkins began fanning her hand in front of her face. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that one of my modest creations would be worn by such an elegant, important lady. It fairly takes my breath away.”

The stricken look returned to Dorothea’s eyes. She swiveled around to face him. The color was high in her cheeks, matching the shade of a cluster of silk cherries that hung over her left brow. “Do you think I should purchase it, my lord?”

“I insist.” He grinned devilishly. “That one and at least one more.”

“I agree.” Dorothea turned back toward the mirror, pressing her hand to her abdomen as if searching for strength. “However, I believe this bonnet will be the perfect gift for my sister, Gwendolyn.”

Mrs. Jenkins’s face fell. “Your sister?”

“She is married to Mr. Jason Barrington. Her father-in-law is the Earl of Stafford. Dear Gwen is not out in society these days because she is expecting a happy event at any time. But she will soon return to the social whirl of Town. I just know when she sees this hat her spirits will be greatly lifted.”

Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes warmed. “I am overwhelmed at the thought of having another London lady of quality wearing my creations. But we now must find something extraordinary for you, Lady Atwood.”

“This one matches your gown,” Carter said, unable to resist an overwrought, fussy bonnet, which to his eye resembled an abandoned bird’s nest.

“You are right, my lord. The colors are nearly the exact shade as the marchioness’s walking dress!” Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed.

“Ah, true serendipity,” he replied with a grin as the blush of color drained from Dorothea’s cheeks.

Mrs. Jenkins arranged the hat on Dorothea’s head. It was difficult to believe, but the bonnet looked even worse than when it was displayed on the counter.

“The colors do blend well with my ensemble,” Dorothea said weakly.

Carter’s mouth went slack. He had been joking, teasing her. From what he had noticed of her wardrobe, his wife preferred, simple, elegant lines on her clothing and a restrained hand on the extra ribbons, flounces, and embroidery. Was she truly going to forsake her own sense of style and good taste just to aid Mrs. Jenkins?

Carter received his answer ten minutes later as they left the shop and strolled down the street.

“I can feel your laughter, my lord,” Dorothea said in a steady voice.

“I beg to differ, my dear. I am masterfully keeping my emotions under control, and given your current appearance that is a Herculean task.”

Dorothea shrugged. “There are worse things in the world than walking down the street wearing a nest fit for birds on one’s head.”

“True,” he replied, trying to bite back his grin without much success. “You could be balancing a basket of fruit instead.”

“With birds pecking at it.” Dorothea giggled. She bent over slightly with laughter, then straightened as the concoction on her head began to shift. “I cannot wait to give Gwendolyn her gift. It truly will lift her spirits, of that I have no doubt.”

Carter laughed again, but a sobering thought brought on a more serious concern. “Perhaps it is a greater cruelty to give Mrs. Jenkins false hope by purchasing and wearing her bonnets. Her talent for making hats seems limited at best.”

Dorothea shook her head. Carter watched in amusement as the nest dipped to one side, then righted itself in the center of her head. “Mrs. Jenkins’s bonnets are well constructed, fashioned from good quality materials. Unfortunately, she has a very heavy hand with the fripperies and a somewhat vivid imagination. It is certainly not to my taste, but I can think of several women in London who would find these hats divine, especially if they believed them to be the height of fashion.”

“Even I know that fashion is not set in this sleepy little village.”

She smiled, and Carter was struck by how truly beautiful she looked. Even wearing that ridiculous bonnet.

“All Mrs. Jenkins needs to succeed is for the women in the area to embrace her designs. I believe my patronage will go far in making that happen.”

Quite the understatement, he was certain. But at what cost? “My dear, dare I point out that your slender neck will surely collapse if you continue to wear these monstrosities upon your head.”

She arched a brow, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “I can assure you this is the first and last time you will see me wearing such a voluminous hat. I have commissioned the making of another bonnet from Mrs. Jenkins and plan to gently guide her hand away from all the excessive ribbons, bows, feathers, and such. I feel confident that I can convince her to restrain her more exuberant designs in order to appeal to a broader base of customers, thus ensuring her financial success.”

“And in the meantime?”

Dorothea sighed. “In the meantime, I shall wear this bonnet to advertise my support of her endeavors.”

Carter leaned close and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I could easily contrive to have the hat blow off on the carriage ride home where it would forever be lost in the Ravenswood forest,” he suggested.

“Don’t tempt me,” Dorothea responded with a wry grin. “Ah, now here is the confectioner’s shop. I have a long list of sweets I wish to buy.”

Mr. Harper was a pleasant man, with an easy smile. He enthusiastically welcomed them into the store, causing Carter a momentary flash of guilt. These were his lands, his people, his responsibility. Everyone’s happy, surprised greeting brought home the fact that he visited the estate far too seldom.

Vowing that too would change now that he was married, Carter took his time examining Mr. Harper’s wares, adding several of his own selections to Dorothea’s long list. She was gracious and complimentary, and Mr. Harper beamed under the attention, though Carter was certain they had Mrs. Jenkins’s appalling hat to thank for the extra ounces of sweets they were given. It was clear that poor Mr. Harper could not fully concentrate on the task of measuring as he was mesmerized by the bobbing, swaying contraption that was Dorothea’s bonnet.

They visited several more shops, and in each Dorothea displayed the same gracious demeanor, which soon endeared her to one and all. She was all smiles when they returned to Ravenswood, though she excused herself to attend to her correspondence and then confessed she might even indulge in a short nap before dinner.

Carter kissed her hand in what he believed to be a husbandly fashion as she left him. He watched her hungrily as she slipped away, climbing the stairs to her chambers, and looked forward to the day, very soon he hoped, when they would be taking that nap together.

“Fishing?” Dorothea glanced at the pole Carter carried with a dubious eye. “Actually, I’ve never been fishing.”

“And you call yourself a country girl? For shame!”

“This country girl prefers indoor activities,” she proclaimed.

“But it’s a beautiful day. ’Tis a crime to waste the sunshine. Come, I’ll teach you.”

She could see the sparkle in his eyes, the challenge in his face. Goodness, his charm was nearly irresistible, as he damn well knew.

“Aren’t there worms involved?” she asked with a shudder.

“Very small ones.” She rolled her eyes, and he hastily added, “I will bait your hook and remove your fish when they are caught.”

Hmm. Why was he so very keen on the outing? Normally, Dorothea would suspect an ulterior motive, specifically the opportunity for seduction, but honestly, how would that be possible with dirty worms and smelly fish?

She considered him for a long moment, trying in vain to decipher his reason. “I will join you, but only if we fish from shore,” she finally said. “I don’t particularly like small boats and I cannot swim.”

“I know all the prime spots from shore.”

“May my new puppy come along?”

Carter grimaced. “I worry he might wander off, or even worse, fall into the lake. There is nothing more unpleasant than the aroma of a wet dog.”

“All right, he’ll stay behind this time,” Dorothea reluctantly agreed. “I just need to fetch my bonnet and we can be off.”

He grabbed her hand before she could leave, his expression comically pained. “I beg of you to wear one from London, please. Mrs. Jenkins’s hat will most assuredly scare away the fish.”

“And attract the birds. Yes, I know. A London bonnet it will be.”

She was fairly skipping by the time she joined him in the south garden as the prospect of spending time with him put her in a happy mood. It was a pleasant walk to the lake.

“Where do we sit?” Dorothea asked.

“Here, on the rocks.” His arm swept outward to indicate the various boulders on one side of the lake.

“They are rather dirty,” Dorothea remarked, glancing down at her lovely pale green day gown.

Carter released an exaggerated sigh. “If I knew you were going to be such a girl about this, madam, I would never have invited you along.”

“Serves you right,” she retorted with a teasing glance. “I should insist that you return to the manor and fetch a pillow for me to sit upon.”

“A silk one?”

“A silk brocade pillow,” she answered, trying to keep the humor from her face.

“I will not have my expensive pillows tossed about in the dirt, madam. Especially when you have sufficient natural padding.” He grinned. “Instead, I will sacrifice my own clothing.”

Carter gallantly removed his jacket and put it on the flattest section of a large rock. Dorothea daintily sat on it, modestly pulling her skirts down to cover her calf. Darn, he was fun to spar with, especially when he was relaxed and smiling.

It was a sunny afternoon. After a while, Carter rolled up his shirtsleeves. The sight of those tan, muscular arms did strange things to her stomach. Swallowing hard, she glanced outward, concentrating on her fishing line and pole.

Despite his claims that it was a well-stocked lake, they caught no fish. Dorothea presumed it was their quiet conversation that kept the fish at bay. He told her of his childhood and she shared a few stories about her sisters. Throughout the afternoon he was quick to smile and laugh, casual about keeping her physically close to him.

On the way back to the manor, Carter solicitously held her elbow or her gloved hand each time they came to a dip in the path. It was not an overtly sexual touch, but there was an edge of possession in the gesture that she found oddly thrilling.

It was obvious that he was allowing her the time to make the decision about their physical relationship and Dorothea was grateful. She was also practical. A man as virile as Carter would not wait forever for a reluctant wife to resume her marital duties.

It had been a good few days. They had spent considerable time together, and each day Carter could practically see another layer of his wife’s resistance melt away. If he continued to play it right, it wouldn’t be long before she was sharing his bed. And enjoying it.

In his quest to win Dorothea’s trust and regard, Carter had sought to learn her daily routine. He knew that she took a long, leisurely bath nearly every evening before dinner, profusely thanking the staff for carrying up the many buckets of hot water necessary for her to enjoy this sensual indulgence.

He also knew she took her bath alone, without her maid in the room. It was here Carter prepared to make his next move, for the opportunity to continue his seduction was too good to miss.

He waited in his chambers until he heard her maid leave. Moving quietly through their shared private sitting room, he pressed his ear to Dorothea’s bedchamber door. A smile lit his face at the sound of a splash. Slowly he turned the latch on the door.

The tub faced the fireplace, leaving her back toward him. She was humming, and the melodic noise, coupled with her attention to her bath, made it simple for him to enter the room undetected.

Tendrils of steam rose from the water, surrounding her in an exotic fog. From this angle he could see the slope of her elegant shoulders, the curve of her neck, the sweep of her naked arms as she lifted them from the water to wash herself.

She was so enticing, Carter had to swallow back a groan of appreciation. But he could not as easily control the other parts of his anatomy. Worried that he would distress her if she saw the obscene bulge in his breeches, he shifted his position and stood behind a padded chair, which shielded the lower half of his body.

Then he cleared his throat. Loudly.

Her head whipped around so fast he winced, fearing she might have injured herself.

“Carter! My goodness, what are you doing here?”

“You said to me the other day that you wanted to give me a small token. I have thought on it for some time and have at last decided what it will be.”

“You want to take a bath with me?” Her voice was a squeak of feminine horror. Not a promising start.

“That would be a delight beyond measure, my dear. However, all I wish to do is watch you.” He walked out from behind the chair and brought himself next to the tub. “And perhaps soap your back?”

“That’s perverted.”

“To be clean? I think not.”

“You know very well what I mean, Carter.”

He gazed at her. “My gift to you is the bath. Your gift to me is allowing me the pleasure of watching you in it.”

“Do all your gifts come with conditions?”

“Invariably.”

Her eyebrows drew together as she searched his face, watching closely as if weighing his words. They were a kind of truth. In his experience, gifts were rarely given without the expectation of some sort of return.

He knelt on the rug. Reaching for her hand so tightly gripping the edge of the tub, he lightly caressed her fingers. “You know very well that I shall leave if you insist, but I think it would better if I stayed.”

“Better for whom?”

“Both of us. But mainly for you.” He continued to gently rub her knuckles until he heard her exhale a long, slow breath.

“You may only stay a short time. The bath is supposed to help me relax.”

“And so it will.”

“Not with you standing there glowering at me,” she grumbled.

He said nothing in response, merely sat back on his haunches and waited. She sat so motionless there was not a single ripple in the water. Then suddenly she moved, with vigor and purpose, as if she had firmly decided she would not allow him to ruin her bath.

Carter smiled at her tenacity. What made her different from other women? The newness of their relationship, the fact he had to work so hard to win her trust, to get his way? And she was his wife! The one female above all others he had a right to claim.

But Carter had discovered he did not want a woman who would merely perform her marital duty. He wanted an eager, willing, and passionate woman in his bed, and he knew Dorothea could be that woman.

A section of her golden hair had fallen from the pile atop her head. It waved around the side of her face, giving her a sexy, disheveled look. He longed to trail his fingers through it, but dared not be too forward lest she throw him out of the room.

In her agitation, she had forgotten to keep the washcloth plastered protectively across her breast. It bobbed and floated merrily in the center of the tub. Carter watched it for a moment before Dorothea swooped it up and wrung it out. There were now no coverings in her bath. The clear water gave him a delectable view of the honey-colored curls between her firm, long legs. He shifted against the tightening in his breeches. Perhaps this had not been such an inspired idea.

“May I beg a kiss?” he asked.

“A kiss?”

Still kneeling, he leaned forward and gently sucked the warm, moist skin on her neck. She lifted her head instinctively and he moved his lips up her throat to her earlobe. Her breathing quickened and then a low whimper escaped. He nearly climaxed at the sensual sound.

“Just one kiss, my sweet,” he intoned hoarsely. “One small kiss.”

She moaned and turned her lips toward his. He cradled her head in his hands as his lips playfully nipped over hers and then Carter dipped his tongue into Dorothea’s mouth.

She moaned again, wrapping her fingers around his wrists, holding him close. Carter held her tightly, fighting for control, fighting to keep to his original plan of a slow seduction. A plan that seemed completely idiotic at the moment.

With great reluctance, Carter broke the kiss and stared down at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling in a quick cadence. He could see the telltale flush of her arousal and then suddenly her eyes opened wide. She met his gaze and for a long moment considering him in silence, a silence that spoke to him, that let him know she was not yet ready.

Carter reached out and trailed a fingertip slowly along the tip of her nose. “I’ll see you at dinner. Enjoy the remainder of your bath.”

Shutting down his mind, ignoring the screaming demands of his overheated body, Carter swiftly left the room. The pace of his steps increased as he reached the end of the hallway and began trotting down the stairs, taking the treads two at a time. He hit the foyer and was nearly sprinting toward the front door when the butler called out.

“My lord, where are you going? Shall I call for your horse or a carriage?”

“It’s not necessary, Cortland. I can reach the lake under my own power.”

“The lake, my lord?”

“Yes. I wish to go swimming.”

“But my lord, ’tis freezing this time of year.”

“That’s the point,” Carter answered, his mouth twisting into a grim line.

A thick covering of clouds was fast approaching from the east. Dorothea’s nose wrinkled with regret as she glanced up at the gray sky. She had planned what she thought was the perfect mid-morning outing, but it appeared the weather had other ideas. Drat!

“I fear my little surprise will be ruined, Cortland,” she said as the butler stood beside her. “The rain seems imminent.”

“So it does, my lady. But might I suggest an alternative?”

“Please do.”

An hour later, Carter was summoned to the solarium. He stood taking in her surprise, his arms folded. She watched closely for his reaction, but could tell little of his feelings.

“Is it silly?” she asked.

“No, ’tis charming. An indoor picnic.”

He moved closer and her pulses fluttered. The open space the servants had created among the tall trees and flowering pots suddenly seemed very small.

“You’ve done so many kind things for me, I wanted to do something to please you,” she said. “Mrs. Simpson mentioned how much you enjoyed picnics when you were a lad.”

“I did.” He paused and looked around. “Though I remember none quite like this one.”

“The rain decreed a change in my plans.”

“I had no idea you were so clever.”

“I’m not. It was really Cortland’s idea. He arranged for everything.” She turned her head at the sudden noise by the potted ornamental palms. “I’ve invited someone else along. I hope you don’t mind.”

At the sound of her voice, the third member of their picnic scampered forward, a chubby, round bundle of fur. The puppy paused, nearly flipping himself over as he began eagerly sniffing the large basket covered with a linen cloth set in the center of their picnic blanket.

“I thought we agreed he was going to be an outside dog,” Carter remarked wryly.

“He will be,” Dorothea said confidently. “But he is far too young and small to be relegated to the kennels.”

She scooped the puppy up in her arms and held him tightly to her breast. He squirmed in ecstasy, his entire body shaking with joy, his pink tongue darting out eagerly to lick her face.

“Have you chosen his name?” Carter asked.

They strolled over to the picnic blanket and sat down. Dorothea released the puppy, which instantly returned its attention to the wicker basket. “I’ve decided to call him Lancelot, after the legendary knight.”

“A noble name.”

“I have great hopes he will grow into it,” Dorothea proclaimed.

She removed the cloth from the basket, pleased to hear Carter voice his delight as the contents were revealed. She piled his china plate high with cold roast beef, roasted chicken, crisp bread, sharp cheese, and fruit, then made a smaller serving of the same items for herself.

They ate heartily, with Dorothea tossing an occasional tidbit to the continually begging puppy. Finally realizing he would get no more treats, Lancelot began exploring his surroundings and was soon climbing over Carter’s legs.

“Your dog is attempting to chew the leather tassels on my boots.”

“Oh, gracious, isn’t he a clever boy.” Dorothea reached for the puppy, which instantly rolled onto its back. Unable to resist, she vigorously rubbed his plump, round tummy. Lancelot’s pink tongue lolled to the side, and his breath exhaled in short, eager pants.

“You’re spoiling him,” Carter said mildly, as he took a sip of his wine.

“I’m just being affectionate. All animals deserve attention and love.”

“As do all men?”

She observed her husband beneath lowered lashes, then favored him with a saucy wink. “Some more than others, I believe.”

“He reminds me a great deal of a dog I had when I was younger. A faithful companion and a good friend.”

“Were you a solitary boy?”

“Not especially. I had no siblings to play with, but there were many children on the estate, the son of our gamekeeper, the children of our stable master. My father was usually attending to business and social matters and was therefore unaware of my boyhood associations.”

“Would he have disapproved?”

“Heartily.” His expression unreadable, Carter took a bite of fruit. “I intend to be far more progressive with my own children.”

A flood of warmth invaded Dorothea’s stomach at the mention of children. Their children. Good God in heaven. There would be no little ones running about until she was ready and willing to accept him into her bed.

He reached for her, covering his hand over hers. “Children will come in due time.”

She shut her eyes. Oh, dear Lord. It was not the children, but the creating of them, as they both very well knew, that had thrown her into such a panic. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she whispered.

“Look at me.”

Startled, Dorothea opened her eyes. He rubbed his fingers up and down her arm gently as he lowered his voice. “I can wait. Moments like last night, when you were in the bath and we were both so aroused, so feverish, give me hope.”

Her heart melted. He was a good man, a kind man. A devilishly attractive man. What was wrong with her? She should be counting her blessings and trying to figure out how to entice him into her bed, not deny him-and herself-the pleasure.

Nervously lifting her wineglass, she took another sip, only to find it empty. She hastily refilled it. They spoke of their visit with Mrs. Snidely the previous day, an event they both agreed was thoroughly annoying. Despite an underlying thread of sexual awareness, Dorothea was struck by their easy conversation and companionship.

“I must apologize again for my decision to take tea with Mrs. Snidely,” Carter said before popping a strawberry into his mouth. “I honestly did not know she was so overbearing. I fear the social coup of being the first to host us went straight to her head and thus strengthened her sense of self-importance.”

“An area in which no further encouragement was necessary,” Dorothea agreed. “Though it wasn’t entirely your fault. I was remiss in my social duties. I should have hosted a tea for all the local ladies, thus eliminating the problem.”

“This is my estate. I’m the one who is supposed to know the inhabitants.”

“Men are dismal failures in these sorts of matters. I should have sought Mrs. Simpson’s guidance. She is loyal and levelheaded and would have guided me on the correct path. A lesson learned. For both of us, my lord.”

Dorothea reached for the wine bottle, surprised to discover the bottle was empty. With a puzzled shrug she reached for the second one that Cortland had prepared. Such a marvelous, clever butler. Dorothea chuckled to herself with appreciation.

The cork had been partially inserted back in the bottle to re-seal the wine, making it easy to remove. Well, relatively easy, for it did take her three tries to pull it out. She sipped her wine and asked Carter when he was going to take her fishing again. He smiled, that smile that always made her knees weaken, and teased her about her squeamish attitude.

They once again fell into an easy conversation, like two dear friends delighted to be in each other’s company. Another hour passed. Lancelot woke up, ate a pile of chicken pieces Dorothea had carefully separated from the bone for him, made a game of tugging on the edge of the blanket for a time, then fell back to sleep. Reclining, Carter propped his back against the pillows and stretched his long, muscular legs beside hers.

Dorothea’s breath caught in her chest. There was something so intimate, so relaxed about his pose. They were so close she could see the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes as he gazed lazily at her. A flutter of desire rose inside her. Pushing aside her misgivings, Dorothea answered the passion that was rising inside her, lifted her head, and kissed him full on the lips.

To have her initiate a kiss was heaven itself. Every inch of Carter’s already aroused body tightened as their lips clung together. He had succeeded! She was relaxed and compliant, ready, nay eager, to make love.

His hands slid to the nape of her neck. He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers beating in a quick, rapid rhythm. She kissed him again, this time thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He could taste the wine on her breath, not an unpleasant sensation, but prevalent nonetheless.

Carter pulled back. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, misty with passion. Or something else? She cocked her head and smiled at him, then suddenly put one hand on the blanket as if she needed help keeping her balance. Carter groaned. If not for rotten luck, it seemed he would have no luck at all.

She was tipsy. No-foxed, and if he didn’t miss his guess, close to passing out. He saw the nearly empty second bottle of wine and realized he had only drunk a few glasses from both bottles. His darling wife had consumed the rest. “Are you all right, Dorothea?”

“I feel rather giddy.” She pressed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Which I have come to understand is normal when I am around you.”

She started laughing, a tiny giggle that soon escalated into peals of laughter. Despite his massive disappointment, Carter managed to smile also. Then her laughter abruptly ceased and she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him feverishly on the cheek, neck, and throat.

Carter fell backward. His arms rose instinctively and he pulled her with him. She landed square on top of him, her legs between his. His cock rose stiffly in eager anticipation, but his mind knew the truth. Dorothea nuzzled her head against his shoulder, placing wet kisses along his neck. In a few minutes the kisses slowed, then stopped completely. Finally, there was only the sound of a soft, feminine snore.

He wanted to shout and scream in frustration, but that would accomplish nothing except bring the servants running. Hell, the noise wouldn’t even rouse his inebriated wife. Deciding this must be retribution for some of his prior sins, Carter shifted his back so he rested more comfortably against the cushions and gently stroked his sleeping wife’s silken hair.

He waited in vain for a full hour, then finally admitted she was not going to awaken. Lifting her in his arms, Carter carried Dorothea up to her bedchamber. He jostled her deliberately as he set her on the bed, but she never even blinked.

After covering her with the soft blanket, he left to take another swim in the frigid lake.