Henrietta's chin dropped sharply down, nearly banging Miles on the head.
"How did you do that?" she asked incredulously. "I never even noticed."
Miles freed her arms from the dress with an expert tug. Henrietta made an automatic grab for the fabric as her bodice plunged to her waist, but Miles grabbed her hands, lifting them one by one to his lips. "I have many talents of which you know nothing — yet," he added meaningfully.
"Evidently," said Henrietta bemusedly, as the rest of her dress followed her bodice.
"Absolutely." The pile of fabric landed with a dusty thump by the side of the bed.
Henrietta propped herself up on an elbow, resisting the urge to dive under the covers. Clad only in her chemise, her arms felt very bare. "Have you ever considered a career as a lady's maid?"
"I'm better at the undressing bit" — Miles yanked his shirt over his head, revealing a very impressive expanse of chest — "than the dressing."
"Hmm," said Henrietta, watching the ripple of muscles along Miles's chest as he tugged the sleeves from his arms. She wasn't going to think about the women he had undressed in the past. They were in the past. Gone. Finished.
And Henrietta was seized with a determination to make quite sure there was never another. He was hers now, all hers, and even if he hadn't married her for love, well, there was nothing that said she couldn't do her best to seduce him, was there? Even if she had no idea how to go about it. Even Cleopatra had had to start somewhere.
Tentatively, Henrietta placed a hand on Miles's chest, fascinated by the way the muscles contracted in response. She ran her hands up to his shoulders, tilting her head back so that her hair flowed over her shoulders. It felt oddly sensual against her almost bare back, and she swished it back and forth.
"Hen," whispered Miles, staring at her transfixed, in a way that made Henrietta feel lithe and beautiful and bold.
"Hello," she said softly, tracing the line of hair on his chest down until she encountered the waistband of his breeches.
"Hello to you, too," gasped Miles, grabbing her hands before she could go further. Lifting them over her head, he leaned in for a long kiss, trying to bring his raging passions under control. His body, unfortunately, had other ideas.
He wanted to jump up and down and shout, "Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!" but since he had the sense to realize that might alarm Henrietta — and overset the ancient bedstead — he rendered his message in a more subtle way, running a ringer down the strap of her chemise until it slid down her shoulder. She shivered, looking up at him with wide, unfocused eyes.
Miles decided subtlety was highly overrated.
"You," pronounced Miles, "are wearing too many clothes." Grabbing the thin fabric in both hands, he tugged. Rüüüip. The chemise parted jaggedly down the middle.
"Miles!" gasped Henrietta.
"I'll buy you another," said Miles thickly, cupping her breasts in his hands. "Just not now," he added, as his head lowered to her chest. "Maybe next week."
For once, Henrietta was in no condition to argue. The sensation of Miles's tongue teasing her nipple wiped out coherent thought, and what would undoubtedly have been a highly witty rejoinder turned instead into an inarticulate gasp, as her ringers threaded through his hair, instinctively drawing his head closer. His lips tightened, tugged, sending shivers of sensation rolling straight down to Henrietta's toes.
Together, they sank back into the ancient mattress, arms locked around each other, bodies fitting perfectly together. Feeling wonderfully wanton, Henrietta pressed closer to him, sensing more than hearing him groan as she brushed against the bulge in his breeches. Emboldened, she wiggled against him, enjoying the way his breath speeded in her ear, and his hands tightened on her back.
Desperately trying to school himself to go slowly, Miles wrenched his mouth from Henrietta's, trailing kisses along her neck, her ear, as his hands explored the tantalizing arch of her waist, the generous curve of her hip. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingers as they slid up the inside of her thigh. Somewhere between her knee and the tangle of curls between her legs, Miles had stopped breathing. He didn't notice. What remained of his mind was concentrated on far more pressing matters.
Spitting out a mouthful of hair he had accidentally ingested, Miles scrambled with the fastenings of his breeches, yanking them hastily over his hips. Clumsily, Henrietta tried to help, laughing breathlessly as Miles tried to kick the breeches off his legs, cursing as the fabric clung to his foot.
"Laugh, will you?" he demanded, triumphantly sending the breeches flying, and pouncing on his wife. "We'll see about that."
Henrietta's laugh turned into a squeal of surprise as Miles pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. His tongue moved higher, flicking between her legs, sending quivers of sensation jilting through her. Her skin felt too tight for her body, tension building in the core of her being. She suddenly desperately needed Miles's arms around her, his lips on hers.
She tugged on his hair, and he surged up along the mattress to join her, his hand moving to replace her mouth. Henrietta knew she was making little mewing noises, but she couldn't find it in her to care; she pressed herself against Miles's ringers.
"I don't think," Miles's voice came as though from a long way away, even though his mouth was right next to her ear, "I can wait any longer."
"Mmm," said Henrietta, which Miles correctly interpreted as license to proceed.
Slowly, he began to enter her. At least, he intended to go slowly, with proper deference to her virginal state. Instead, Henrietta twined her arms around his neck, making little panting noises as she moved anxiously against him, driven by the restless pressure building inside her. Murmuring her name, Miles plunged deeply into her, ripping through the thin barrier that barred his passage.
Henrietta let out an indignant gasp. Miles froze, suspended above her.
"Hen?" he rasped. "Are you all right?"
Henrietta considered. Miles's heart wrenched in a way that almost distracted him from the clamorous demands of certain parts of his anatomy as Henrietta's nose squinched and her lips quirked in a heart-stoppingly familiar expression. After an endless moment — as Miles's arms began to quiver with the agony of holding still — she gave a little nod.
She moved experimentally against him, arching her hips the tiniest bit.
"I think so."
"Are you sure?" gasped Miles, even though he wasn't at all sure what he would do if the answer were no. Jump out the window, most likely. He was spared that fate by Henrietta tightening her legs around him in a way that left no doubt as to her intentions. She strained against him, nodding as emphatically as she could, because little jolts of pleasure made speech a perilous prospect at best. She could feel him beginning to move, rilling her, his shoulders warm and familiar beneath her hands, the fine hairs on his chest teasing her already sensitive nipples.
Henrietta clung to sanity, fighting the waves of sensation threatening to sweep over her.
"Miles?" she said uneasily.
"Still here," he murmured into her ear, his hands moving tenderly over her waist, her hips, stroking, coaxing. Using his hands to gather her closer, he drove deeper and deeper into her, pressing to the very core of her being. "Always."
Henrietta cried out in surprise as pleasure scintillated through her, like a thousand champagne bubbles glistening by candlelight, oscillating and bursting in a golden glow. As she convulsed around him, Miles groaned and surrendered to his own release. Together, they collapsed back against the dusty counterpane in a state of satiated somnolence.