Part 49 (1/2)
”'Tis obvious your wife never appreciated you as much as she should have,” she whispered, her hushed voice sounding so incredibly close it startled him. ”Which is why she humbly asks to pleasure you in a manner you deserve. Will you let her?”
His breath hitched in his throat in response. h.e.l.l, he couldn't have heard her right. This was all the result of one too many cognacs, a blindfold and no access to cigars.
Camden stumbled back and away, but the floor beneath him which he could barely feel, let alone see swayed. He sucked in a harsh breath and squeezed his eyes shut, steadying himself and his thoughts. He shouldn't have drunk so much. He never drank and was now downright delusional. And by tomorrow, he'd be heaving for it.
Camden opened his eyes again and blinked against the darkness of the blindfold. ”I . . . No. I cannot do any of this. Not until you tell me of your relations.h.i.+p with Westbrook.”
”I will not offer you an explanation, Camden, unless you agree to play a game with me. You used to love playing games in the bedchamber. Or have you already forgotten what it is you love?”
d.a.m.n. In some ways, yes, of course, he wanted this. He was tired of using his right hand all these months. But to submit himself to her without explanation?
He was usually a rational man. Usually. h.e.l.l, even whilst rumours about Gwendolyn's involvement with Westbrook had choked him to a fury he never thought possible, he allowed reason to rein him in and decided to visit Westbrook's townhouse for an explanation. Instead of shattering the man's skull against the floor like a piece of china, as he should have, he coolly demanded proof of the man's involvement with his own wife. And the proof came, two days later, in the form of Gwendolyn's silk stocking, which he recognized all too well. The one st.i.tched with lilies and softly scented with her favourite French perfume. The one he had burned, lest he hang himself with it.
”I want an explanation,” he snapped.
”And you will get it by the end of the night. The question of more notable importance is . . . do you trust me, Camden?”
He swallowed. Hard. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to trust her with his entire bleeding heart, but . . . ”I don't know if I do.”
”Then you will receive no explanation and can take yourself straight to the door. I am certain London would find you quite entertaining stumbling about the streets as you are.”
”Gwendolyn, for G.o.d's sake-”
”Do you know the name of the game we are about to play?”
”Yes. It's called Let Us Torture the Husband.”
She snorted. ”No. It is called French Intuition. According to your uncle, courtesans play it with their patrons.”
He rumbled out a laugh. ”You really shouldn't listen to my uncle. He flogs the bishop a bit too much.”
She sighed. ”Do you think I would have agreed to any of this if I did not think it would benefit us? You and I both know how much our intimacy has suffered due to our inability to have children. I wish to set all of that aside. I wish to save our marriage.”
He s.h.i.+fted from boot to boot, struggling to understand her and what it was she wanted. ”Why?”
”Because I love you and hope that you still love me.” There was an aching softness in her voice. ”Now please. Ask me how the game is played. Show me how much our marriage means to you.”
He s.h.i.+fted his jaw. ”How is it played?”
”You will remain blindfolded and your hands will remain tied. Nothing will be allowed to exist for you except for pleasure. Everything else, all doubts, all questions, all fear, must fall away. By allowing everything to fall away, only that which is important will remain. What one feels.”
”A philosophical game tainted with eroticism. How very . . . French, indeed.”
”So you will play?”
He snorted. ”In my uncle's own house? Good G.o.d, woman. Never. The idea is anything but arousing.”
”Your uncle has removed himself from the house and the servants have been asked to retire. We have two hours. Now if you promise to keep your blindfold in place, I will go against the rules and allow your hands to be untied. So you can touch me.”
He seethed out a breath at the thought of touching her. Christ, it had been so long. So b.l.o.o.d.y long, he couldn't even remember what she felt like. Pathetic, was what he was. Pathetic. ”I . . . very well. Do it. Before I change my mind.”
”You promise to keep your blindfold in place?”
”Yes, yes. I promise.”
She rounded him, bare fingers working against the velvet bindings. Within moments, his hands were free.
”Undress.” Her voice was flirtatious but controlled and authoritative. ”Remove your coat, cravat, collar, waistcoat and s.h.i.+rt. In exactly that order.” She paused, then added a quick, ”Please.”
He was deranged, to be sure. To engage her like this without even knowing whether she and Westbrook . . .
Then again, that was the point of the game, wasn't it? Exhaling a ragged breath, he slowly slid his evening coat from his shoulders. Already he felt himself growing hard at the thought of having her. With the darkness that continued to press against his eyes preventing him from seeing her body or her face, he envisioned his beautiful Gwendolyn in a state of undress, and savagely hoped this was not the last time he ever touched her.
Gwendolyn drew in a shaky breath as Camden slipped his dark evening coat from his broad shoulders and pulled it down the length of his muscled arms, hidden beneath his white cotton s.h.i.+rt. The coat slid away from his upper body with a soft rustle and crumpled to the wooden floor of the candlelit study.
His arousal pressed against the b.u.t.toned flap of his wool trousers. Her fingers dug into the sides of her skirts and her gaze drifted back up to his blindfolded face. The fact that he was willing to play meant he wanted to save their marriage as much as she did. Which is all that mattered.
Camden's hands reached up and his bare fingers smoothly and effortlessly undid his white silk cravat, his arms s.h.i.+fting to accommodate the movements. His full lips parted slightly as he slid the cravat from around his neck, exposing the smooth skin of his strong neck. He gently flung the cravat over his shoulder and let it disappear somewhere behind him.
Gwendolyn bit down on to her lower lip with the top row of her teeth. Although Camden wore a velvet strip over his eyes that prevented him from seeing her or at least she a.s.sumed he couldn't see her the way he casually stood there, his body positioned towards her, made her feel as if he were very comfortable with what he was about to do. Unlike before. He was allowing everything to fall away in order to give himself over to her.
He lifted his shaven chin, causing a few strands of his blond hair to fall away from his forehead and, one by one, undid the silver b.u.t.tons on his ivory waistcoat. He stripped it from his body and tossed it aside, standing only in his s.h.i.+rt and trousers. ”What are you wearing? Describe it to me.” There was a raw huskiness to his voice that made her stomach squeeze.
It was a huskiness she only had the privilege of ever hearing during their lovemaking. It was something she hadn't heard for months, due to her fear of miscarrying another child. But what was that fear compared to losing the only man she would ever love?
It was obvious that if she wanted to save this marriage, she needed to show him that she was still the wife he once knew and loved. The wife capable of overseeing his pa.s.sion and his pleasure in the most unexpected of ways.
”A rose-coloured muslin gown,” she offered in a soft, soft tone. ”It tapers off my shoulders.”
She shakily pushed away a misplaced curl from the side of her face. She hadn't realized how nervous she was about being intimate with him again. Especially under such unconventional circ.u.mstances. They were in his uncle's library, for heaven's sake. But that was exactly the point of this game. To let everything, including one's surroundings, disappear.
”Rose-coloured muslin tapering off your shoulders,” he murmured as he undid the three small b.u.t.tons at his throat. The open slit of the s.h.i.+rt fell open to his mid-chest, displaying those defined muscles beneath.
It was more than obvious where her husband had been spending all of his time these past three months. At Jackson's. Boxing. How many poor men had he hit far too hard because of her?
He yanked his s.h.i.+rt out of his trousers and drew it up and over his head. Muscles rippled in cascading unison as his s.h.i.+rt floated off to the side and ruffled his blond hair.
Gwendolyn would have fainted if she hadn't locked her knees into one another. For physically, Camden was still every bit of the man she remembered. And missed.
He quietly stood there, at his full height of almost six feet, his broad, smooth shoulders set and his arms lean and defined from all the boxing and fencing he'd engaged in since he was twenty. Soft golden blond hairs trailed from his chest down to a narrow path that made its way towards the only thing that remained covered.
He s.h.i.+fted his jaw, but otherwise continued to stand, motionless. As if waiting for her to approach.
She moved closer to him and set the slippered toes of her shoes against the tips of his large leather boots. She allowed her skirts to cover both their feet. Her gaze drifted up the length of his naked chest, which rose and fell in slow, even breaths, until she rested upon the view of his full lips. The clean and simple scent of soap mingling with cognac drifted towards her, causing her already heightened senses to flutter. He always preferred the simple scent of soap. Even on her. Which is why she didn't wear any perfume tonight. In his honour.
The clock in the room chimed, startling her for a moment. It chimed a total of eleven times before clicking back into silence.
Camden's large hands grabbed hold of her shoulders, causing her heart to nearly leap out of her throat in astonishment. He reached down and around her with his bare muscled arms. His large hands grabbed each round cheek of her bottom, hidden beneath her skirts, then yanked her body up hard, against his towering, broad body. He held her firmly in place against his erection, his jaw tight. Stating his intentions quite openly.
He slid his hands from her bottom and up along the back of her gown. His fingers gently grazed the hidden hooks on her back, which held the material of her gown in place.