Alexia, in only a shift, stockings, and shoes, crossed her arms over her breasts self-consciously.
Her new husband ran large calloused hands around the hem of her chemise, stroking at the soft skin of her upper thighs. Then he lifted the material up to cup her buttocks before raising that last bastion of her admittedly deteriorated dignity over her head and discarding it.
Until that moment, Alexia realized she had never before seen real hunger in his eyes. They were in physical contact, supernatural and preternatural, but nevertheless, his eyes had turned to pure wolf yellow. He looked at her, clad in nothing but stockings and ivory button boots, as though he wanted to eat her alive.
“You are trying to get back at me, are you?” she said accusingly, trying to calm him a little. The intensity was scaring her. She was, after all, relatively new to this kind of activity.
He paused and looked at her, yellow fading in genuine surprise. “For what?”
“Back at the Hypocras Club, when you were naked and I was not.”
He pulled her toward him. She had no idea how he managed to attend to himself as well as her, but somehow he had opened the flap at the front of his breeches. Everything else remained covered. “I'll admit the thought had crossed my mind. Now sit.”
“What, there?”
“Aye, there.”
Alexia looked dubious. However, there were destined to be some arguments in their relationship she could not hope to win. This was one of them. The carriage, rather too conveniently, pitched slightly to one side, and she stumbled forward. Conall caught her and guided her into his lap in one smooth movement.
He did not do anything else with that particular proximity for a moment; instead he turned his attention to her generous breasts, first kissing, then nibbling, then biting, a progression that had Alexia squirming in such a way as to force the very tip of him inside her whether she willed it or no.
“Really,” she insisted, panting, “this is a most unseemly location for such activities.”
Just then, the carriage lurched over a rut in the road and silenced all further objections. The movement brought her flush on top of him, naked thighs pressed against the material of his breeches. Lord Maccon groaned, a rapt expression on his face.
Alexia gasped and winced. “Ouch!” She leaned forward against her husband and bit his shoulder hard in revenge. Hard enough to draw blood. “That hurt.”
He took the bite without complaint and looked worried. “Does it still?”
The carriage bumped again. This time Alexia sighed. Something extremely odd and tingly was beginning to occur in her nether regions.
“I shall take that as a no,” said her husband, and began to move, rocking with the motion of the carriage.
What happened after that was all sweat, and moans, and pulsing sensation to which Alexia decided, after about one second of deep deliberation, she was not averse. It culminated in the most intriguing second heartbeat emerging right around the area where he had impaled himself. Shortly thereafter, her husband gave a long low groan and collapsed back on the carriage cushions, cradling her against him.
“Ooo,” said Alexia, fascinated, “it shrinks back down again. The books didn't detail that occurrence.”
The earl laughed. “You must show me these books of yours.”
She folded forward on top of him and nuzzled down into his cravat, pleased to be with a man who was strong enough to be untroubled at having her draped atop him. “Books of my father's,” she corrected.
“I hear he had an interesting reputation.”
“Mmmm, so his library would suggest.” She closed her eyes, relaxing against her husband. Then she thought of something, reared back, and whacked him on the waistcoat with one balled-up fist.
“Ouch,” said her long-suffering husband. “Now what are you upset about?”
“Isn't that just like you!” she said.
“What?”
“You took it as a challenge, didn't you? My stopping you from seducing me back at the Hypocras Club.”
Lord Maccon grinned wolfishly, though his eyes had gone back to their human tawny brown color. “Naturally.”
She frowned, considering how best to handle this situation. Then she shifted back toward him and began busily untying his cravat and divesting him of coat, waistcoat, and shirt.
“Well, then,” she said.
“Aye?”
“I am still holding that the carriage is an entirely inappropriate place for conjugal activities. Would you like to prove me wrong a second time?”
“Are you challenging me, Lady Maccon?” asked Lord Maccon in mock annoyance. But he was already lifting himself up to facilitate her removal of his clothing.
Alexia smiled down at his bare chest and then looked once more into his eyes. The yellow was back. “All the time.”