Chapter 32

Dominic had spent the morning going over the tedious details of a new bill to regulate the import of cotton from Portugal.

Luncheon in the Lords dining room had been irritating in the extreme; one of his peers droned on about the price of wheat

until Dominic forwent the third course and returned to chambers.

Until it occurred to him that his unbecoming mood had nothing to do with his pontificating peers.

He missed his wife, which made sense because he was the luckiest damn man on the face of the earth. In fact, the next time

he saw the Duke of Queensberry, he might offer to buy the fellow a new coat on the grounds that he'd robbed His Grace of a

rare jewel.

After all, Queensberry had recognized a gem that Dominic had overlooked, given that his courtship of Torie had been driven

predominantly by lust and a desperate need to find someone who could tolerate the twins.

Not just tolerate them but love them.

Now he knew better.

Who gave a damn if Torie couldn't read? He had concluded that literacy had nothing to do with intelligence. She was brilliant.

He found himself running up the steps of his house before he'd consciously decided to leave Lords. When Flitwick told him

that the new French tutor had arrived, he climbed the nursery steps two at a time.

Now the children had a painting tutor to distract them, so he would have more time with Torie. Likely she was in her studio. He loved the simple dresses she wore under her pinafore. After unscrambling a few buttons, he could pull them over her head and—

That was the plan before he entered the nursery.

The air was distinctly odiferous, thanks to Oddie, the blasted rabbit who couldn't stop shitting, to call a spade a spade.

Florence was lying on the floor with Oddie on her chest, and Valentine was at his easel. The nanny was chatting with Torie's

maid over at the side.

And on the couch before the fireplace was a handsome fellow looking at his wife with an expression that Dominic recognized.

In fact, he instantly resolved to bribe the artist to move to Bath before he spent even one night in the house.

Torie looked up and held out her hand, her eyes cornflower blue. "Dom, you've done such a marvelous thing in bringing Monsieur

Langlois to the house! He is telling me about the accolades he has received from the Académie Royale de Peinture . How marvelous for me and for the twins!"

Dominic walked over and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. Emotions of a kind he did not care for surged through him,

because from where he was standing, he could see directly into his lady's bodice—that is, he could see her cleavage and the

peachy shapes of her breasts, which were for him alone—as could the Frenchman.

She had dressed herself up like a butterfly, a sensual butterfly, for the delectation of the painter.

He bowed, and his voice was perhaps chillier than he would have intended. "Monsieur Langlois."

The Frenchman had come to his feet, of course, but Dominic could tell instantly that he was the careless sort of fellow who didn't stand on ceremony. Son of a baron he might be, but his standards were those of artists. The fellows in that Académie .

The thought was calming, because even though Torie looked as delicious as a fairy queen, she'd told him several times that

she didn't care for the men who came around the House of Lords offering to make portraits. Without saying as much, she'd let

him know that those painters would scorn her rabbits with mishappen rears, and likely her dying flowers as well.

Not that they'd have the chance to see them. One day when they were lying exhausted and sweaty on the settee, he'd asked whether

she invited other people to her studio. "Only Clara," she'd said, which he appreciated, since the room felt like their private

refuge.

Florence jumped up and took his hand. "We should show Monsieur Langlois Torie's studio."

He didn't allow himself to frown.

"You have a studio!" the Frenchman exclaimed. "How convenient. I wish all my students were as well-prepared."

"Will you start Torie with drawing circles as well?" Florence asked. Dominic was rather surprised to see that her eyes were

alight with mischief.

"I'm drawing circles," Valentine called. "I'm going to draw them all night until I can get one that is absolutely, perfectly

round."

Dominic went to take a look. "That seems round to me."

"Slightly flattened on the upper right," Monsieur Langlois commented.

"It's like a full moon," Valentine said. "You know how hard it is to tell if the moon is full because it could be a little bruised on one side, like a peach that fell to the floor?"

"I think Torie should try making a circle," Florence said, popping up at their side. She pulled the foolscap off her easel,

revealing another sheet. "You can use my charcoal, Torie!"

"Why circles?" Dominic asked.

"Only a master can create a perfect circle without using an instrument," the Frenchman said.

Dominic had never tried it, but he was pretty sure he could make a circle.

"It is hard," Valentine said, scowling at another lopsided peach.

"Back in the fourteenth century, the pope sent messengers around to gather samples of the best artists' work, since he planned

to commission paintings for the Vatican," Langlois said.

"Is the Vatican a church?" Torie enquired.

Dominic watched with irritation as the Frenchman melted under her smile like frost in July. "It is the home of the papal court

in Rome, my lady," he replied. "The Florentine painter Giotto painted a red circle and sent that to the pope, because its

simplicity demonstrated his technical skill. Of course, the pope hired him."

"Maybe also because Giotto was from Florence ," Florence said. "You try it, Torie!" She handed over a stick of charcoal.

Dominic almost intervened. How could a woman who couldn't draw her own signature in black ink be expected to draw circles

in black charcoal?

But he was proud to see Torie take the charcoal and eye the paper. It reminded him of the way she smiled at Leonora's insults. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now the memory of Leonora saying that Torie had a thick waist made him furious, let alone her insulting attitude toward Torie's inability to read.

Torie was a good sport. He couldn't imagine anyone else who would take disparagement from her own family members with such

grace.

He cleared his throat, resolving that if he meant to defend her before the world, that included making certain that his own

children didn't set her up for embarrassment.

But he was too late.

"Ha!" Florence shrieked.

"That looks like a full moon to me!" Dominic said, feeling relief prickle all over his scalp. She couldn't write her signature,

but she could draw a circle.

For whatever that was worth.

"Good job, Lady Kelbourne," he continued, wrapping one arm around Torie's waist and kissing her forehead. "The best circle

I've ever seen."

"I'll keep going all night long if I have to," Valentine muttered, turning back to his paper and rubbing out the peach.

"I pinned my elbow to my side," Torie said. "That might help you, Val."

Langlois hadn't said a word, but now he stepped forward and looked at the paper. Then bent in and looked so closely that his

nose was likely to be dusted black.

Dominic took advantage of the man's distraction to kiss his wife. Torie wrapped her hand around his lapel and melted into

him with gratifying speed.

"Kissing again," Florence said with disgust. "Come on, Oddie! Follow me!" She hopped off.

His viscountess tasted like peppermint tooth powder and tea, which was quickly becoming Dominic's favorite flavor. The touch

of her tongue to his made him practically dizzy with lust. That was why he couldn't stay in Lords.

He was infected by lust, riddled with lust.

Obsessed by his sensual, circle-drawing wife.

"Lady Kelbourne," the Frenchman said, his accent suddenly three times as Parisian.

Torie drew back. Her eyes were dazed, so Dominic dropped a kiss on her nose. Even in the grip of lust, he tried to keep his

head—unless they were near a bed. Torie, on the other hand, threw her entire self into each kiss. He could feel it, the way

her arousal built with every touch of their tongues.

When they reached the bedchamber, he could pull up her skirts—which he wouldn't because she was dressed like a French butterfly,

not his wife, but if he did...

She'd be wet, welcoming, delicious.

"Forgive us, Monsieur Langlois," Torie said, turning away. Dominic just stopped himself from pulling her back against his

chest. "We are newly married."

" Oui , oui ," the Frenchman said dismissively. "May we visit your studio now?"

Dominic wanted to get to their bedchamber. "I also apologize," he said, bowing. "I must borrow my viscountess, so you will

have to talk of circles at a later time."

Florence giggled some more. "Absolutely! More circles for you, Torie!"

"Perhaps tomorrow, Monsieur Langlois," Torie said, taking the hand Dominic was holding out to her. "Children, please remember that you must ask Cook before you take any food to the mother bunny in Green Park. Mrs. Cottage was most disconcerted to find that her freshly baked tart had gone missing yesterday."

"It was an asparagus tart," Valentine explained, his right arm pinned to his side as he drew another circle. "We thought that

the smell might bring her out of the woods, but it didn't."

"Lady Kelbourne," Langlois said, imploringly.

Dominic had no patience for the artist. His whole body was itching to draw Torie into their bedchamber and throw her on the

bed. No, unbutton her first. Damn it, she was wearing stays. He could work around that. Get her down to the stays and chemise,

and then crawl under all that starched cotton and lick her until she was ready for him.

Course, she might be ready. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright blue.

"Do you want to take Oddie with you?" Florence asked.

"No, thank you," Torie said. She nodded. "Monsieur Langlois, it has been a pleasure."

"Your studio?" he said hopefully.

The man didn't seem to be able to finish a sentence.

"I would be happy to meet you there tomorrow morning," Torie repeated. "The viscount and I are quite busy, and we are going

to the theater tonight."

Dominic frowned before he remembered the plans he had for that thick velvet curtain in the back of his box. He didn't even

mind if she wore that confection she had on, though Torie would probably say it was only for the day.

"I've turned into an animal," he told her when they were walking down the steps from the nursery.

She descended ahead of him since the volume of her skirts and the narrowness of the stairwell didn't allow room for anyone

beside her. She tilted her head back and looked at him, her face more pointed and delicate from this angle. He couldn't see

her stubborn chin.

"Animal as in rabbit?"

"I still haven't passed out," he said thoughtfully. "More practice is needed."

They had reached the landing. One of the housemaids was dusting woodwork, so Dominic forced himself to saunter beside his

lady, even though the touch of her fingers on his elbow was incredibly arousing.

They passed a large gilt mirror, the two of them looking as prim as a china figurine of a husband and wife.

"Rabbits must be as frenzied as we," Torie said in a low voice. "They have so many children. Will you mind if I conceive right

away?"

The image of her body rounded with his child flashed into Dominic's mind and he snapped. He scooped her into his arms, took

two great strides, and kicked open the door to their bedchamber. Torie started giggling, and lord knew, that maid probably

was as well.

He set her on her feet and reached out to shove the door closed before he turned her around. "Where are the bloody hooks?"

he gritted out.

Torie was giggling so hard that her breasts were—

He reached around to her front and yanked down her bodice. "Careful!" she yelped. "This gauze is a work of art." But she put her head back against his shoulder.

Dominic's hands shaped her breasts, thumbs swiping roughly across her nipples.

"Oh, Dom," she moaned.

His body was feverish, his fingers trembling. Somehow he managed to undo all the intricate little buttons and hooks without

tearing that wretched gauze—perhaps just a bit in the rear—and then he had her on his bed.

"I need you," he said against her lips, feeling his heart hammering against her breasts.

"Take me," Torie said, her blue eyes smiling.

He stopped, tapped her generous lip. "You look..."

"Happy?"

"You are often happy. You look content ."

"I feel protected."

Dominic narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. "Were you ever in danger?" His lips went numb, his mind racing to revenge—

"No, not that kind of danger!" she said with a gurgle of laughter. "You stand between me and the world's unkindnesses, Dom.

I don't think you understand what it means to me. It's bliss not to have to plan how to defuse an insult before it happens."

True, the night before they had attended a play, and during the intermission, one of her acquaintances had made an idle comment

about book-learning. Dominic didn't pull out his rapier, but the lady acted as if he had, scurrying away after he scowled

at her.

Torie ran her hands down his broad shoulders and powerful back. "I feel safe when I'm with you," she whispered in his ear.

"I used to feel... unsafe around my father," Dominic said, surprising himself. Then he came up on his elbows. "A sorry

subject, and not worth talking about."

He lowered his head to her breast. Her skin was fragrant with that perfume he liked. Torie instantly started moving under

his weight, shifting her legs and gasping when he began sucking one of her nipples. After he gave her a little bite, she cried

out and pushed up with her hips. "I need you," she said, her breath sobbing from her lungs. "Dom, I need you."

"Do you need this?" he whispered roughly, reaching between them to grasp his aching tool and bring it into position.

A sigh that seemed to come from her heart answered him. He just penetrated her, then stopped, and ran a hand down her thigh.

"How much do you need me?" he said lazily.

She opened her eyes, heavy-lidded. "Dom!"

"I'm having fun," he said in her ear, still holding off. "You said I don't have enough fun."

Torie's hands curled around his biceps, and she arched up, bracing her feet. He slid in a few inches. "Not enough," she moaned,

panting as if she couldn't get enough air.

He ran his hand over her hip. She had wonderful thighs, pillowy soft, made to cradle a man's head. He sank his fingers into

that soft curve and pulled her a little higher, giving her another inch.

Torie groaned, desperate. So he pulled her thigh up and thrust forward, rough and gentle at the same time. His wife threw

her hands over her head and smiled as if he'd given her the world.

He couldn't have described what it felt to be joined like that, to be a part of her, to have pleasure flooding his body, to have— fun .

Then it occurred to him.

Safety.

It felt like safety.