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Authors: Gail McEwen, Tina Moncton
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promised not to do it.”
“I must have something to do while I wait for you to deliberate on your next move,” he defended himself and resumed his activities.
Despite herself, Holly smiled. His hands were warm and his touch was delicious on her bare skin. He busied himself for a while tracing the soft flesh and then trailing the slope to the small of her back and the fingering of her vertebrae where her spine rose up again. Then he gently placed his hands along the curves down towards her thighs and let his thumbs rest for a while in the creases.
Holly stared at the chess board in front of her and tried to remember what she was about to do. Bishop just lost . . . protect the King . . . use the Mount . . . the mount . . . His lips were now on the small of her back and his hands reached lower and pried her legs apart to reach the soft flesh between them. Now his hands felt cool against her warmer skin. She threw a hasty glance backwards over her shoulder.
“That’s so unfair,” she pouted.
“No. What’s unfair is the time you are taking and leaving me with all this temptation and nothing else to do. Idle hands and minds, my love, idle hands and minds . . .”
She looked back at the game resting in the middle of the unmade bed. Four games lost and four claims for reward granted to her husband. I didn’t know I could be such a good loser , she smiled to herself.
Then she sighed and let her hand hover over the board before she hastily moved her one remaining Bishop a few paces.
“There,” she said and turned around. “I’m done. Your turn.”
Baugham took one look at the board and with one finger he pushed his Queen halfway across it.
“Now, about that bottom . . .” he said.
“My turn already?”
“I think you’ll find,” he said, tracing the line of her shoulder with his kisses, “that you have been check-mated, madam.”
“Again,” she sighed despondently. “Will you ever just let me win?”
“Not at chess, no. But there are other games I’m certain you could best me easily.”
“I wonder . . .” she said wryly.
“I think we should stay here the whole day.”
“You are shameless,” she sighed against his neck.
“Well then,” he said while tracing the soft heaviness of her breast with his lips, “let’s be shameless together then, shall we . . .”
“ A ND JUST WHAT ARE WE going to do while out on this fine winter morning?” his lordship asked his wife as she was putting the finishing touches to tying her bonnet strings into a perfect bow and pulling on her gloves. The day had dawned cold, but sunny and clear, and Holly was determined to make good on her stated desire to visit her old familiar places.
“We are going to face the world,” she replied. “You may call me as childish as you like but I want to go into a shop in Clanough, be addressed by someone as ‘my lady’ and then buy something. There was a shawl in Mr Hibbings’ window—a lovely warm, thick thing that I had my heart set upon but . . . ”
She stopped, remembering the reason she had stood so long and stared at that particular item, listening to Miss Primrose Tristam and her sister’s vicious conversation speculating over the circumstances of her engagement. She shook off the sinking feeling in her stomach. That was so long ago now . . . well, two weeks ago at least. But it was longer than that really. She smiled at her husband leaning on the banister. Another lifetime, really.
His lordship insisted on taking the carriage, despite Holly’s protests, declaring, “at this is my first chance to take you out in public and show you off as my wife, I will not have you afflicted with a bright red nose or the sniffles simply because you are stubborn enough to want to walk the five miles to Clanough despite the freezing wind.”
He took her directly to Mr. Hibbings’ shop where she was indeed greeted as “my lady”. In addition to the shawl she had long admired, her husband insisted that she take
“I must have something to do while I wait for you to deliberate on your next move,” he defended himself and resumed his activities.
Despite herself, Holly smiled. His hands were warm and his touch was delicious on her bare skin. He busied himself for a while tracing the soft flesh and then trailing the slope to the small of her back and the fingering of her vertebrae where her spine rose up again. Then he gently placed his hands along the curves down towards her thighs and let his thumbs rest for a while in the creases.
Holly stared at the chess board in front of her and tried to remember what she was about to do. Bishop just lost . . . protect the King . . . use the Mount . . . the mount . . . His lips were now on the small of her back and his hands reached lower and pried her legs apart to reach the soft flesh between them. Now his hands felt cool against her warmer skin. She threw a hasty glance backwards over her shoulder.
“That’s so unfair,” she pouted.
“No. What’s unfair is the time you are taking and leaving me with all this temptation and nothing else to do. Idle hands and minds, my love, idle hands and minds . . .”
She looked back at the game resting in the middle of the unmade bed. Four games lost and four claims for reward granted to her husband. I didn’t know I could be such a good loser , she smiled to herself.
Then she sighed and let her hand hover over the board before she hastily moved her one remaining Bishop a few paces.
“There,” she said and turned around. “I’m done. Your turn.”
Baugham took one look at the board and with one finger he pushed his Queen halfway across it.
“Now, about that bottom . . .” he said.
“My turn already?”
“I think you’ll find,” he said, tracing the line of her shoulder with his kisses, “that you have been check-mated, madam.”
“Again,” she sighed despondently. “Will you ever just let me win?”
“Not at chess, no. But there are other games I’m certain you could best me easily.”
“I wonder . . .” she said wryly.
“I think we should stay here the whole day.”
“You are shameless,” she sighed against his neck.
“Well then,” he said while tracing the soft heaviness of her breast with his lips, “let’s be shameless together then, shall we . . .”
“ A ND JUST WHAT ARE WE going to do while out on this fine winter morning?” his lordship asked his wife as she was putting the finishing touches to tying her bonnet strings into a perfect bow and pulling on her gloves. The day had dawned cold, but sunny and clear, and Holly was determined to make good on her stated desire to visit her old familiar places.
“We are going to face the world,” she replied. “You may call me as childish as you like but I want to go into a shop in Clanough, be addressed by someone as ‘my lady’ and then buy something. There was a shawl in Mr Hibbings’ window—a lovely warm, thick thing that I had my heart set upon but . . . ”
She stopped, remembering the reason she had stood so long and stared at that particular item, listening to Miss Primrose Tristam and her sister’s vicious conversation speculating over the circumstances of her engagement. She shook off the sinking feeling in her stomach. That was so long ago now . . . well, two weeks ago at least. But it was longer than that really. She smiled at her husband leaning on the banister. Another lifetime, really.
His lordship insisted on taking the carriage, despite Holly’s protests, declaring, “at this is my first chance to take you out in public and show you off as my wife, I will not have you afflicted with a bright red nose or the sniffles simply because you are stubborn enough to want to walk the five miles to Clanough despite the freezing wind.”
He took her directly to Mr. Hibbings’ shop where she was indeed greeted as “my lady”. In addition to the shawl she had long admired, her husband insisted that she take
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