Read Online The Official Essex Sisters Companion Guide by Jody Gayle with Eloisa James - Free Book Online Page A

Imogen said gravely, though her eyes were laughing, “my gown will fall to the floor.”
    Rafe didn’t say anything, just stepped into the room and pushed the door shut.
    And Imogen shrugged. The gown slipped away, down her smooth curves.
    No one in that room said a word for a good forty minutes, unless one counts moans, murmurs, and outright cries of pleasure as language.
    “We cannot continue to act in this fashion,” Rafe said, after his chest had settled to a normal rhythm.
    She was tucked, boneless, under his arm. All he could see was one eyelid and a trail of silky black hair.
    He consciously schooled his voice to a commanding, yet thoughtful tone. “Imogen, I shall not come to your bed tomorrow night. In fact, not again until we are married.”
    “Why?”
    “My duchess will not arrive at the altar carrying a child.”
    He could see the edge of a smile. “You needn’t worry about it if we marry in the near future. It takes forever to create a child. You’re going to have to work at it; did I tell you that I want at least six?”
    “I hereby commit myself to slave labor,” he said, pulling her closer. “I told you that I’m the hairy, virile type.” He couldn’t help it; his fingers began dancing down the plump curve of her breast again.
    She sighed, and threw an arm over her head, giving him better access. The curve of her slender wrist and the cream of her skin in the candlelight were like madness to him, better than whiskey, better than wine, better than anything he’d seen—or tasted—in his life. Their eyes met.
    “Will you stay in your chambers tomorrow, then,” she whispered, “knowing that I’m wearing the nightgown I greeted you in?”
    He nodded, stilling his fingers. “I must.” He said it almost desperately. “I won’t treat you like a woman to be tupped at my disposal, Imogen. You’re to be my wife.”
    “I shall torment you,” she said, giggling a little. The lazy sweetness of her voice hung in the air. “I shall lean close to you at the end of the meal, and tell you that I intend to bathe before bed, and that I need help undressing myself.”
    His fingers slid over the satin of her skin and his mind clouded again.
    “There are times when I should go to sleep,” she said, “but I feel . . . oh . . . restless. Quite restless.”
    Rafe couldn’t even answer that; he just lowered his head to her breast. Vixen that she was, Imogen kept talking, although a faint huskiness came to her voice. Talking . . . telling him all the details of her bath, and how she would lie alone in her bed, and she would—
    He raised his head. “You will ?”
    She laughed at him. “Do you think that I haven’t found you in my dreams and in my thoughts the last few nights?” Her eyes met his. “I’ve dreamed of you touching me, just so.” She trailed a finger across her breast. “And so.” The finger wandered lower.
    “But you didn’t think you were meeting me . You were making love to Gabe—that is, you—”
    She was laughing again, not giggling, but full-out laughing. “You must think I’m a fool! A woman tricked by a mustache and a slow manner of speaking!”
    Her laughter warmed some part of him that he hadn’t even known was mortally cold. “I gather I’m the fool,” he said, trying vainly to sound casual. “I thought you only found out in the last day or so. When did you discover my ploy?”
    “Not immediately. Although”—she frowned—“I should have known within the hour. Do you remember when you kissed me in the carriage?”
    “I did so more than once.”
    “The first time. The truth is—” She propped herself up on her elbow, eyes serious now. “I should have known immediately because I knew Gabe didn’t really want me.”
    Rafe opened his mouth, but she put a finger over his lips.
    “He didn’t. I asked him, rather than the other way around.” There was something sweet and rueful about the curve of her mouth that made Rafe’s chest ache. “I knew he