Page 72 of A Foolish Flirtation

“My brother,” he interjected. “I do acknowledge the connection. I acknowledge it more than Nye, to tell the truth.”

“So, it is widely known that you are half brothers?”

“It’s known hereabouts, though little talked of these days. At least, not to our faces.”

“I don’t know that I should dare raise the subject myself,” she reflected frankly. “Your brother is rather alarming.” He laughed. “Did your father have a presence like Nye’s or was it only in appearance that he takes after him?” she asked curiously.

Jeremy thought about this as he unbuttoned his shirt. “He had presence certainly, but Nye’s owes a good deal to the man that raised him. Jacob Nye was a formidable sort. You would not trifle with old Jacob.” He shrugged off his shirt.

“And your father?”

There was a slight pause before he answered. “You would not trifle with him either,” he acknowledged wryly. “Though my father was more of a shouter whereas Jacob Nye could freeze a man at ten paces with his glare. That always seemed more impressive somehow. You may be sure that everyone paid their bar tab in a timely fashion.”

He climbed under the sheets and closed his arms about her with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“Do you think your sister and her hus—your brother I mean—” That would take some getting used to. “Are, well, pleased to find you are remarried?” Emmie asked haltingly.

“I don’t know about pleased, but they certainly already knew the fact. It must be all over Penarth by now. Nye told me as much. That was why they came to dinner, you know, to get a good look at you. Nye has never set foot in the place before tonight.” He paused before continuing. “I’m sorry I did not prepare you, Ballentine.” His tone was apologetic. “I am fortunate that you are gracious and take things in your stride.”

Gracious? Did he really think so? She could not ask, for he was kissing her, first her lips and then along her jaw. “You looked so pretty at dinner, Emmeline,” he whispered. “I could barely take my eyes off you. I’m sure they noticed my preoccupation with my new wife.”

As he had seemed a perfect host, Emmie found this hard to believe, however she was just glad he had not thought his hostess lacking. Thankfully, she slipped her arms about him, enjoying the feel of his bunched muscles. He was not a large man but even so, his body felt so very different to her own. He was lean and muscular where she was… He pinched her waist, interrupting her thoughts. “Jeremy!”

“I like how soft you are here, Ballentine,” he said, his mouth very near her ear. “It affects me strangely.” His hands slid down to caress her hips and buttocks as his breath rasped against her neck. He was not lying. She could tell because he was entirely naked and aroused. She had lately learned this was not something you could really mistake.

“Like your paintings?” she asked breathlessly as he kissed the point that met her shoulder.

“Yes,” he agreed huskily. “You would make a magnificent Venus. I have always thought so.”

Always? “I don’t know about that,” she responded doubtfully, thinking of the Venus hanging in the drawing room, emerging from the sea naked and wringing out her wet hair. “I think the Romans favored small, high bosoms and, well, mine are…not like that.”

He gave a choking laugh. “Your breasts are perfection, Ballentine,” he said. “They are sublime. If I was artistically inclined, I would dedicate poems to them. I’m almost desperate to see them again. May I?”

“Yes,” she said in a muffled voice, but this time he did not reach for her buttons. Instead, his hands remained where they were, squeezing and fondling the fleshy parts of her that she had always been most self-conscious about. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure of her cue. Then she noticed his expectant air.

Oh. He was waiting for her to do it. To…to bare her bosom to him. Emmie’s face flushed even brighter. Could she do this? She remembered their wedding night, how inflamed he had been by the sight of breasts.

Reaching for her buttons with trembling fingers, she undid them one at a time, until she reached the very last one. Then, taking a deep breath, she peeled back one side of the placket and then the other. His breathing grew harsher, but still, he watched and waited.

Emmie glanced down at her exposed cleavage. Her breasts were not as revealed as they had been last time, when they had been so scandalously freed out of the confines of her bodice. Taking a deep breath, she nerved herself to scoop out first one breast and then the other.

Jeremy’s grip of her hips tightened convulsively. “Oh, fuck, Emmeline,” he said in a raspy voice, and closed his eyes for an instant. When he reopened them, they seemed a little calmer. “I almost wish I did write poetry,” he said thickly, lowering his face to kiss down first one breast before sucking the nipple into his mouth, and then repeating the process with the other.

Emmie whimpered. Before she knew it, her hand was at the back of his head, urging him closer still. He ran the tip of his tongue down the undersides of her breasts, before retracing the path to swirl his tongue around her hard nipples. She wanted his hands on them, like last time, kneading and cupping her aching breasts, but they were otherwise occupied, squeezing her backside in a firm grip.

Instead of paying more attention to her tender breasts, Jeremy shifted down, reaching for her hem and bunching up her nightgown to her waist. Once it was out of the way, he started dropping ardent kisses along her stomach, another part of her body which she had always been convinced was far from the ideal. Emmie breathed through her nose and did her best not to tense, even when he gently kissed around her belly button.

When he started enthusiastically mouthing the swell of her belly beneath it, Emmie could not hold back a murmur of protest. “You don’t like that?” he asked, lifting his head again. His eyes were a little unfocussed. Did she imagine it, or did he sound a little disappointed?

“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just…” She floundered, a strange suspicion forming. “Do you like it?” she asked impulsively.

“Your belly?” She nodded and his eyes dropped immediately to roam over it. “I bloody love it,” he answered with a groan.

“You—?” Emmie stared at him in astonishment. “You are not serious!”

“It’s beautiful,” he said so matter-of-factly that she found she could not doubt his sincerity. “I want to feel the cool, soft skin against my face. May I?”

Slowly, Emmie nodded, and he pressed his face against her there, his hands at her waist, breathing in noisily. They remained like that for several minutes, until Emmie felt herself start to relax again. Then he kissed her there again, this time gently and reverently instead of ravenously.