B00Q5W7IXE (R) by Shana Galen Page A

and turned back to the mirror of her dressing table, where she was seated.
    “I do try to flatter,” he said, leaning against the door and admiring the slope of her neck, visible where the silk robe she wore dipped in back. “Did I succeed?”
    “Admirably.” She wiped the last of the stage makeup from her lips, leaving them rosy but no longer stark red. Her dark eyes met his in the mirror. “What do you want in return?”
    Blue pushed away from the door and crossed the room in two strides. With measured movements, he removed his gloves, ignoring the way his hands shook with anticipation, and placed his fingers on her neck. He trailed his fingertips over the exposed flesh of her shoulders, pleased as gooseflesh appeared in his wake.
    “Not much,” he murmured, attempting desperately to still his trembling fingers. No matter how often he touched her, how many times he caressed her, each time seemed like the first. “Since we are alone, I thought I might steal a kiss.”
    “We are alone because you fabricated a royal appearance.” She swiveled to face him.
    Taking her hands, he pulled her to her feet. “One does what one must to steal a moment of privacy.”
    “You might have waited until I arrived home.” Her hands settled on his chest. “We are married, Ernest.”
    His finger covered her lips. “Blue.”
    She rolled her eyes, but he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, silencing her teasing remark. Her skin smelled faintly of powder and the cream she used to remove the cosmetics. He touched his lips to her cheek, her temple, the shell of her ear. She quivered, and her arms came around his neck, pressing her slim body into his.
    His tongue played with her earlobe while his hands swept down her back. Beneath the robe she wore a thin chemise and nothing else. The silk flowed over her body like water, and he followed it to the gentle swell of her hips and the lush roundness of her bottom.
    “Will you never give me a real kiss?” she asked, her lips tickling his cheek.
    “Patience, madam.”
    Her mouth came closer to his. “Why?”
    “I am attempting to build anticipation and drama.”
    “Careful you don’t lose your audience.”
    “Never.” He fused his mouth over hers, his lips sinking into satiny softness. He knew what she liked, the pressure and firmness, the angle and quick nip of his teeth.
    Her mouth opened, and he ran his tongue over her teeth then swept inside. Her tongue met his, tangling briefly, and withdrawing. That only tempted him further, and he yanked her closer, kissed her more deeply.
    “Helena!” A loud rap on the door startled them apart, and Helena quickly closed her robe and moved behind a screen. The door opened, and a small man with bushy muttonchops shouldered his way inside.
    The man’s eyes narrowed under his wild eyebrows. “You again,” he said with a dismissive glance at Blue.
    “A pleasure to see you again too, Mr. Burton. I would escort my wife to our carriage. We have an engagement tonight.”
    “Engagement, eh?” The long, curly eyebrows rose.
    Blue inclined his head. “A Christmas Eve ball at the residence of the Duke and Duchess of Ely.”
    “Your parents?” Burton appeared unimpressed. “I heard His Grace forbid your wife from ever stepping foot in his home.”
    Helena’s head popped out from behind the screen. “Is that true?”
    “No!”
    Her eyes narrowed.
    Blue waved a hand, the lace fluttering dramatically. “Well, yes, but that was years ago.”
    It had been the first and last time the duke and duchess had met his wife. He had not seen them since, though he had often been formally invited. The invitation to this Christmas Eve ball was the first invitation from his parents with a personal note scrawled in his father’s handwriting.
    Do come, Ernest. Your mother misses you.
    “The duke has come to his senses.” Blue had attempted to convince Helena of this point for the last fortnight and had actually tired of hearing himself speak about