Eleanor swatted his wandering fingers away. “I have plenty of subtlety. I simply choose not to waste it on my husband.”
“Wise woman. I respond much better to direct approaches.” His eyes darkened with familiar heat. “Speaking of which, exactly how violent were these thoughts about my paperwork?”
“Violent enough that you should probably abandon it for safer activities,” Eleanor replied, though her breathless tone rather undermined the threat.
“Such as?”
“Such as reminding your wife why she married you instead of pushing you off the nearest bridge.”
Damien’s laugh was rich. “An excellent suggestion. Though I should warn you, I’ve been thinking about you all evening. You may find my gratitude rather overwhelming.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both,” he said, lifting her from the chair. “I’ve been having the most delicious thoughts about what I wanted to do once I finished those calculations.”
“What sort of thoughts?” Eleanor asked as he carried her toward their bedroom, her arms winding around his neck.
“The sort that would make a courtesan blush,” he replied wickedly. “Shall I demonstrate?”
Eleanor’s response was lost in a soft gasp as his mouth found the sensitive spot below her ear. By the time they reached their bedroom, her wrapper had mysteriously loosened, and Damien’s shirt had somehow lost several buttons.
“You’re terribly efficient at undressing people,” she observed as silk pooled at her feet.
“Years of practice,” he replied with shameless pride, his own clothing joining hers on the floor. “Though I confess, you remain my favorite subject.”
“Only your favorite?” Eleanor asked with mock hurt as he settled her on their bed.
“My only,” he corrected, his voice growing rougher as his hands began their familiar exploration. “The only woman who’s ever made me forget my own name.”
“Good thing it’s embroidered on half your belongings,” Eleanor managed, her words dissolving into soft cries as histouch ignited fires that seemed to burn brighter with each passing month.
“Mmm,” Damien agreed against her throat, his mouth trailing lower. “Though I prefer when you scream it.”
“Arrogant,” she accused breathlessly.
“Accurate,” he corrected with infuriating confidence. “Shall I prove it?”
Eleanor’s reply became incoherent as he proceeded to do exactly that, his devoted attention reducing her to trembling need with practiced skill. When he finally claimed her completely, joining their bodies with urgent passion, she forgot every witty retort she’d ever possessed.
“Mine,” he said fiercely as they moved together, his voice rough with possessive satisfaction.
“Yours,” she agreed, her nails marking his shoulders as pleasure built between them like wildfire. “Completely, utterly, annoyingly yours.”
The climax that claimed them both left Eleanor boneless with satisfaction, her body draped across Damien’s chest as they recovered in the candlelit aftermath.
“So,” she said eventually, tracing lazy patterns across his skin, “how long will this restoration take?”
“Hmm?” Damien’s voice was drowsy with contentment.
“Westmore Hall. For Dominic and Laura.”
“Oh. At least a year.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I hoped we could present it as a generous gift while I secretly celebrated my escape from ancestral responsibility.”
Eleanor laughed against his chest. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical. Let Dominic play lord of the manor while I enjoy being a disreputable duke with a scandalous wife who specializes in destroying our enemies.”
“Scandalous?” Eleanor lifted her head to look at him. “I prefer strategically gifted.”