A Marriage Most Inconvenient (Inconvenient Matches Book #1)

Chapter 39: Ben

'Good evening, wife,' Ben nervously addressed the mirror. 'How do you do?'

He had undressed, wearing only loose trousers that he usually slept in, a robe thrown over his shoulders and belted loosely, giving an observer what he hoped was a tantalizing view of his chest. He had not really had cause to seduce anyone before. His previous partners had seen his money and had come to him readily enough on their own.

'Might I interest you in a bout of sexual congress?' He asked the reflection and winced. That was not seductive at all. A bout? It sounded like he was inviting her to a round in the boxing ring!

Excellent uppercut, wife! Your jab, however, needs work.

'Martial relations?' He tried again and decided against it. 'Conjugal relations?'

Oh, dear God! There had to be some non-vulgar way to get one's wife into bed. You couldn't very well just say; Please wrap your naked legs around me and prepare to be pleasured to within an inch of your life.

'Might we enjoy a carnal embrace?'

Ben groaned in irritation. It was one thing to get caught up in the heat of the moment and another thing entirely to intentionally proposition the only woman he wanted so fiercely that it was practically a raging inferno in his veins.

Fucking was too vulgar, too impersonal. He wanted her to feel cherished and respected and cared for. Always.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, allowing himself to admit the truth. He was nervous.

Which was obviously stupid, given the abandon with which he had whispered filth to her before and had found her willing. Enthusiastic, even. They'd already crossed that line, twice now. But he wasn't willing to hold back tonight. He wanted them joined, connected as they ever had been before.

'Ben!' His wife's worried voice sounded from beyond the door that joined their guestrooms. 'Ben, please come quickly, it's very important!'

His heart rate quickened in panic, the plan of seduction forgotten immediately as he hurried to the door. He flung it open, not bothering to knock, and took a look inside.

And then Benedict William Montgomery, seventh Duke of Rothbury, died.

He died and went straight to heaven, for what else would explain the angel that stood in front of him, a personification of desires he did not even know he had?

Was he breathing? Yes, he was. Though he felt breathless all the same. His heart beat a frantic rhythm in his chest, the roaring of his blood in his ear drowning out everything else.

Stood before him was his wife in what seemed to be his every carnal wish come to life. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, her lips were painted in red rouge, and her body. Jesus Christ, her body was clothed in the most provoking bit of nightwear he had seen in his entire life. Really, whoever had designed it was criminal and ought to be charged with the assault and near murder of a Duke.

Though, nightwear but have been too generous a word for three scraps of silk joined together with the most flimsy-looking stitching he had ever seen. It offered her modestly only in the most essential places, the rest of it made entirely of lace, which was in fact entirely missing from her hips. Below, the lovely thick legs were entirely nude, gleaming invitingly in the candlelight. His hands twitched with the urge to sink his greedy fingers into her flesh. Two slender straps held the whole thing up on her shoulds. He could likely rip the thing apart with his hands.

He tried to speak but only a garbled sound manage to make it out of his mouth.

Get a hold of yourself! You have seen her naked before!