The Rebellious Lady Fallon: Historical Fiction

Chapter 20

'Braeden ___,' she gave a tiny shiver, dragging his lips to hers.  His breath was sweet and intoxicating like the champagne she was drinking with him.

He pulled away, resolutely setting her away from him.  'We are not making love.  We are playing cards.' 

She heaved a heavy breath, sighing disappointedly.  'Please promise me, you will never ever talk of the game ___ of what we will do,' she pleaded.

He chuckled softly.  'I promise,' he pressed his palm against his heart illustratively.  'Now name your game,' he instructed.

She rubbed a hand to her brow.  'Fine,' she answered with cautious anticipation.  She was pretty good at whist.  She may not beat him outright, but she could hold her own.

Braeden allowed her to win a few rounds.  He made sure her champagne glass was continuously full.  Fallon clapped happily when she won.  He thought she would begin with his cravat or coat.  Instead she went straight for his trousers. 

'I first have to remove my Hessians, before you can have my trousers,' he protested.

'No!' she declined.  'I want your trousers.'

'Two can play that game, my sweet,' he warned.

Fallon warmed at his endearment, but looked up wide-eyed at his threat.  She hadn't thought of that.  Then again if she removed her drawers and was still fully clothed, what harm could there be? She threw some rather unsavoury words at him, when he began to take more than a few hands. 

Giggling and deliriously drunk, Fallon ran in an effort to escape the voice behind her, but he was quick, his strides like the speed of lightning.  She had humiliatingly lost the game.  Braeden still had his undergarment, shirt and waistcoat on, whilst she ... should have been stark naked, had she played fair.  For the only item she still had on, was her petticoat, and by rights she should have surrendered that to Braeden as well when she'd lost the final round, but Fallon chose to run instead of conceding defeat. 

She screamed laughingly when Braeden's hands restrained her ankles in a fierce vice grip.   She found herself falling, but it was not the cold hard floor that her body encountered, but rather her husband's warm, protective chest.  But how ___? 

Her hands desperately clutched onto his shirt for dear life even though Braeden's sturdy arms were comfortably holding her at the waist.  The smile on her lips was replaced by lust and desire in her expressive eyes.   They lifted...locked with his. 

The clock that had been relatively silent when they were playing cards sounded  annoyingly loud.  Her heart was hammering.  His lips touched hers... His tongue darted out, met hers, retreated and returned.   His hands moulded her round breast through the fabric of her silky petticoat.  His fingers searched and found an erect nipple.   He felt her surge against him as he stroked her.

Mirroring hers, dark hunger made his eyes look jet black .  He knew underneath the petticoat, she had nothing covering her modesty.  For when Braeden had demanded her petticoat, she had complainingly begged him to have her drawers instead.  Highly aroused and seduced by his wife's pouting lips, he had yielded to the negotiated settlement, for he knew in the next hand, before he conceded another item of clothing, he would see her as naked as the day she was born.  Now, his one hand slipped under her petticoat.  Fallon had wanted to scream at him, demand he release her...but the words froze in her throat.

'Why are you running from me, lady wife?' his voice was a husky growl. 

'Braeden .... This isn't fair,' she whispered woodenly.  'You should have let me win,' she urged.