She continued her explorations down his chest and across his ribs. He was very broad, her husband. His waist was narrower than his chest, but only barely. His ribs stood high off the ground and rose and fell steadily with his breaths. His chest was covered with soft, dark hair, not so much that he felt furry but not so little as to call it a smattering. She ran her fingers through it and felt his heartbeat beneath her palm.

She had never touched him so blatantly. When they were together intimately, he was always touching her, moving over her still body. Afterwards, she would often rest her head against his chest until they fell asleep. But it was always dark and she never felt as free or able to touch him as she did now, nor had she felt such a desire to do so.

His hair stopped just below his breast except for a dark line that traveled down his center. She traced it for a moment until it disappeared into his breeches and continued on with her discoveries. His shoulders were hot to the touch and solid beneath her hands. His ears were surprisingly soft and his hair seemed in need of a cut. She had touched it many times before, but always in the heat of passion. She was enjoying this slow assessment of her husband’s form.

Darcy was also enjoying it—immensely. He had begun to drift off to the soothing feeling of his wife’s nimble fingers in his hair and her sweet voice humming a tune. Then those same fingers began a new circuit around his shoulders, arms, and chest, once even drifting dangerously close to his hips. She could not know what she was doing to him. He had chanced a peek at her, finding she was all curiosity and studiousness. It was clear it was not an erotic game she was playing but rather a curious woman’s investigation into the male form. Of course, he was happy to broaden his wife’s mind in any we he could, but if she didn’t stop soon, he’d hardly be able to hold himself back from doing some investigating of his own.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes as if waking from sleep. He didn’t want to discourage her explorations or push for more than she was ready for, but he would not be able to remain still much longer.

“Do you think our clothes are dry now?” he asked.

“Most likely,” she said. He sat up and she rose to grab her stockings and petticoat off the branch she’d hung them on. “These are dry. Shall we head back?”

He looked at the sky and the grey clouds in the distance that were moving their direction.

“That’s probably best.”