“Ah, we’re back to debauchery again. Come here.” He drew her into his lap and supported her with an arm about her waist. “Do you think debauchery is something violent and unpleasant? It isn’t. It’s…” He searched for the best way to put it, a way she might understand. “It’s delectable pleasure shared between lovers. Between husbands and wives.”
The closer he pulled her, the more she stiffened. “God frowns on such things,” she said.
“That’s a lie. That’s a pile of rubbish the Sisters of Mercy poured into your ears because they don’t know any better.”
Her eyes widened. “They’d never lie. They’re religious women.”
“Do you think they know everything?” he said, moving his fingers up her spine. “I assure you, they don’t.”
“But they are good sisters.”
“Then why did you want to leave their convent? You said you weren’t happy there.”
She squirmed as he pulled her resisting form against his chest. His fingers wove into her hair, and this time he did tug a little to make her be still.
“What do you know of marriage?” he asked, dreading her answer, if she even had any. “What did the sisters tell you of passion and intimacy, and the wedding night?”
She hid her face against his arm. “Must we talk about it?”
“I’m starting to think we should, yes. Are you afraid?”
“Yes.” The soft word ended in a whimper. “Something awful is going to happen.”
“Is it?”
“Don’t you know? You’re going to hurt me. On our wedding night, you’re meant to hurt me. It’s the way women are punished for their weaknesses and sins.”
He choked back a furious laugh. “Who taught you that blasphemous nonsense? All of it is lies.”
She looked at him, fear warring with hope. “Lies?”
“Damned lies, princess.”
Her lower lip trembled. “The sisters wouldn’t lie. They’re not supposed to.”
He tipped up her chin. He could smell the sugar-flower sweetness of her, and see the deep concern in her eyes.
“Listen, Cassandra. I know you don’t know me very well. I know I’m little more than a stranger who creeps into your room uninvited, but I promise I’m telling the truth. I swear it on the graves of my ancestors. I swear it on whatever is most precious to you. There won’t be any ‘hurting’ on our wedding night, or our wedding day, or the week after our marriage, or any time during our life together.”
She shook her head with a sad expression. “I know that is a lie. You said lies are necessary in marriage. At the very least, you’ll hurt me when I displease you. You’ll strike me or yank my hair.”
His eyes narrowed. “Have you had your hair yanked a great deal? Where, at the convent?”
At her diffident nod, he decided to send envoys on the morrow with a message from Prince Gideon of Hastings, that the sisters had better act with more kindness toward their charges, lest they find their convent burned to the ground. He wanted to go there himself and strangle whoever had pulled Cassandra’s beautiful hair.
“Tell me what else causes your flinching and shrinking,” he asked. “Does your father strike you? Have you been abused?”
“No, but...” She swallowed. “I’ve seen him strike others. He has a terrible temper. I don’t remember much of my mother, except that she was afraid of him. I saw him push her to the floor and strike her more than once.”
Gideon rubbed his forehead, at a loss of what to say. How could he get her to trust him when she’d endured such an upbringing?
“I’ll never push you or strike you,” he said when he found his voice again. “Or pull your hair in anger.”
He meant every word, but she didn’t believe him. He could see it in the way she scrutinized his eyes, trying to peer into his soul. His conscience wasn’t crystal clear, but neither was he an abusive brute. “You’re still afraid,” he said.
She didn’t deny it, only gazed down into her lap so her ebony curtain of hair hid her face.
“Do I behave in a frightening fashion?” he asked. “Do I seem violent or uncontrolled?”
“No, but...”
“I admit I may turn you over my knee now and again if you displease me, but I’ll never abuse you. I don’t want my wife quailing away in terror every time I’m near. It defeats the ideal of marital harmony. Nor will I bully our children. You see, I wasn’t raised that way.” He leaned down to catch her gaze. “Do you believe me?”
Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “I want to believe you. I so truly want to.”
“Then do.” He drew her close, sheltering her in his lap as he had last night when she fainted, only now she was awake—and upset. Emotions assailed him as she sobbed into the side of his neck. Irritation. Sadness. Wonder that he, the licentious Prince Gideon, might become the first trusted man in her life. The only trusted man. It seemed a heavy burden for a free spirit like him, but he couldn’t push her away.
He didn’t want to.
“There, there,” he murmured, patting her hair and massaging her nape. “Thank goodness we had this talk before the wedding. There shouldn’t be tears in the bridal bower.”
She mopped her cheeks with the gathered collar of her shift. “I don’t want to be afraid, but I’ve heard so many awful things about marriage. Are you certain you won’t hurt me tomorrow, on our wedding night?”
He considered what to say, since there was a chance he’d cause at least some unease when they consummated their vows. He was a large man, and she was very small, and a virgin. “If I do hurt you, it won’t be intentional,” he said. “There may be a bit of discomfort, but new things often feel strange.”
She looked at his lips, then into his eyes, innocent and inquisitive as a wild woodland creature. He shifted, certain she had no idea the effect her gaze was having on his libido, and his rising, throbbing cock.
What was this impulse he felt? Not just lust. It was more. Possessiveness. Protectiveness. A physical imprinting on her honey-sweet scent, her smooth cheeks, her lush black hair.
“Will you tell me something?” she said. “What is it, to be...intimate? Is it only a kiss?”
He closed his eyes, awash in erotic pain. He couldn’t show her the extent of it, not tonight. But perhaps...
Perhaps it would not be out of order to give her a taste.
By the time he opened his eyes, a blush had bloomed on her cheeks, heightened color he could see even in the dark.
“Intimacy is more than kissing, darling,” he told her. “It’s also more easily demonstrated than explained.” He cupped her cheek, running a thumb over the last of her tears, and was pleased that she didn’t flinch or shy away as she had before.
“You’re going to demonstrate now?” she whispered.
“What if I did? Do you believe I’d hurt you?”
She shook her head, holding his gaze. “No, Sir. You said you wouldn’t.”
“By God’s grace, my princess can learn. Of course I won’t hurt you, but I may make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
“Oh.”
Her beleaguered “oh” didn’t give him much in the way of encouragement, but her body leaned into his. His cock was one great, pounding throb by now, and he moved his hips back, rearranging her so she didn’t have to deal with that revelation yet.
“Look at me,” he said. “Let me kiss you as I did last night. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Is it proper to be intimate before I’m your wife?” She curled her fingers around his arms, making them clench. How he wanted to spring into action, to push her back and raise her maidenly shift, and...
No, he couldn’t. Not yet.
“You’re far too concerned with propriety,” he said. “And we’ll be wed in a matter of hours.” He circled her neck with one palm in a loose, guiding grip. “Here, let me show you how fun a kiss can be. There’s no pain involved.”
As he leaned forward, she responded more cooperatively than she had th
e previous night, lifting her face so he might kiss her lips. So charming, so inviting, his dark-eyed princess. He was already learning the taste of her, and memorizing the shape of her jaw with his fingertips.
Finding her receptive to his kisses, he dared to nibble her lower lip, coaxing her to open wider. She complied with a soft moan, as if he addled and pleased her at once.
“You see how perfectly we fit together,” he murmured against her mouth. “And how intimacy can feel close and pleasant. May I touch you...?” He rested a hand upon her breast, over her shift. “May I touch you here?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re beautiful, and I want to. No, don’t turn away. Kiss me, Cassandra, while I caress you.”
He’d long ago learned how to touch women over their garments, how to tease and pinch, and drag his nails over their taut nipples to make them burn. He didn’t do that now, only stroked with careful reserve, not too hard, not too soft, stimulating the tips of her lovely breasts. As her body quivered and her breath grew short, he thought all those stolen hours of pleasure had been training for this, so he might make his shy, reluctant princess emit gasps of bliss against his lips.
“How does that feel?” he asked between kisses.
“Wicked.”
Even as she said the word, she pushed her silken breasts against his palms. With a low, approving growl, he abandoned her lips and lowered his head to moisten the sheer fabric atop her thrusting nipples. He circled one with his tongue, then the other, feeling her arousal through the thin layer of silk. He wanted to strip her and feel her breasts, all her curves, right against his skin. He wanted to hold her waist and plunge into her...
“That is...” He groaned as she shifted on his lap, brushing against his erection. “That is probably enough intimacy for one night. Enough, at least, to show you that it’s no violent act of torment.”
She blinked, coming back to her senses. “Oh,” she said, and this oh had far more pleasure in it than the one before. “You are...quite...”
He grinned when she was unable to finish her sentence. “Yes, I am quite. People have told me so on many occasions. Right now I’m quite exhausted.” He said exhausted, but he meant aroused beyond bearing. “I should return to my room and let you rest. No more crying now, darling. Only sleep.”
“Oh,” she repeated, not quite collected yet. She brushed a hand through her thick, dark hair. “Yes, I should sleep.”
“Indeed, because we’re getting married tomorrow.” He eased her off his lap and back into bed, covering the wet bits of her bodice with the sheets. Tomorrow, he could have what was under that virginal shift. By law, he must consummate a royal marriage in the line of succession within the first day. It seemed less of a hardship now that he’d gotten to know his princess better.
As for her, she was asleep in three minutes’ time, in the same huddle as before, only far less tearful. It was a promising sign.
Chapter Three
Cassandra tried not to shake as a smiling bevy of gentlewomen attired her for the wedding. They were happy, joyous, laughing, even breaking out in song as they curled her hair and smoothed every wrinkle from her gold-embroidered bodice and skirt. Her diamond tiara pinched, the gold-plated combs giving her a dull headache.
“How lovely you look, dear,” said Queen Eleanor, Gideon’s mother.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She felt intimidated by the beautiful older woman, who was so confident in her speech, and comfortable in her kind, gentle fussing. I don’t remember my mother, she wanted to say. I don’t have a mother anymore, so I’m glad you’re here.
But she didn’t say those things aloud to the grand lady because her throat felt so tight. It wasn’t terror, not anymore. Prince Gideon had made her believe, over the course of last night’s visit, that he wouldn’t be capriciously cruel. But he was still a stranger, and after today, her happiness would more or less rest in his hands. She’d never hoped for the perfect love the bards sang about, but maybe she would find peace in her marriage. That would be good.
And her husband was handsome. She was starting to think he was very handsome indeed, and that his large, capable body, which scared her at first, was also a thing of beauty.
“Do you know the vows?”
Cassandra snapped back from her wanderings at the queen’s gentle question. “The vows?”
“You’ve practiced what you must say?” she asked. “Because in the moment, you’ll be nervous. I remember how difficult it was for me.”
Queen Eleanor’s lilac eyes were very like Gideon’s, although the shape was not the same. She also had a far more serious constitution than her son.
Cassandra cleared her throat and nodded. The heavy tiara didn’t move. “I’ve practiced the vows, ma’am, at the convent. I know the whole service.”
“Good.” The woman made an effort to keep her voice light as she searched Cassandra’s eyes. “And you know what will happen— What is expected—” She stopped and gave a breathless laugh. “It’s so unromantic to speak of what’s expected. Forgive me. I mean to say, do you know what will happen between you and my son once you retire to the nuptial chamber?”
“Oh, yes, I—I think I do.” Intimacy is more than kissing, darling. “I mean, I have the general idea.”
The queen continued to watch her, so she felt she must say more. “I know that it is supposed to...to be...not violent.”
“Goodness, no, it must not be. If it is, you must come to me at once for help. But I know the man I raised would not...” She cleared her throat. “How uncomfortable it is to discuss such things, but with your background, and your time in the convent, I wasn’t sure you’d understand that there’s nothing to fear.”
Your son visited me last night and told me so, ma’am. Then he kissed me and did wondrous, wicked things to my breasts. His arms felt very strong as he held me. I didn’t feel afraid.
She didn’t feel afraid then, but she wondered if she ought to feel afraid now. The queen looked at her with such gravity.
“It’s only one night, anyway,” said Cassandra, summoning her courage. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”
The queen’s gaze flicked to her lady’s maid. Cassandra thought she heard a titter from one of the ladies behind her, and she flushed to think they’d all been listening to her conversation. She feared they’d mock her now, and make fun, but they didn’t. Queen Eleanor touched Cassandra’s cheek.
“There’s nothing so magical as a pure-hearted bride,” she said. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper, so low none of the other ladies could hear. “Try to love my son. I’ve given him the same advice. Everything goes easier with love.”
*** ***
Cassandra felt the wedding went well, because she didn’t faint and she didn’t stammer, and she didn’t shy away from the Prince of Hastings’ gaze. Well, not very much.
In fact, she held his hand when they said their vows, and his fingers were warm, enveloping hers in a way that made her feel stronger in front of the great populace filling the chapel. Directly after the wedding, they made their way to the palace ballroom, a massive, ornate space decorated with bunting, flowers, and colorful banquettes of food.
Their families joined them: her father and his guests from Carlisle, the prince’s parents, and his younger brothers and sisters, who all looked so similar, so like Gideon, that she couldn’t remember their names.
There were two separate bands of musicians to play while the guests ate and drank at long tables. There was so much color and motion, and so many bouquets of flowers and greenery that the air felt alive. Cassandra dined beside her groom on a raised dais with the rest of the royal family, where everyone might watch them.
She found it nerve-wracking, but Gideon didn’t seem to mind, so she tried to ignore all the eyes studying her. This court knew Prince Gideon well, had watched him grow from a child, but she was someone new, and her father, alas, didn’t make a very fine example of the Carlisle royal family. He was too
loud and unmannerly, as he always was. Many of the men drank deeply and became jolly as the night went on, but her father drank more, so the servants ran to fill his wine glass every quarter hour.
Gideon encouraged her to eat and drink too, but she couldn’t. Oh, the food was fine and the wine was excellent. No one could say otherwise, but there was so much activity in the bright ballroom, and her new husband sat so close in his magnificent wedding clothes, his perfectly knotted cravat high upon his neck.
He touched her hand often, and she smiled when he did, but her lips wouldn’t quite curve the right way, so all her smiles were wobbly. He merely gave her a sympathetic look and stroked his fingers across hers.
After the guests had eaten their fill, the tables were cleared away, revealing a parquet floor that was swept of dinner scraps and polished with great alacrity. The two musical bands, which had performed on opposite ends of the ballroom, now consolidated into one band, tuning their instruments with a joyful noise.
“What’s happening?” Cassandra asked.
“It’s time for dancing,” her husband said.
Dancing? She’d hoped after the meal, gifts, and good wishes, that they might steal away from this pressing crowd, but it was not to be. In fact, it seemed that more people arrived in grand gowns and jewels, people, perhaps, who could not fit into the chapel to witness the ceremony.
“How long will they dance?” she asked, trying not to sound plaintive.
“Quite a while.” His eyes twinkled with sympathy. “But we needn’t stay the entire time. Once we’ve led the first set of dancing, we can retire.”
“We have to dance?” She gasped. “In front of everyone?”
“It is our wedding.” His smile faded, turned quizzical. “You don’t enjoy dancing?”
“I don’t know how to dance.” The wine made her voice sound higher than usual. “There was no dancing at the convent, and my father doesn’t approve of it.”
“Your father seems in no condition to object,” he said, casting a glance a few chairs down, where her father snored, slumped in his chair. “And I’m your husband now, so his opinions hold no consequence for you anymore.”
A Rakehell's Heart Page 3
