Thomas slid a hand over her mildly disheveled hair. “Why don’t you take off some of your clothes too?”
With a nod, she stood and offered her back so he could undo the buttons on her gown. When they were undone, she turned and pulled it down and over her hips. She stepped out of it, wearing only her stays, stockings, and shift.
“Now your breeches,” she breathed.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Thomas slowly pushed down the fall of his breeches. Delilah watched, entranced, as he lowered the breeches over his hips and to the floor. When he straightened, his manhood jutted out from the patch of hair between his legs.
It was … big. Her married friends had shared with her a bit about what to expect on her wedding night, but seeing the size of him sent a skitter of apprehension through her.
He stepped toward her and she turned and allowed him to undo the laces of her stays, then he pushed the straps of her shift over her shoulders. She shimmied it over her hips, and the loose garment fell away. Fnally, she faced him, naked except for her stockings.
“You’re beautiful, Delilah,” he murmurred, leaning down to press his face against her neck and breathing in the scent of her hair.
“So are you,” she said solemnly.
He scooped her into his arms and laid her on the bed. Then he hovered over her, softly pushing the hair away from her face.
She reached up and plucked pin after pin from her coiffure. She handed him the pins, and he dutifully set them on the bedside table. When she finally leaned up on her wrists and shook out her hair, the dark tresses streamed over her shoulders and breasts and down her back.
“You’re gorgeous. I love you so much,” Thomas said.
“Kiss me,” she breathed. And he did.
She reached her arms around his neck and pulled him down atop her. His warm, muscled body felt so foreign against her softness, so delicious.
His mouth nibbled at hers, played with her, and then his tongue pushed her lips open and the kiss became wild. There was no need for propriety or restraint, for he was hers, and she, his. She lifted a knee and wrapped a leg around his backside, drawing him to her, flesh to flesh, and when he uttered a groan, she felt a surge of feminine power that was wholly foreign, wholly intoxicating.
She spread her legs and clamped her eyes shut.
Thomas went still above her. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes opened. “Eleanor Rothschild told me it will hurt. I was hoping we could get it over with quickly.”
To her surprise, he actually gave a soft chuckle. “I may not have much experience, but I’m quite certain it’s not supposed to be over with quickly, and when it’s done correctly, there shouldn’t be much pain—if any.”
“Is that true?” Delilah asked, searching his eyes.
“I’ve read about it,” he assured her. “I wanted to make certain it was good for you.”
Delilah’s heart wrenched. Thomas had always regretted the fact that he hadn’t been able to finish his schooling. She knew he’d privately tutored himself over the years, read scores of books, talked to his friends at Oxford on their breaks and asked what they were studying so that he might keep up with them. But the fact that he had taken time to read about this intimate subject because he wanted it to be good for her, made tears well in her eyes. She loved him. She loved him completely with her heart, mind, and soul. Her family, her home, was wherever this man was.
“Remember what we did at Vauxhall?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.” Delilah was thankful for the relative darkness in the room because she was certain she was blushing.
“That didn’t hurt, did it?”
“No.” She firmly shook her head. “The exact opposite, actually. It was magnificent.” She sighed with the memory of that particular, exquisite pleasure.
A smile of masculine pride curved Thomas’s mouth. “I don’t intend for this to hurt either. Relax,” he added, a little breathless. “Let me touch you.”
Delilah exhaled and allowed the tension to drain from her arms and legs. She trusted Thomas completely, and if he only wanted to touch her, she would allow it. Especially if it was anything like what he’d done to her body at Vauxhall. More of that was nothing but welcome.
He kissed her lips and trailed his mouth down to her neck, to her collarbone, and then to her breasts. He cupped them in his hands and lavished attention on each one of them, first one, then the other. By the time he was done, all the tension had fled Delilah’s body. She felt like a cat stretching in the sun.
Thomas’s dark head moved lower, and he rained kisses along her belly. The odd one tickled, but she remained dutifully splayed beneath him, resisting the urge to squirm with pleasure, unsure of what a lover should do, but praying none of it ever stopped. When his head moved down even farther, and he positioned his mouth between her legs, he clamped his hands around her wrists, pinioning them to the mattress next to her hips.
In the next moment, she realized why he’d done that, because the second Thomas’s hot, wet tongue slid between the folds of her sex, she tried to move her hands to push him away and found them trapped.
“Let me,” he breathed against her intimate flesh. “I won’t hurt you.”
Both mortified and delighted, she struggled for only a moment before another deep lick made her groan and her thighs fell apart on their own wicked volition. She had no idea which book Thomas had read that had taught him about what he was presently doing to her, but she made a mental note to borrow it later. What a sinful, impossibly improper, and wildly delicious assault. Her thighs tensed, and she drew up her knees while his tongue licked her in deeper and deeper strokes, owning her, making her so wet she thought she’d melt into a pool of need.
Her head moved back and forth fitfully on the sheets. “Thomas,” she called, not entirely certain what she was asking for, but knowing she didn’t want him to stop.
His tongue moved up to gingerly touch the small flashpoint of delight between her thighs, the same nub that had made her cry out while a rush of pure emotion flooded through her at Vauxhall. She caught her breath. Mon Dieu. Thomas was going to do it again, only this time he was going to do it with his tongue.
She whimpered in the back of her throat as the tip of his tongue played with her, his hands still trapping her wrists. He licked the perfect little spot, again and again, circling it, brushing it with the flat part of his tongue and then teasing it with the tip over and over until her thighs clenched. He brushed against her trembling warmth one last time as she tumbled over the edge of sensation that tore a scream from her throat.
Her body was not her own. It shivered and quaked, even after he moved back up and cradled her against his chest. Eventually, though, her breathing steadied. It took her several moments before the haze cleared from her mind, and then it zeroed in on Thomas, on the heat radiating from his hard body, on the way it strained against hers.
“Tell me,” she breathed. “Tell me how to touch you.”
* * *
Delilah pushed him down on his back and leaned over him. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders and skimming her nipples had to be the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He’d dreamed about this moment a thousand times, but the reality of having her in his bed was far better than any of his dreams.
She’d asked him to show her how to touch him. With pleasure. He couldn’t wait another moment. He gently took her hand and moved it down to his cock. Her fingers quickly encircled his hard flesh, and he showed her how to stroke him.
Damn. She was a fast learner. Too fast. Her hand on his flesh was unholy torture. He’d spill his seed in her palm if he let her go on much longer. But he bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to endure the sweet agony for another long minute before he pulled her hand away and settled it safely on his shoulder. Then he flipped her onto her back and moved atop her, pushing her legs apart with his knee. His body was shaking with the need to plunge inside her, but he tempered himself, caught her mouth in a deep, distrac
ting kiss, and when her body arched in fresh need against him, only then did he slowly slide his cock inside her. When he reached her maidenhead, he paused, lifted his head to meet her sleepy eyes, and found no reticence there—only love. With a surge of joy, he pushed all the way inside her, and they were as one.
“Oh,” was all Delilah said.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, wishing he could take away any discomfort she might feel.
“No,” she said, confusion marring her brow. “I don’t think so. It only felt like a little pinch.”
“I won’t move until you say it’s all right,” he breathed against her neck, despite the fact that the need to thrust inside of her was an unholy ache in his loins.
“I want you to,” she whispered.
Those were the only words Thomas needed to hear. He pulled his hips back slowly and plunged into her again. He searched her face for any sign of pain. She nodded to him, and he continued, pulling back his hips and thrusting again and again, going faster each time until he was mindless with the need to spend himself, and Delilah was clinging to him, soft little moans sounding in the back of her throat, driving him mad.
“It feels so … good,” she whispered, her eyes tightly closed, her head thrown back. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, and Thomas thought he would die of pleasure. Bracing his hands against the mattress on either side of her head, he thrust into her again, again, and one last time before she cried out his name, and his own release jolted through him.
* * *
In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Thomas held Delilah in his arms, his hands filtering through her long, dark hair. He couldn’t stop touching her, didn’t want to, at any rate.
“If you’ve never done that before, how in heaven’s name did you know how to do it like that?” she asked in awe.
Thomas chuckled. “In addition to my reading, I have many male friends whose lips are loosened when they’re deep in their cups. I stayed sober and took notes.”
“Not really?” she asked, her mouth open in shock.
“Not literally,” he allowed, smiling. “But mentally, for certain.” He winked at her.
Delilah giggled. “I’m only sorry it took me so long to realize I love you,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt the day you announced your intention to marry Branville.”
She smiled against his shoulder. “That wouldn’t have worked. I was certain and determined, and you know you cannot talk me out of anything once my mind is made up. Unfortunately, I have to learn everything the difficult way … for myself.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Which is precisely why I didn’t tell you, and why I set about trying to convince you instead, by playing along with your ridiculous elixir scheme. But I’m not entirely blameless either.”
She traced the edge of his ear with a fingertip. “What do you mean?”
“I thought about what you said, about my need to rescue everyone. You’re right. Part of me wanted to make everything right. I wanted you desperately, but only if you came to me out of love, not out of need.”
She nodded against his chest. “Precisely as Madame Rosa said.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Perhaps it wasn’t a complete mistake to purchase that elixir. She helped me realize that I couldn’t have you unless I came to you from my own free will.”
He gazed back at her, his eyes filled with love. “I’m only thankful we didn’t make a complete mess of things before they were irretrievably broken. I love you, Delilah. I never want to lose you again.”
Looking at him now—so earnest, so handsome, so completely mussed and undone from their lovemaking—she thought her heart might burst. She swallowed the lump in her throat and joked, “In fifty years, you’ll be begging to get away from me.”
“Fifty years is quite a long time,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Yes, well.” She gave the curve of his shoulder a playful nip. “I suppose we should begin the next fifty years by planning our wedding. Cousin Daphne will be beside herself with glee. And Aunt Willie and Aunt Lenore will too. I’m certain of it.”
“You shall have a wedding fit for a duchess, my darling,” he said, and rolled atop her again, kissing her deeply.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
London, April 1828
The wedding of Lady Delilah Montebank to Lord Thomas, Duke of Huntley, was the grandest affair London had seen in an age. It was held at St. Paul’s and attended by no less than five hundred members of the Quality, and some common folk as well, including Madame Rosa, Amandine, and Will, the valet.
The bride had insisted upon delaying the wedding till spring in order to wear a pink wedding gown. The dress was made of light pink satin with pink bows and pink slippers. She even had pink flowers twined in her hair. Her mother would never have approved of the amount of pink Delilah chose to have at her wedding, which made it all the more delightful that she had it. But Lucy and Daphne and Aunt Willie and Aunt Lenore had all ensured that she had as much pink as she desired. And Delilah felt like nothing so much as a fairy princess.
Delilah’s mother and new stepfather, Lord Hilton, attended the ceremony, but they sat conspicuously in the back of the church. Clarence was not with them. No doubt he was otherwise engaged in his room. Lady Vanessa and Lord Hilton were not invited to the wedding breakfast or the festivities later that night at Huntley Park.
The reception at Huntley Park was another grand affair. Pink roses covered nearly every inch of the manor house, including the ballroom, where a grand ball was held that evening to celebrate the marriage.
All of their friends were there. They gathered round the newly married couple to wish them well.
“Just think,” Thomas said to Jane Upton. “If it weren’t for you adding that kiss to the script last summer, we might not be here today.”
Jane frowned. “I didn’t add that kiss. I thought you all did that on your own.”
Lucy winked at them just before she raised her glass for a toast. “Another match well made, and I might as well finally admit that this was a match I had been planning for quite some time.”
Derek nearly spit his drink. “Pardon, my love?”
“Delilah and Thomas,” she continued. “I’d hoped for years they would fall in love. Only I couldn’t let on. Delilah can be quite stubborn when she wants to be. I had to ensure it seemed like it was her idea.”
Delilah smiled and tipped her glass of champagne to her lips. She and Lucy had already had this discussion, and she’d properly thanked the duchess for the role she’d played in helping her find true love.
“Are you quite serious?” Derek replied to his wife. “You think you planned this?”
Lucy blinked and pressed a hand to her chest. “Didn’t I?”
“On the contrary, we planned it all along.” He rolled his finger in a circle, indicating the group of his male friends who stood nearby.
“Who?” Lucy blinked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“The gentlemen.” Derek inclined his head, gave his wife a smug smile, and took a drink from his champagne flute.
Lucy, Cass, and Jane glanced around at the men, who all wore the same self-satisfied grins. They clinked their champagne glasses together as if in salute to one another.
“Unbelievable,” Jane Upton breathed.
“Yes, well, you should believe it,” Garrett Upton replied. “It’s true.”
“It is true,” Julian Swift added.
Delilah laughed. “They did give me a much-needed talk, and they conspired with Thomas to ensure the elixir was administered to the right man. Meanwhile, I think my matchmaking days are behind me now.”
Lucy gasped. “What? Delilah, why would you say such a thing?”
Delilah laughed again. “I’m a matchmaker who was completely oblivious to my own match. I daresay that is a reason enough to retire.”
Lucy shook her head. “Nonsense. It’s like a maid who has a messy room. It’s often difficult to see you
r own circumstances correctly.”
“Yes, well, there is one more match I’m intent upon making before I completely abandon the profession altogether,” Delilah said.
“Ooh, who?” Cass asked, leaning forward to better hear.
“Amandine and Will seem to have an affinity for one another.”
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Cass said with a sigh.
“It is, isn’t it?” Delilah replied, a dreamy look on her face.
“Yes, and it’s a helpful alliance as well,” Thomas added. “Amandine has already taught Will how to properly tie a cravat.”
Alex and Owen Monroe, along with Christian Forester, Viscount Berkeley, and his wife, Sarah, joined the group.
“Delilah,” Alex said. “I’m so happy you’re finally my sister. And the wedding was gorgeous. I daresay the Duke of Branville’s wedding to Lady Rebecca Abernathy last autumn wasn’t half as grand.”
Delilah smiled. “Yes, well, Rebecca told me she didn’t want a large wedding. But it was lovely just the same.”
“Lavinia’s wedding last Christmastide was certainly grand,” Thomas said.
“Yes, and we even managed to plan it quickly,” Delilah replied to her new husband. “I hadn’t forgotten how you told me she threatened to make your married life miserable.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Never with you, darling. She adores you. You helped her find Lord Stanley, after all.”
Sarah asked. “I admit I was surprised when the engagement was announced. I thought Lavinia wanted Lord Berwick.”
“She did want Lord Berwick, until after the play,” Thomas replied. “Lord Stanley began coming round day after day, and if there’s one thing Lavinia cannot resist, it’s someone who thinks she is as wonderful as she finds herself.”
“Yes, well, I’m just happy she’s married,” Alex said. “Now Devon and baby Elizabeth may have cousins from both of you.”
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