Arranged Marriage, Bedroom Secrets

by Yvonne Lindsay

  She took a final glance in the mirror to ensure she was quite ready—and a stranger looked back at her. If anything, looking at this altered version of herself gave her a sense of strength. She could be whatever she needed to be, whomever she needed to be—and do what needed to be done. A wave of desire rolled slowly through her as she contemplated the night ahead. Would they make love tonight? Would it all begin here and now? Her eyes glittered and her cheeks flushed in anticipation.

  She was ready for him—oh, so very ready.

  Eight

  Mila tried to steel herself for what lay ahead as she descended the stairs. As she reminded herself, nothing ventured nothing gained. But how much did she stand to lose if this went wrong? Her fingers tightened on the shiny wooden balustrade. In a word, everything. Which is exactly why she had to make it work, she told herself as she reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the great hall.

  Thierry stood by the fire, apparently mesmerized by the dance of flames across the massive log of wood set deep in the wide stone fireplace. She took a minute to simply take in the sight of him. Tall and upright, dressed casually still in his jeans and sweater, and yet still with that incredible air of regal command sitting so comfortably on his broad shoulders. Again she felt a pull of attraction and wondered how she would initiate their first encounter. And, what he expected of it. If, as rumor had it, he was as chaste as she, it should be a breathtaking experience for them both.

  Mila focused on her surroundings. Rich, jewel-bright, hand-knotted carpets scattered across the flagstone floor, lending warmth to the hall. Comfortable furniture stood in groupings, creating nooks for conversation or privacy or simply somewhere to curl up and read a book. And then there was the massive fireplace that dominated the room. In front of it sat a long, low coffee table while comfortably worn leather couches stood in a horseshoe shape around the table, facing the fire. It looked inviting—even more so because of the man standing there with his back to her.

  She drew in a breath and stepped forward. Thierry turned as her sandals made a sound on a bare patch of flagstone floor.

  “You found your way back here all right,” he said with a smile. “Good. Are you hungry?”

  Her stomach growled in response to his question, the sound echoing in the large room and making them both laugh. “I think you can take that as a yes,” she said.

  A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks. She was ravenous. She’d been far too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, or lunch. Now, she was almost light-headed with hunger. Or perhaps it was more her reaction to the nearness of her future husband that made her feel this way—as if every nerve in her body was hypersensitive and attuned to his every movement and every expression.

  “I have a platter of antipasto here,” Thierry said, gesturing to the coffee table. He pulled several cushions down off the leather couches and piled them on the floor by the table. “Will this do to get started?”

  “It looks delicious,” Mila answered and slipped off her sandals before lowering herself to the cushions as gracefully as she could. “This feels like a picnic of sorts.”

  “You’d prefer to sit on the sofa?” he asked, settling down beside her.

  “Oh, no! I like this. It’s very relaxed.”

  “Good,” Thierry replied with a firm nod. “I want you to feel relaxed.”

  Mila looked at him and raised a brow in surprise. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you feel that way?”

  For a second Thierry looked startled and then he let loose a laugh that came from deep inside. When he settled again he gave her a piercing look. “Humor. I like that in a woman.”

  Mila held her tongue. She had no idea what to say in response to that. As it turned out, speech wasn’t necessary. Thierry handed her a small white plate and indicated to her to help herself to the platter.

  “Please, eat,” he instructed.

  “What do you like best?” she asked, her hand hesitating over the selection of cold meats, cheese and vegetables.

  “This isn’t about me,” he said, a quizzical expression on his face.

  “Isn’t it?” she replied, looking him square in the eye. “I beg to differ. Our lessons may as well begin with this. Have you ever been fed by someone before?”

  “Not since infancy,” he countered.

  “There’s a great deal of intimacy in the act of feeding another person, don’t you think? And it speaks volumes as to the give and take required in a relationship—the learning and the understanding of what pleases your partner.”

  She selected some slivers of artichoke heart and finely sliced salami. Wrapping the salami around the artichoke, she held it to him, silently inviting him to taste. He hesitated, then leaned forward, his lips parting. Mila’s heart hammered in her chest so hard she wondered if he could hear it, and when his mouth closed around the morsel she offered—his lips brushing against the tips of her fingers—she forgot to breathe.

  The sensation was electric and sent a buzz of excitement through her, making her tremble ever so slightly. He noticed and caught her with one hand, his fingers curling around her slender wrist with a gentle touch.

  “I see what you mean,” he said, looking at her from below hooded eyes. “It appears to affect you also. Are you okay? You don’t need to be nervous with me. I’m not a king here. I’m simply...Hawk.”

  The man wasn’t simply anything, Mila decided. He was everything, and right now that everything was just a little too much. She tugged free of his hold and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  Seeking distraction from her racing pulse and erratic breathing, she scooped up a little hummus on a slice of roasted red pepper and offered it to him. He smiled in response, just a sweet curve of his lips, before opening his mouth to take the morsel. He nodded and made a sound of approval at the combination of flavors before reaching for some food, which he then offered to her. Mila found it disconcerting to be on the receiving end of his attentions, but as the piquant flavor of the tomato relish on the sliver of garlic bread he’d chosen for her burst on her tongue she gave herself over to the delight of flavor and texture even as she tried to distance herself mentally from the man in front of her.

  Tried, and failed.

  “What would you like to drink?” Thierry asked. “Do you prefer red wine, or white? Or, perhaps, you’d prefer champagne to celebrate our coming together?”

  There was something in the way he’d said those last two words that made Mila’s inner muscles squeeze hard on a piercing hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with him.

  “Champagne, I think,” she said.

  He rose to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  Why did he not summon a staff member to pour for them, she wondered. Her question must have registered on her face because Thierry hesitated a moment.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, not at all. I was just wondering, where is your staff? They seem to be absent tonight?”

  “They are absent altogether.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have dismissed my staff for the duration of your stay. I’m sure you understand. I had no desire for an audience, or for distractions, during our time together.”

  They were completely alone? The idea both thrilled and terrified her.

  “I believe I can make my own bed,” she said with a small laugh, then realized that she’d brought their conversation immediately to her sleeping arrangements.

  “I’m sure you are as resourceful as you are beautiful. Now, I’ll get that champagne.”

  He was gone in an instant and Mila leaned back against the sofa behind her wondering what to make of it all. Of course he wouldn’t want witnesses to their liaison, why hadn’t she considered that before? Not so much for her protection as for his, she understood, but in its ow
n way it worked out even better for her. There was less chance that someone might recognize her—not that she expected anyone to. She’d been overseas for such a long time and during her childhood she had all but melted into obscurity as the awkward, unattractive younger sister of the Erminian king. Looking back she barely recognized herself sometimes. And yet, deep inside, there still remained the girl who simply wanted to please and to know she was loved. Would Thierry fall in love with her?

  She could tell he was definitely attracted to her. The warmth in his gaze when it drifted over her body was clearly the interest of a man toward a woman. The knowledge gave her a sense of power and she wondered again when they would begin to put her research to practice. He did not seem to be in any hurry to take her to bed. And as for her, she knew she wanted him, but she wanted all of him, not just physically. How would she be able to ensure that?

  “You look deep in thought,” Thierry said, returning to the hall with an ice bucket in one hand and two crystal champagne flutes in the other.

  “I was,” she admitted, shifting a little on the bed of cushions. “To be honest, I was wondering what it is you expect of me. After all, I am here to please you, am I not?”

  Thierry halted halfway through removing the foil from the bottle of one of France’s finest vineyards.

  “You are, and I believe your brief was made clear to you in our correspondence.”

  Damn, Mila thought. Of course there would have been correspondence between Thierry and the courtesan. Why had she not thought this through further? She pulled her scattered thoughts in order and smiled back at him before speaking.

  “I would like to hear, in your own words, exactly what you expect of me.”

  “You are to instruct me in the art of seduction. It is important to me that my future wife be well satisfied in the bedroom,” he said, pouring the champagne adeptly.

  Mila felt her eyes open as wide as saucers. That wasn’t what she had been expecting. He was doing this for her?

  “That is very noble of you, Hawk,” she said, accepting one of the flutes and holding it up in a toast. “Perhaps we should make a pledge, to each strive to do our best to ensure you have a very long and a very happy marriage.”

  Thierry lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To my long and happy marriage,” he repeated.

  The bubbles fizzed over the surface of her tongue in much the same way that anticipation now sparkled through her veins. A new thought occurred to her, and she voiced it without filtering the words in her head.

  “And what about when you’re out of the bedroom? Do you plan to keep your wife satisfied in all things?”

  Thierry took a long drink of his champagne before nodding. “If I can. I want you to know that the success of my marriage is paramount in my mind. I do not want to be the object of pity or gossips or to repeat any of the mistakes of the past that my parents and theirs before them perpetuated.”

  His words came through loud and clear. There was no mistaking the emotion or the intent behind them. It was something Mila had not expected. It seemed that they both wished for the same in their marriage.

  “I understand.”

  He turned to her. “Do you? I wonder. I imagine for a woman such as yourself that it is hard to understand that a man should want a happy marriage.”

  “Not so impossible,” Mila countered. “I would like to believe that deep down it is every man’s desire—and every woman’s also. It’s my greatest wish to have a happy and fulfilling union with my husband one day.”

  Thierry did not reply, simply looked toward the fire, and Mila watched as the reflection of the flames etched sharper lines on his face. She leaned forward and placed a hand on his forearm.

  “You speak of giving your wife satisfaction. Tell me, Hawk, exactly what you mean. Right here, right now, what you expect of me to achieve this?”

  “I want you to tell me what will make my wife happy. I want to know how to understand everything about her—her moods, her needs, her desires. All of it.”

  “Don’t you think you would have been better served to have talked to her about those things?”

  He shook his head. “It has been impossible. She has lived overseas for the past seven years and she was such a frightened rabbit the first time I met her I doubt she would have welcomed any overtures from me in the interim. I am afraid that she will consider our marriage to be a duty, and nothing more.”

  “But the two of you are marrying for duty, are you not?”

  It felt weird to be talking about herself to him like this, as if she were another person.

  “Yes, we are. But our marriage need not be entirely based on duty.”

  “So, you want to take your relationship with her slowly?”

  He barked a cynical laugh. “That will be impossible when we are to be married at the end of the month.”

  “And you cannot court her once you are her husband?”

  He shook his head. “There will be...expectations put upon us from the start. It will be difficult to court her with the eyes of every man, woman and child in both Sylvain and Erminia upon us.”

  She understood, perfectly. Since she’d been home she had struggled with the knowledge that there were eyes upon her all the time. It had made it difficult to disappear on this quest but, thankfully, not impossible. With her brother away on official business she’d only had to inform his immediate staff that she would be taking some time to herself and retiring for some privacy before the pomp and ceremony of her wedding.

  Thankfully, no one had questioned it and with the vow of deference to her will that her staff had taken, they basically had no choice but to accede to her commands and go through the motions of transporting her to the royal family’s summer lake house. It still sat uncomfortably on her shoulders that she’d had to go to such lengths, but being here with Thierry like this, she knew she’d done the right thing. When else would she have had the opportunity to get to know him like this?

  “So, as you see, I need to fast-track our courtship,” Thierry commented, selecting another morsel from the platter and offering it to her. “Let’s begin with foreplay, hmm?”

  Mila shook her head. As hungry as she’d been before, she could barely think about eating now. Her mind was in overdrive. She’d totally underestimated Thierry—taking on face value alone the idea behind him requesting the services of a courtesan. Not for a moment had she considered that he had done so for her benefit. There still remained the ugly stain of jealousy, though, that he had not planned to come to his marriage as virginal as she, that he had chosen to learn seduction from a stranger rather than seeking to learn together with her, as husband and wife. Getting to understand him, even in the tiny slice of time they’d had together today, she knew she wanted to be the only one to give him pleasure. To show him the kind of physical love that melded hearts together forever.

  “I think it is safe to say that a woman wants to be made to feel special all the time. Not just when you’re going to bed.”

  Thierry cocked his head at her and feigned a look of complete shock. “Really?” he said, as if she’d just disclosed a secret of monumental importance.

  Mila reached over and gave him a playful shove. “Yes, really. Are you prepared to listen to me, or not?”

  “Of course I am prepared to listen to you,” he said, stretching lazily in front of the fire.

  Mila couldn’t help but watch him. Not for the first time she was reminded of a jungle cat. Long and lithe and powerful. Seductive by virtue of its leashed power and strength alone, but when combined with its beauty a woman could become totally and irrevocably lost. And she was. Lost in him. She ached to tell him the truth about who she was but she couldn’t. Not yet, not until she felt certain that he cared for her the way she did for him.

  Cared? The word was an insipid descriptor for the way her emotio
ns churned in a constant roil of awareness in his presence.

  She snapped her attention back to their discussion.

  “It is not enough to simply smile lasciviously at your wife at bed time and tell her how sexy she looks.”

  “That is something I should not do?”

  “No, you misunderstand me. Or, perhaps, I misrepresent what I’m trying to say.” She sighed and tried to get her thoughts in order. Not an easy task when he lay on display in front of her, looking sinfully appealing. Mila cleared her throat and directed her gaze beyond him, to the flames that flickered and danced over the log in the grate. “What I mean is that you can find opportunities to seduce your wife every single day. From first waking until you go to sleep at night. You need to season her day with expressions of love, with touches that show her you’re thinking of her.”

  “I’m to grope her at every occasion?” Thierry smiled with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

  “Even you should know that’s not appropriate. Sure, a gentle brush of her buttocks or her breast from time to time occurs in a natural day, but it’s the other touches. The smoothing of a strand of hair, the tangle of fingers as you walk together. Intimacy grows in the little things. Something as simple as making eye contact when you both witness something that you each know the other will find amusing. Or something more concrete, like the note you leave on her pillow or the text you send when you’re apart to say you’re thinking of her, or the picture you take and message to her because you know she would appreciate it. It is all the things like that which show you care.”

  “Involving her in my day-to-day moments, you mean. And when she physically shares those with me, I should show her I’m glad she is with me. That sort of thing?”

  Mila smiled in approval. “Yes, exactly that sort of thing. Seduction—particularly when your goal is to win over her heart as well as her body—is a constant thing, not just a something to use when you want to get into a woman’s pants.”