“I love you,” he said in return. “That was what I wanted to say when you held me at sword point. I’ve come to understand that I love you, because you are complicated and moody, and lovely, and more trouble than an armful of kittens.”
“Oh.” She still clung to his chest. “You love me because I’m difficult?”
“That doesn’t mean you must continue to be difficult. I’d rather you didn’t, for you’ve already earned a spanking for pointing that sword at me, and I seem to remember I still owe you one from before.”
She frowned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say just after you tell someone you love them.”
“Ah, but I spank you because I love you. I’ve figured that out also. Still, let’s save that for another time. Ophelia,” he said, deciding to just be honest with her. “I want to kiss you again. I want to come inside you and pleasure you as I did at the inn.” He felt her tremble again and hurried on. “There’s nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you. You mustn’t be afraid.”
“I know, but... The thing is...” She gave a little sigh. “I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how to begin, or how to go on, or how to…reach that point we reached before.”
“My love, if you come to bed with me, I’ll show you.”
“Right now? Before dinner?”
He eyed her lips, and the tempting expanse of her décolletage. “I don’t think I can wait until after. After all this time, I don’t want to wait any longer.”
She seemed to understand that, cupping his cheek to drop a shy kiss on his lips. “I’ve said I would be brave.”
Now he was the one who fought a shudder, not of fear, but desire for his wife. “It doesn’t take bravery,” he said, lifting her into his arms. “Only willingness and enthusiasm, and a bit of stubborn spirit, which you possess in spades.”
* * * * *
She’d dreaded going to bed with him since they’d married, because of fear and an unwillingness to be vulnerable to him.
Now he was taking her to her own room, where they would have marital relations, and she held his hand and went voluntarily, even though her heart pounded hard in her chest. She’d wielded his shining swords and found joy in singing again, so she could do this too.
Probably.
When they entered her bedroom, he shut and latched the door so Rochelle wouldn’t intrude, then drew her close. “Let me kiss you again,” he said.
She liked his kisses more than she’d expected to when he first embraced her in the armory. Her lips didn’t know what to do, but his worked very well, and seemed to show her just what would feel exciting. Wasn’t that what she’d wished for? Excitement? She’d thought she must travel and have wild adventures to find it, but it was right here, if she was brave enough to accept it.
As he kissed her, he ran his fingers over her hair, and sometimes pressed them beneath her ears, or upon her nape. “I like that,” she whispered. It made her feel centered and safe, and desired. His kisses were hot but not messy, demanding but not overbearing. He smelled clean and male, and she sought his cravat, to touch and loosen it. His fingers trailed down to the back of her dress, flicking open the buttons.
She knew this first step, anyway. Both of them needed to undress. As he moved her bodice down over her shoulders, massaging her at every step, she worked clumsily at his buttons, but there were so many. She made a small, complaining noise of defeat as he kissed her shoulders and the curve of her neck. He loosened her stays and petticoat, and somewhere in the process of removing those, his coat was coming off, his waistcoat, his cravat, all undone by his deft hands and tossed across a chair.
“They will wrinkle,” she said in a soft voice, as if her own expensive gown wasn’t in a heap upon the floor.
“We’ll not worry about wrinkles right now.” He reached beneath her chemise to tug at her garter strings, pausing to grasp her trembling thighs. “Why must we have so many clothes?”
With a muttered oath, he undid his trousers and shirt, shrugged it all off and let it lie on the floor so he might face her in his proud, muscular nakedness. Do not be afraid, she told herself. This is how men are made, and he looks very fine for all that. His cock was hard and pointing toward her, as if in challenge, but she would not let it shake her. She untied her chemise and let it fall open to her waist. Drawing in a breath, she let it drop to her feet, so she stood in her stockings.
“By God, you’re beautifully made.” His praise helped her keep her hands at her waist, rather than using them to hide her body. Still, she rather wanted to hide.
“Shall we go to bed?” she said.
His expression deepened into a broad smile. “It feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity for you to ask that.”
She crawled onto the bed, not gracefully, she feared. He came behind her and guided her back onto the sheets. His eyes were so intent, so green and bright even as daylight faded.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, taking off her stockings and setting the garters aside. “You must trust me.”
“I’ll try.” She reached for him even as she turned from his gaze, because they were suddenly so close to one another. “Shall we pull up the blankets? I’m cold.”
She meant I’m shy, but he pulled the blankets over them as she wanted.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said again. “Maybe it would be better if you...if you told me what I should do now, before we begin.”
He kissed her, tenderly, with feeling. “We’ve already begun,” he said when he drew away. “And your body will know what to do, even if your mind feels nervous. I promise that won’t last very long.” He pushed his hard shaft against her front, letting her feel his arousal. “But we can go slowly and take our time. We have all the time in the world now.”
“Should we put out the candles?”
“Oh, no. I want to see you.”
She gazed at him, tangled up with emotions. She was anxious, yes, but curious too, and perhaps a little flustered by his size and nearness. When he held her, her feet barely reached his shins. Her toes curled as he kissed her again, forcing her to open her lips to him and respond. She clung to his shoulders and moved against his front, against the hard part of him, because it seemed the right thing to do.
She was rewarded with a pleased—and tormented—groan. “How lovely you are when you trust me,” he said against her cheek, between kisses. “I want to make you feel so good.”
She soon remembered he was very skilled at that. His hands roved over her, bringing her body to life. He massaged her buttocks, which made her think of being spanked, but then he insinuated his fingers between her thighs and massaged another part of her that felt sinfully good and sensitive. To her embarrassment, she gave a wanton, avid twitch of her hips.
“Ah, you’re understanding now,” he said. “What a good, courageous wife you are.”
“I should not...” She stopped speaking long enough to gasp as he brushed a finger over one of her nipples.
“You should not what?”
“I should not be like this, should I?” She tried not to squirm beneath his touch. “So wanton. It’s not proper for a wife, is it?”
“It’s very proper, Ophelia. You are exactly as you should be in your wedding bed, exactly as I hoped you would be. I always wished for you to respond to my touch.”
That was a relief to hear, because she couldn’t help responding. He slid down in the bed to kiss her nipples as he’d kissed her lips, with passionate force that made her throb between her legs. Then, dear God, he went further still and kissed her right upon her quim, licking and teasing until her hips bucked restlessly.
“You mustn’t,” she said, even as she gripped his head and tangled her fingers in his hair. “It’s too much.”
He ignored her half-hearted pleas, caressing and plying her there until the throb in her middle became a pressure she couldn’t bear. “Please,” she said. “I can’t stand much more.”
He left off his sensual torment to kiss her lips again, so she tasted
“You see how I respond to you, Ophelia? I can’t wait to come inside you. Are you ready for me, love?”
Yes, I need you. It was a thought at first, but then she voiced it in a slightly hysterical tone. “Yes, I need you. Please...”
He spread her thighs and positioned himself between them. She remembered this from the night of the fire. She’d been carried away then, not knowing where such play would lead. Now she was ready to receive him. Perhaps it would soothe the ache inside her. She hoped so, for every part of her body was tingling now in anticipation.
He pressed himself a little bit inside, stretching her, but she was slick and ready, and he entered into her for the second time since she’d known him.
Oh, the fit was very tight. She had a moment of panic, then remembered she must relax, that men and women were made to fit together so. Still, her shuddery gasp lasted the entire time he slid inside her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, lowering his head to hold her gaze.
“Yes. It only feels so strange,” she whispered. “So strange when you’re within me.”
“Strange and wonderful. You feel so good, so lovely, that I’m about to explode.”
“I feel that too. That I might explode.”
He didn’t answer her wondering observation. She thought, perhaps, he was working too hard to control himself, as his breath had changed since he entered her. His teeth were gritted as he began to move. She stroked his back to soothe him, feeling luscious and wanton, caressing his tensing muscles as he moved in and out of her.
“It feels very good,” she said a moment later. “Not so strange anymore.” She began to move in concert with him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders as his thrusting hips drove her thighs farther apart.
“You see, you know just what to do.” He encouraged her with a deep, demanding kiss, and she responded as he drove deeper, ever deeper inside her.
“You’re filling me up, stretching me so. Oh, Wescott...”
His name felt marvelous on her lips, just as he felt marvelous inside her. She rubbed her sensitive spot against him, arching, and he stroked her there with the pad of his thumb until she trembled. Her fingers tightened on his skin, and her legs tensed and squeezed against him, and then the pressure reached a peak that went on and on, pulsing inside her, making her hips jerk against his.
“My beautiful wife,” he said. “My beautiful crosspatch.” As she shook all over, he abandoned his iron control and thrust deep, groaning against her ear. “Mine,” he said, or perhaps he said “Dying.” Either one, she’d understand. She felt she’d died a little too, in a very nice way.
He collapsed beside her, taking care not to crush her as he pulled her against him, belly to belly. They were still connected, and her body pulsed around him now and again, making him gasp, and then smile.
“It was better to wait,” he said, running light fingertips along her jaw and beneath her chin, “if this was the result.”
“It was a fine result, wasn’t it?” In the same way she hadn’t known how to proceed at the beginning, she was at a loss for words now. She decided a question would be all right, since he held her in such rapt attention. “Since we are married, how often do we lie together like this?”
He smiled. “As often as we wish. It would please me to be inside you every night.” He pulled away, his member having decreased in size. “My cock will stand at attention again, never fear,” he said at the question in her expression. “You do have a way of arousing my carnal hungers. Speaking of hungers, let’s have dinner in our rooms tonight. I’d like to stay in bed with you a while longer. All night, if you wish.”
She found she did wish it, even if his parents might wonder at their absence. The duke and duchess had been married some time, and happily, hadn’t they? They would probably understand.
He tilted her face up for a kiss. “Are you hungry, Lady Wescott?” he asked when they parted.
“Famished,” she said.
Chapter Fifteen: Not So Afraid
They ate dinner together in her bed, something Wescott had never done with any other woman. He found his wife unlike any other woman, which probably meant he cared for her in more than an abstract way. He loved little things about her, like the way she drew her knees up when she snuggled against him, and the way she licked crumbs from her lips.
“We must ask Cook to make you some Welsh shortbread tomorrow,” she said. “Your sister told me it was your favorite thing to eat. She was also the one who told me about the armory.”
“Of course she was.” He sighed. “I didn’t enjoy finding you in there. I worried for your safety.”
“I’m sorry if I gave you a start.”
“It was more than a start. I had visions of you tripping and impaling yourself, and I wondered how I might explain it to your father.”
She laughed, twirling a roasted carrot. “I’m not as clumsy as that. I trained in theater arts as well as singing. I can even dance a bit.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He took another bite of the cook’s tender filet. “I was glad to finally hear you sing. Your voice is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He could see a bit of color bloom in her cheeks. “Did you really lose your voice after the fire?” he asked.
“Yes, I really did. Well, the first few days it hurt to talk, much less sing.”
“But by the time we married, you could have sung for me.”
Her color deepened. “Perhaps. I didn’t feel ready then.”
They ate in silence a moment, then she spoke again. “I’ve always had a difficult relationship with singing. There were times I wished I didn’t have any talent, because I always suspected...oh, it’s ridiculous to say.”
“Not ridiculous. What did you suspect?”
She sighed. “Sometimes I felt my mother didn’t really love me, that she only loved my talent. My singing was such a great part of her world, and I resented it sometimes because I was the one doing all the work and having to be so proper and well-behaved so I didn’t get a poor reputation from being on the stage.”
“Hmm. That’s sad.”
“To make myself feel better, I used to pretend that singing would lead to other things. To fame and excitement. To adventure. I think that’s part of why I was so bitter about our marriage. I used to entertain such whimsical dreams and fantasies…”
“Did you?” He handed her a napkin as she took a bite of crumbly cake. “What sort of fantasies?”
“I can’t tell you. They’re too silly by half.”
He blocked her hand when she reached for another forkful of cake. “I can’t let you eat anymore until you expand upon these dreams and fantasies you harbored. Otherwise I’ll die of curiosity.”
“I’ll die of mortification if I tell you any of them.”
“Might I remind you, my love, you still have a spanking coming. It’s a very convenient spanking that I’m continually holding over your head.”
Now her blush turned scarlet, but she managed a smile. “Oh, very well. I’ll tell you one silly fantasy I had, one that concerns you.”
“One that concerns me? Capital. I can’t wait.”
He pushed the dinner tray back to her, but she’d stopped eating to bury her face against his chest. “This is so embarrassing, and not at all funny considering all that was going on at the time, but the night you rescued me from the fire, when you looked so rough and common, I fantasized about you kidnapping me.” She managed a peek up at him. “I was afraid of it happening, but excited by the idea too, because it would take me away from my boring, dutiful life. You seemed so handsome and strong.”
He tightened his arm around her. “Kidnapping and ravishment. A bang up fantasy, in my mind.”
“Ravishment? I hadn’t thought about that side of things. I didn’t think much beyond you stealing me away. You see how silly I was? How utterly protected and proper a girl, all the while longing for forbidden things?”
“Well, I’ve never kidnapped anyone,” he said.
“I should hope not.”
“But I might enjoy such a caper, if my victim was you.”
She laughed, then sobered, meeting his gaze. “Did you mean what you said in the armory?” she asked. “Do you really love me?”
“Of course. You’re very lovable, in an irritating way. I did mean it, and I mean it now.”
“I imagine I love you too,” she said, in utter seriousness. He wished he could kiss her right on her thoughtful pout. “When did you start to love me, Wescott?” He could see her mind working. “What I mean to ask is, did you sleep with other women while you were away, before you realized you loved me?”
“No, my little crosspatch. I was a faithful husband. My irritation with you was all tied up in desire. Another woman wouldn’t have satisfied me.”
She looked pleased, even though she chided him. “You mustn’t call me that anymore. Crosspatch. I’ll try to be sweeter.”
He stood to clear the dinner trays from the bed. “I’ll still call you crosspatch sometimes, as you’ll doubtless be one. But you’re lovable too.” He returned to the bed and pulled her into his arms. Since their recent carnal encounter, she’d become much sweeter and more pliable, to the point he had to try hard not to hoist her upon his cock and take her again. Instead, he held her close, resting his chin against her forehead.
“Do you know why you’re lovable?” he asked.
“I can’t imagine.”
“Because you’re kind to my meddling family, as well as the crossest cat in the kitchen. Yes, I know you’ve made a pet of her. The servants talk.”
“Dulcie is only misunderstood,” she murmured.
“Dulcie? So you’ve named the creature? Good for you.” He ran his fingers up and down her arm, enjoying her small shiver. “I also love that you sang that lullaby about the gentle lambs in the fields, when you’re able to sing any number of fancy arias.”
-->
