by Brenda Hiatt
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CHAPTER 17
Tessa felt a thrill go through her at his words, and at the touch of his hand at her waist—intimate, even though they were still surrounded by people.
"Let's go upstairs," he suggested in her ear as they reentered Ivy Lodge.
"Now?" she whispered back, glancing around at Lady Killerby, the remaining members of the Odd Sock Club, and the servants cleaning up after the departed guests. Though she was nervous, she was not unwilling —quite the contrary, in fact.
"They won't mind," he promised her. Then, to Lady Killerby, "I'm going to show my wife to our chamber so that she can rest a bit before dinner."
My wife. He actually sounded proud when he said those words! Tessa felt a delicious warmth spread through her midsection.
Lady Killerby nodded, commenting tactfully that Tessa was bound to be tired after such a hectic day. There was a twinkle in her eye, however, that made Tessa blush. She knew— they all must know— what they were really going upstairs to do.
Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, Anthony led her from the room and up the stairs. "See?" he murmured. "No censure whatsoever."
"Not censure, but . . . they'll be expecting you to come back down, will they not?"
He chuckled. "I rather doubt it."
She knew she was turning even pinker, but said nothing.
A moment later, he opened the door to his chamber and stepped back to let her enter first. She looked around with interest at the masculine but cozy room with its hangings of green and gold at bed and windows and a comfortable-looking chaise by the fire, upholstered in a cheerful floral print in the same colors.
He was watching her face for her reaction, and looked relieved when she smiled.
"What a pleasant room," she said, and his smile broadened. "It's just how I'd have imagined your chamber to be— except for that chaise. I presume it was added for me?"
He nodded. "I did a bit of refurbishing over the past week with you in mind, so I'm glad you approve. Lady Killerby feared my tastes were rather too somber for a lady."
"Somber? Not at all. I find it soothing —even cheerful. Like you." To cover her sudden embarrassment, she glanced at the large hunting scene hanging opposite the window.
"Does that picture bother you?" he asked. "It used to hang in my bedchamber in the London house I shared with two of my brothers, and has only lately been removed here. I'll have it taken down if you prefer."
Tessa understood his concern, for though it was not bloody, the painting was rather energetic for a bedroom, with the hounds and horsemen in full pursuit of a fleeing fox. She could understand why he'd have liked having it in London, when he had to be away from his favorite pursuit.
"Not at all," she said warmly, "for it captures this part of the world beautifully. If . . . if we should ever have to live any length of time elsewhere, I'd rather like to bring it along."
He grinned with apparent delight, then kicked the door shut and swept her into his arms. "I think I must be the luckiest man on earth," he told her. "You are unique, Tessa."
She gazed up at him, heart pounding, her lips only a few inches from his own. "Is that a good thing, my lord?"
"It is indeed, my lady," he replied, and closed the small gap between them, his lips warm and firm upon hers. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her against him from chest to knee. She reveled in the feel of his body so close to hers, wanting to be closer yet.
For a long moment he deepened his kiss, then drew back, but only far enough to trail his lips along her cheek to her earlobe, then down her throat. Her hair had been pinned up for the wedding, which gave him easy access to the row of tiny pearl buttons down her back.
Nuzzling the hollow of her throat, he released them, one by one, working his way from the nape of her neck to her waist. When his fingers touched the bare skin above her shift and corset, she tilted her head back and sucked in a quick breath at the contact, which sent a frisson of excitement through her body. He glanced up at her and smiled, but his hands did not pause in their work.
Her buttons undone, he slowly, gently slid his hands up her back to her shoulders and tugged the dress toward him. Bringing his lips back to hers, he pulled the gown open and down until it finally lay in a shimmering pool of ivory satin and velvet at her feet. Then, still with deliberate care, he went to work on the lacing of her corset.
As he undid the corset, it occurred to her that he was amazingly adept at undoing buttons and lacings that he could not see. It spoke of much practice. The thought cost her a pang, but then his lips were against her flesh again and all she could think of was the present.
Soon her corset lay on the floor atop her dress, leaving her clad only in her shift. She swallowed, tentatively placing one hand on his broad chest, rising and falling beneath his blue superfine coat and snowy linen shirt, wondering what was to come next.
"You're welcome to help me out of my things as well, you know," he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive spot below her ear. "I won't mind."
She swallowed again, then, with a shy glance up at him, began to undo his intricate cravat with trembling fingers while he ran his hands up and down her bare arms, warming them —and stoking the growing fire within her. It took her a few minutes for, unlike him, she had no experience with such things.
When she finally managed to undo the intricately tied cravat, she unfastened the three buttons of his shirt, then paused, feeling rather foolish. "I, ah, I think I'll need your help here." Her voice quivered between nervousness and laughter.
With a grin, he pulled his shirttails from his breeches and in one fluid motion swept the shirt over his head and off, adding it to the growing pile on the floor. Her eyes widened slightly and she put out a tentative hand to touch the crip, curling hairs on his chest. She'd been right —he was a thoroughly magnificent creature.
At her touch, she heard him catch his breath, then he again pulled her against him, her breasts now separated from his bare chest only by the thin cotton of her shift. She could feel his arousal straining against his breeches.
He kissed her with growing urgency, then began untying the ribbons at the neckline of her shift, his lips still moving over hers. After only the slightest hesitation, she slid her hands down his warm, naked sides, then around to his front to fumble clumsily at the fastening of his breeches. A low moan escaped him.
"I—I understand, I think," she whispered against his lips. "It's like the excitement of the hunt —the breathless waiting for the fox to be sighted, then—" She finally undid his breeches and his rampant manhood sprang free.
He chuckled. "And then?" he prompted, and then she was laughing, too, though her she felt herself thrumming with desire —and curiosity.
"Every hunt is different, is it not?" she said after a moment. "This is like none I've ever experienced, so I don't know what comes next."
"I'll show you," he said, suddenly serious. He led her to the bed, and she noticed with another prickle of embarrassment that someone had already obligingly turned down the counterpane.
Seating her on the edge of the bed, he knelt down to remove her slippers and stockings. It was a humbling yet heady experience, having him on his knees before her like a servant. Rolling down the first stocking, he paused to kiss her knee and smiled when she drew in her breath at the sensation.
"That's nothing compared to what is to come, my sweet," he said, removing the other stocking, then sitting beside her to divest himself of his own shoes and stockings. His eagerness showed in his haste, for he accidentally knotted one of his shoe laces while trying to untie it.
"First check," he said with a grin as he undid the knot. "There, now." He kicked off the offending shoe and ripped off the stocking. "We're on the scent again— wouldn't you say?" he asked with a wink.
Mutely, she nodded. She could hear her heart pounding.
Standing again, he stripped his breeches the rest of the way off, then tugged her to her feet so that he could pull her loosened shi
ft off over her head. Suddenly they were both completely naked.
It was all Tessa could do not to stare. She had never quite realized that a man's body would be so different, so exciting, so . . . large. She had seen horses mating, of course, and sheep, but somehow she'd imagined that a human bonding would be more spiritual, less earthy. Now, however, she felt like a mare in heat, as desperate for her stallion, and as lost to reason.
"Come to me, Tessa."
Her last shred of hesitation disappeared and she went willingly into his arms, hungry for the feel of his skin against hers, his lips, his . . . everything.
For a long, breathless moment he kissed her, deeply and passionately, a kiss that was a promise of unguessed delights to come. Then, so gently that she wasn't sure whether he moved her or she him, he drew her back down onto the bed. "I want this to be perfect for you," he whispered.
How could it not be, she wondered? Though she didn't know exactly what to expect, she had no doubt that what she was about to share with Anthony would be both profound and exciting.
He pulled her down beside him until they lay side by side, then he pushed himself up on his forearms to gaze down at her. Suddenly embarrassed, she made a move as if to cover herself, but he shook his head.
"No, don't. I want to look at you, Tessa. You are so beautiful. Even more beautiful than I'd imagined —and I've done rather a lot of imagining these past weeks."
She smiled shyly up at him. "You, too?"
Especially since knowing they were to wed, her thoughts, her dreams, had been filled with Anthony: what he might say, what he might do, what this particular moment might be like. All had fallen far short of the reality —so far.
A tiny thread of uncertainty threatened her enjoyment, but he seemed to sense it, for he lowered himself onto her until he was kissing her again, this time with his body pressing against hers along their whole lengths. Then, rolling onto his side, he carressed her, beginning with her shoulder, her collarbone, then gradually working his way lower.
Tessa felt as though her whole body was licked with flames as heat washed over her, spreading outward from his touch. He splayed his hand against her chest, then slid it around to cup one breast. "So beautiful," he whispered again.
She could have said the same, for the strong planes of his chest, the defined muscling of his arms, made her think of a painting or sculpture —a work of art. She'd always appreciated the lines of a fine horse, but this was so much more . . . personal. Mine, she thought, with sudden exultation.
His hand was moving again, making circles on her belly, spanning her waist from thumb to smallest finger, sliding lower.
"I think the hounds must be closing on their quarry," she breathed, afraid of what might come next, but even more afraid that he might stop.
"Soon," he murmured, "but there is still much excitement to come." He captured her lips again for a long, sweet moment, and even as he did so, his hand slipped into the tangle of curls at the juncture of her thighs.
She gasped, but he took her gasp into his mouth and deepened the kiss as, with one finger, he found the spot that hungered most for his touch. Gently, so, so, gently, he stroked, and she felt her body tense.
More. She needed more! Arching against him, she tried to intensify the contact, but still he was maddeningly gentle, taking his time while she was ready to rush her fences, to meet whatever was on the other side. She heard a small whimpering noise and realized it was coming from her own throat.
Clutching at his shoulders, she tried to pull him against her, to force him to . . . to what, she wasn't sure. But to do something more. For a moment he resisted her, still stroking, still driving her to the brink of some crisis, then he slowly rolled until he was again atop her.
Still kissing her, he began to move, rubbing his length against hers. She felt his arousal, so near to the place that demanded more and more of his touch, and shifted slightly beneath him, to give him better access.
Gently, still more gently than she wanted, he guided himself to her, massaging her sensitive nubbin with the tip of his manhood. She groaned with delight at this new sensation, the excitement of having him so close, then she opened fully to him, using her legs and arms to draw him into herself.
Releasing her lips, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, "Now, my love, we finally reach the climax of the hunt."
Rhythmically, he moved in and out, each time delving just a little deeper. At the same time, he slipped a hand between them so that he could continue stroking that tiny bit of flesh that was the heart of her desire.
Tessa began to tremble, teetering on the edge of an exquisite precipice. Tumbling over might kill her, but she didn't care, for surely heaven lay on the other side. He moved quicker, deeper, stroked more firmly, then suddenly she fell, gasping, into a chasm of ecstasy beyond anything she'd ever imagined.
The world disappeared and only she and Anthony remained, bonded together as one. Above her, she heard him groan, then he drove himself deep, deep inside her, vaulting her back to the heights as he found his own release.
Slowly, very slowly, the world reassembled itself around them as her senses gradually recovered from the overwhelming experience. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at Anthony in wonder, unwilling to speak, for no words could be worthy of what had just occurred.
Gazing down at her, he smiled —a slow, lazy smile that reflected the languor she felt stealing through her own body, now that the most amazing experience of her life was over. "Poor little fox," he said, caressing her face with his eyes.
She smiled up at him. "Poor? Only because the hunt is over."
"For the moment," he said. "I promise you many more."
Surely no one could experience anything like that more than once in a lifetime? "Is . . . is it always like this?"
Slowly, he shook his head. "I've never experienced anything like this before —but I have no doubt I will again, now that we're together. And so will you. This is only the beginning."
Anthony meant what he said. Though he was by no means inexperienced, what he'd just shared with Tessa was astounding, with no parallel from his past. Was this the difference love made? He thought it must be.
For a moment he wondered whether he should have dissembled his expertise in such things as removing feminine attire. But no, he never wanted to be dishonest with Tessa. He was who he was— past, present and future. And somehow he felt sure that with her, the future would be best of all.
Leaning down, he kissed her again, a sweet, lingering kiss. "Does this mean you forgive me for insisting that we marry?" he asked teasingly, though a part of him tensed for her answer.
"Certainly you've proved that there is much more of good in marriage than I'd ever suspected," she responded with a shy smile.
"I'm glad —but that's not what I asked."
For a long moment she didn't answer, then she said, "I believe I've come to understand why you did what you did. What Harold did was dishonest, while what you did was . . . more honest than I'd have liked. But more and more, I'm learning that honesty is best, whatever I believed in the past."
"I'm glad to hear it. I hope we will never have occasion to lie to each other, Tessa."
"I hope so, too," she said, then she frowned. "That reminds me— Harold said something before he left that I didn't understand. I'm hoping you can explain it to me."
Anthony rolled so that they were side by side, though still facing each other. With one finger, he stroked the side of her face, wondering what young Emery was up to now. "I will if I can," he told her.
She hesitated, biting her lip, then gave a little shrug and met his eyes. "He said you were marrying me for Wheatstone," she began.
He frowned, but before he could deny it, she continued. "I didn't believe that, and still don't. I wouldn't have mentioned it at all, except that we've just said we'll be honest with each other."
"Thank you for telling me, then," he said, cupping her cheek.
"Was there something else he said? You said you
didn't understand."
"Yes. He said something about my birth. That . . . that you had learned the truth of it, whatever it is. My uncle seemed to confirm it, and said my father didn't want me to know. Do you know what they were talking about?"
Anthony tried not to let his sudden fury at the Emerys show in his expression. So that's why they had come to Ivy Lodge today —to try to poison this marriage at its very inception! He should have had them thrown out the moment they arrived.
But no, that would only have postponed the inevitable.
"Anthony?" She looked worried now. He had hesitated too long. "There is something, isn't there?"
"It's nothing so ominous as your cousin doubtless made it sound," he said quickly, determined to wipe the worry from her brow. "You knew, did you not, that your parents eloped?"
She nodded. "Father mentioned it once. I, of course, wanted all of the details, for it sounded terribly romantic," she said with a smile, "but he would say nothing more about it, seeming to feel it was not a fit subject for my ears." Her smile dimmed. "Were they . . . not actually married before I was born?"
There was no denying his Tessa was quick on the uptake. "Not until just after," he told her gently. "No one here knows that, however, as the wedding took place in Ireland."
"No one except my uncle and cousin," she said hollowly, feeling as though the bottom had just dropped out of her world. She was illegitimate and her father had hidden it from her all of these years— hidden it from everyone.
"Yes, that was the hold they had over your father. Emery convinced him that if the truth were known, even after so many years, it would create a scandal —a far greater scandal than most would be likely to consider it."
"Most?" she asked doubtfully, thinking of his family. Surely, this news could not have been welcome to Anthony, however much he chose to downplay it now.
"Oh, there will always be those willing to blow any little thing out of proportion for gossip," he said lightly. "But there's no reason anyone else should ever know of this."
