by Jane Feather
"Now, what makes you think that, Theo?" Lady Fairfax asked, drawing her cloak around her.
Theo frowned. Why had she said that? It had just slipped out, and yet she knew it to be true. Her scalp lifted as an odd sense of apprehension darkened her mind.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked up at her husband, who had come to stand behind her. Her apprehension vanished. There was quiet intent in his gaze, and it was for her alone.
"Do you wish to walk down to the dower house with your mother and sisters?"
"Oh, yes, of course," she said, a moment too late for real enthusiasm, and laughter sprang into his eyes. His bride had other things on her mind.
"Come, then. Your mother and Clarissa are waiting for you and Emily. Sir Charles, Lady Belmont was hoping that you and Lady Fairfax would take tea with her in the dower house."
"We should be delighted," Lady Fairfax said briskly. "The aftermath of weddings and suchlike can leave one most dreadfully blue-deviled."
She went off energetically in search of Elinor, and the others followed. The party walked slowly to the dower house, everyone aware of what the walk meant. Elinor was losing her home, but she was as assuredly leaving her daughter in possession of everything that would have been hers if her husband had lived. And in that, there was a sense of rightness.
At the door to the dower house, she kissed Theo on both cheeks and said matter-of-factly, "I shan't visit you, my dear. When you and Stoneridge are ready for visitors, send Billy with a message. You have Foster and Mrs. Graves and Cook to help you if you need advice as to the household." It had been readily agreed by all parties that Theo, as she took the domestic reins of Stoneridge Manor into her own hands, would need the services of the old retainers more than her mother in the much smaller dower house.
Elinor extended her hand to her son-in-law. "I wish you joy, Stoneridge."
"Thank you, ma'am." He kissed her hand.
Her eyes held his for a moment; then she said softly, "Theo isn't always easy to understand, sir, but she's worth the effort."
The earl's eyes flicked to his bride, who was bidding her sisters farewell. He smiled. "I know it, ma'am."
The girls were whispering, their heads close together; then Theo broke away, and three laughing countenances were revealed. There was an air of mischief about them all that both amused and intrigued Sylvester, and he guessed they'd been having a similar exchange to the one he'd overheard in the corridor the previous day. Then Theo stepped away from her family, moving beside him.
Putting an arm around her shoulders, he turned her back toward the driveway. They were both aware of the eyes following them to the curve in the driveway until they were out of sight of the dower house.
Theo gathered up the gauzy train of her wedding dress, throwing it over one arm, and began to run back to the manor, her veil streaming out behind her.
After a surprised moment Sylvester broke into a run, catching her up easily. "Gypsy!" He seized her around the waist and swung her into his arms. "What's the hurry?"
"I was hoping you were going to demonstrate the answer to that," she said, resting her head against his shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a wonderful parody of a demurely flirtatious miss.
"Oh, I intend to," he declared, and with a swift adjustment tossed her over his shoulder. "It will be a great deal quicker in this fashion, I believe."
Ignoring her vociferous protests at this undignified method of transport, he strode up the steps and into the house.
Theo reared up against his shoulder as they entered the hall. The house felt very strange. "Where is everyone?"
"Out," he said. "Celebrating our wedding. Either in the courtyard or in the Hare and Hounds. And they'll be doing so for many hours."
"You mean the house is empty?" she exclaimed.
"In a manner of speaking," he agreed, a chuckle in his voice, as he took the stairs two at a time, despite his burden.
He kicked open the door of his bedchamber and unceremoniously tossed his bride onto the bed in a swirl of silk and gauze.
"Now, Lady Stoneridge, let us put this marriage beyond all possibility of annulment."
Chapter Eleven
"So what happens now?" Theo lay back on her elbows, regarding her husband with a quizzical smile. The clock on the mantelpiece struck four o'clock. Her wedding night was beginning rather early.
"For a start, you stay where you are and do nothing," Sylvester said. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth a firm, straight line, as he stood by the bed looking down at her as she lay in a cloud of virginal white.
"Shouldn't I at least take my shoes off?" She wriggled her feet, clad in ivory satin slippers, by way of demonstration.
"No, I don't wish you to remove a single garment." He eased the snug-fitting silk coat off his shoulders without taking his eyes from her.
There was such intensity of purpose in the hooded gray gaze that Theo shivered, and all desire to joke vanished. It had only been a way of lessening her own tension, she realized.
She watched as he unfastened his cravat and tossed it to join his coat on the chaise longue. The white waistcoat followed it. With slow deliberation he unfastened the tiny pearl buttons hidden in the ruffled sleeves of his shirt before shrugging out of the garment. It joined the others.
Theo had felt the warmth of his skin, the power in his chest and shoulders, but she'd never seen his naked torso. The muscles in his back moved beneath the taut skin as he turned to throw his shirt onto the chaise. There was not an ounce of spare flesh, and when he turned back, she saw a thin white scar running down his rib cage, curving around the narrow waist, following the thin line of black hair down beneath the waistband of his satin knee britches.
In leisurely fashion he pulled off his shoes and his striped stockings. Theo found that she was holding her breath as the buttons of his britches flew undone. He pushed them off his hips, stepped out of them, and turned to throw them onto the chaise.
Theo's eyes stretched wide as they slid down his back, over the firm buttocks, the long, muscular thighs, the hard calves.
He turned slowly to the bed. The scar was etched into the flat belly, finishing just above one slim hip. Theo stared at his aroused flesh and felt the first faint stirring of alarm, imagining that jutting shaft entering her, becoming a vital part of her own soft body, invading her.
But she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was beautiful in his nakedness… beautiful and terrifying.
Sylvester leaned over her, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, bringing his mouth gently to hers. "There's nothing to fear," he said as if he understood the wild complexity of her emotions. "There may be a little pain at first, but it will soon pass."
Theo only nodded, for once in her life unable to find words. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the smooth round bone fitting her palm before sliding her hand down his arm, over the hard swordsman's biceps, her fingers rustling through the thick dark hair on his forearm. After the barest hesitation, she laid her hand flat on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the skin. Boldly, she touched one nipple with the tip of her finger, and he smiled, holding himself still, leaning over her as she continued her exploration.
She traced the scar with a fingertip, running over the clear outline of his ribs and down to his hip, feeling the sharp jutting bone of his pelvis. She wanted to go further but suddenly found she couldn't. She looked up and saw he was still smiling.
"All in good time," he said softly as if he perfectly understood this sudden shyness. "Let's divest you of some of these bridal trappings."
Bringing one knee onto the bed, he deftly removed the pearl fillet that held her veil in place and lifted the filmy white cloud from her head. Her hair beneath was braided into a coronet around her small head. It was a style that gave a neatness and maturity to her face that was a far cry from her usual gypsy dishevelment or the uncompromising plainness of the one long plait.
He let his hand roa
m over her body as she lay back on the bed, over the swell of her breasts against the laced bodice of her gown, over her belly, pressing the white silk against her skin into the concave hollow, and down over her thighs, molding them with the rich material. His fingers braceleted her ankles, remembering of their own accord that very first time when he'd clasped the slender bony ankles in the same way and dragged her into the mud.
His smile broadened and he looked up her body. "Any memories, gypsy?"
For answer she kicked in mock petulance against his grip, and he laughed, sliding the slippers off her feet, before running his flat hand up her silk-stockinged leg, beneath her skirt.
His fingers found her lace-trimmed garters. Deciding that he would like to see what he was doing, he took the hem of her gown and slowly drew it up over her thighs.
Theo quivered as she felt the air through the thin silk of her stockings. He slid the garters down her leg and then rolled her stockings down, easing them off her feet. Now the air fell directly onto her bared skin, and a wash of vulnerability swept through her. Her hands fluttered to push down her raised skirt, to cover her exposed limbs, and then fell to her sides as the string of her drawers was loosened.
"Lift your bottom, love," he commanded quietly, peeling the undergarment over her hips.
Theo bit her lip hard and did as she was told. Suddenly she was lost and fearful in a strange landscape, and she forgot how she'd been dreaming about this moment, forgot about the strange surges of longing, about the moments of passion they'd already experienced. She wanted to cover herself, push down her skirt, and flee from the room. The man whose hands were on her with such devastating intimacy was a stranger who now had absolute rights to her body. Whenever and wherever he chose to exercise those rights.
Sylvester felt the change in her when the muscles of her thighs suddenly clenched and she was rigid beneath his hand. A puzzled frown crossed his face. He was doing no more to her now than he'd done that evening by the stream, and she'd been wild with passion then.
He took his hands from her and immediately she relaxed. "What is it?" He looked into her face and read the bewildered apprehension in her eyes. "What do you fear, Theo?"
She moved her head against the coverlet in inarticulate denial, closing her eyes tightly as she pushed her skirt down over the top of her thighs.
"Come," he said with a hint of firmness in his voice. "Stand up and let me take off your gown." Taking her by the waist, he lifted her into a sitting position and then drew her to her feet.
He towered above her, and his nakedness was now a threat. Theo wondered how she had ever longed for this moment. How could she long to be possessed, taken, invaded? And yet what she had feared the most was that very longing that swept all rational thought from her mind. But now she was more coldly rational than she could ever remember being, and she didn't want this. Her body belonged only to her.
But his fingers were deftly unlacing the bodice of her gown, pushing it away from her shoulders so it fell in a puddle around her bare feet. Now only her thin chemise stood between her own nakedness and her husband's, and it was removed with the same efficiency.
He drew her body against his and kissed her eyelids and then her mouth, before saying quietly, "We're going to get the hard part out of the way quickly, Theo. I will do my best not to hurt you, but it will be easier if you try to relax."
She wanted to scream at him that she wouldn't let him do this, but the words wouldn't form themselves. She'd agreed to this by agreeing to marry him… she'd agreed to marry him because of this. She was married to Sylvester Gilbraith, and this was what that meant.
She lay back on the bed, closing her eyes tightly. It wasn't pain she feared; it was possession.
Sylvester's mouth took a grim turn as he realized she wasn't going to help either of them. He parted her thighs and stroked softly upwards, opening her tight petaled center, brushing his fingers across the sensitive bud. There was no reaction. His fingers slid into her body, feeling how tight and unprepared she was.
Kneeling between her thighs, he stroked her eyelids until she opened her eyes. His flat thumb ran over her mouth. "Sweetheart, I'm going to hurt you if you can't relax."
"I'm not afraid of being hurt," she said, staring up into his eyes, reading the concern behind the intent.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm afraid of you… of losing my body to you," she whispered.
The candid response, so open and so very like Theo, brought Sylvester a surge of relief. If he knew what he was facing, he could overcome it. He continued to stroke her cheek before saying, "You will lose your body to mine, and mine will be lost in yours. It's a partnership, Theo. This act more than any other."
"I'm not stopping you," she said. "Please, just finish it."
He nodded, reached above her head for the bolster, and slipped it beneath her bottom, angling her body to facilitate his entry. His flesh drove into hers in one determined thrust that breached her maidenhead.
Theo gasped with the tearing pain, but she didn't cry out, simply lay as still as she could beneath him as he began to move within her and her body opened and moistened of its own accord, so that the rhythmic movements ceased to hurt and began to set up a strange response deep in the pit of her belly. But before the response could be more than an intimation of pleasure, Sylvester allowed his climactic explosion to burst upon them both, filling her body with his seed, his flesh throbbing deep within her. And Theo found a curious sense of physical release and no sense of invasion, more of fusion, as she felt the pulsing of his body in hers.
Sylvester fell forward and his heart thudded against her breast. Theo laid a hand on his sweat-slick back; it felt like an acknowledgment she was supposed to make.
Sylvester disengaged slowly and looked down at her with a rueful expression. "I'm sorry, Theo. I thought you'd prefer me to finish it quickly."
"But I think I missed something," she said, sounding slightly aggrieved. "I did, didn't I?"
Sylvester fell on the bed, laughing with relief. "Yes, my dear gypsy. You missed a great deal. But you won't the next time."
"Can we do it again now?"
"There are a few things you need to understand about male anatomy," he said, still laughing as he sat up. "It takes a while to recover its strength."
"Am I bleeding?" Neither the personal question nor the delicate examination it invited troubled her now.
"A little," Sylvester said. "It's only to be expected. Lie still, and when it's stopped, we'll try this again."
He lay back, drawing her head onto his shoulder, and idly began to take out the pins securing the braided coronet. Theo found his fingers in her hair both soothing and arousing in their intimacy. It was a proprietorial intimacy, she realized vaguely, the very thing a few moments before she had feared.
Her hair was the most amazing color, Sylvester thought as he drew his fingers through the long tresses, arranging them over her breasts with deliberate artistry so that the glossy blue-black offered a startling contrast with the milk-white skin visible between the strands. She was as physically different from her sisters as she was temperamentally, although Rosie had some Theo-like quirks in both areas.
Smiling, he moved a strand aside to reveal the rosy crown of one breast. His finger circled slowly around the nipple feeling it grow small and hard. Theo stirred, a little sigh escaping her. Her leg moved against his with an urgent pressure.
"Are you rested yet?" she murmured into his shoulder.
"Why don't you discover that for yourself?" he suggested, running a hand down her side, into the indentation of her waist and over the flare of her hip.
"Oh… like this, you mean?" Her own hand slid down his belly, her fingers reaching through the crisp tangle of hair at the apex of his thighs.
"Exactly like that," he agreed softly, inhaling with pleasure as he rose against the palm of her hand.
Theo eased onto her side to extend her reach, a little frown of concentration between her brows, as she le
arned the feel of him.
Sylvester stroked over her bottom, slipping his hand between her thighs on his own voluptuous exploration, and Theo began to imitate his caresses, on the theory that what pleased her might also please him.
When he entered her this time, her body was open and ready, her eyes gazing intently into his as if, determined not to miss one iota of sensation, she was watching his expression for guidance.
Smiling, he bent and kissed her eyes as he eased deeper within the silken sheath, feeling the little ripples of her body tightening around him.
"I'm not hurting you now?"
She shook her head, her eyes bright. "The opposite. It's wonderful."
He laughed softly and began to move with more purpose, watching her eyes as she picked up his rhythm, her body lifting to meet each thrust. Her fingers scrabbled down his spine, and abruptly she gripped his buttocks, pulling him against the cleft of her body, her feet twisting around his calves. Her eyes were wide and filled with a surprised wonder as the pleasure built, deep and inexorable.
Sylvester held himself in check this time, using his body to orchestrate her pleasure as she climbed to her own pinnacle. There came the moment when her eyes sparked fire, her lips parted on a round O of astonishment, her hips arced off the bed. Sliding his hands beneath her, he held her on the shelf of his palms as he drove to her core. She cried out against his mouth, riding the crest of the climactic tidal wave until it tossed her to shore and she fell back onto the bed, sinking into the deep feather mattress, her limbs in an abandoned sprawl, her eyes closing for the first time.
Sylvester remained within her, enjoying his own leisurely climax, stroking her cheek with a forefinger until her eyes opened and she smiled, lifting a hand to stroke his back as she came out of her own trance to recognize her partner in pleasure.
"Fears laid to rest, little gypsy?" he asked softly, gathering her against him as he fell, heavy with fulfillment, to the bed beside her.
"What fears?" she murmured with a weak chuckle. "I seem to be very sleepy."
