by Merry Farmer
They’d made arrangements to stay at the Bellowes house for the wedding night, since it was easier to stay under the same roof as the party than to fuss with traveling several blocks through busy London streets after dark.
“Mrs. German had the maids prepare the French room for us,” she said, wincing over the tremor in her voice as she reached for the handle of the door at the end of the hall.
“That sounds promising,” Alex said.
Everything seemed entirely too quiet as Marigold pushed open the door and stepped into the remote bedroom. The din of the party still rang in her ears, even though she could only barely hear the rumble of the guests downstairs. There she was, suddenly alone with a man who now held complete sway over her.
The French room was the second largest bedroom in the house, after her Papa’s. The enormous bed was piled with pillows and bolsters and a thick, down coverlet encased in pale blue silk. The maids had decorated the room with bouquets of pink roses and lavender that filled the space with the most delicious scent. The pale blue, velvet curtains were already closed, and her nightgown and robe were laid out across one of a pair of wing-backed, stuffed chairs that stood on either side of a white marble fireplace. A robe and pajamas that must have been Alex’s were draped across the other chair.
“What a delightful room,” Alex said, shutting the door behind them and turning the key in the lock.
A deep quiver shot through Marigold’s gut at the click. She pressed a hand to her chest to still her racing heart. It didn’t matter that she’d known this moment was coming for weeks, now that it was here, she fluttered like a bird in a cage.
But no, she refused to let herself be intimidated by something that nearly every woman experienced at some point in her life. Lady Stanhope’s words came back to her. This was her right.
She turned to face Alex, sending him the most coquettish smile she could manage. Lady Stanhope, Lady Stanhope, Lady Stanhope, she told herself. All she had to do was behave as though she were Lady Stanhope.
“The room isn’t the only thing that’s delightful,” she said, swaying carefully closer to him. She could have done without the breathless hitch in her voice, but as long as she could convince Alex she was a woman of the world, she would be all right.
And then he stepped forward, closing his arms around her and bringing his mouth down over hers in a fiery kiss. She tilted her head back, and he moved a hand to cradle her neck as his mouth explored hers even more boldly than he had in the elevator. Her senses were overwhelmed in a heartbeat as he slipped his tongue alongside hers. But it was the intensity of the need that rippled off of him more than the physical invasion that blossomed into something that was both desire and fear in her gut.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” he confessed.
His hands shifted to her sides as he kissed her again, and for the first time, Marigold realized how large they were, how large he was. He could crush her if he had half a mind to. When he reached up, cupping her breasts through the silk and cotton of her clothes, her legs felt as though they would betray her if she needed to run. But she held on, gripping his arms as his hands and mouth explored her, reminding herself that this was what she wanted.
“Now,” Alex said, breaking away from her at last and leaving her feeling like a quivering rabbit. “How does this dress come off?”
“I…there are buttons up the back.” She tried her best to send him a flirtatious grin before turning her back to him. As soon as she was faced away, her smile dropped, and she gulped for breath, pressing a hand to her stomach for courage.
“I see.” Alex stepped closer to her, his hands brushing her back as he began to undo the row of tiny buttons holding her bodice together.
For a moment, Marigold squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed that they were suddenly stinging with tears. A man was undressing her. A man who, in all honesty, she barely knew. He would take her clothes off, look at her naked body with lust, then take her to the bed and have his way with her. Lady Stanhope be damned, the little she knew of carnal relations didn’t feel particularly divine in that moment. It felt terrifying.
“There,” Alex said as the last button popped and her bodice sagged.
He went to work on the intricate fastenings of her bustle and skirt, giving Marigold just enough time to take several deep breaths to compose herself. This was good, she reminded herself. This was what married couples did. She forced herself to shrug out of her bodice, denying the fact that she was shaking, as Alex tugged the ties of her petticoat free.
“Perfect,” he hummed, pushing the pile of fabric and cage that was her bustle, skirt, and petticoat down her legs. He circled his arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. With practice and precision, he unhooked her corset, letting it fall to the pile of wedding dress that they stood in when it came free. Then he splayed one hand across her stomach and stroked the other across her breast, only the thinnest layer of cotton between them. “What a beautiful view,” he murmured.
She couldn’t shake her thoughts away from the fact that she was now nearly naked while he was still fully clothed. Without the layers of her wedding costume, she felt tiny and helpless in his powerful arms. Divine indeed! She felt as though she were inches away from disaster.
“Let’s get rid of the rest of this,” Alex murmured, kissing her neck before reaching for the hem of her chemise.
“Wait.” She clamped a hand over his to stop him, panic seeping around her edges. She scrambled for an explanation for her hesitation that wouldn’t make her look like a ninny. “It’s not fair.” She twisted to glance up at him. “You haven’t taken anything off.”
“So I haven’t,” he said, grinning down at her like a wolf about to devour his prey.
He stepped back and unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it aside. His eyes never left hers, even when she stepped out of the cloud of silk at her feet and inched backward to the bed. His waistcoat came next, then he shrugged out of his suspenders and tugged his shirt from his trousers. He managed to coordinate toeing off his shoes with undoing the buttons of his shirt, then peeled his shirt off over his head.
The sight of the broad expanse of his chest, muscles well-defined, nipples tight, just a dusting of hair, sent twinges of pleasure and panic through Marigold. Why had she thought making him undress would put them on more equal footing? He was even more overwhelming stripped bare than he was clothed. And when he unfastened his trousers, pushing them down and kicking them aside, her fear reached a fevered pitch.
He was huge and imposing. Nothing in all of the art she’d observed depicting the male form prepared her for the raw sight of his erect manhood. She hadn’t had any idea that men could be so solid or so…purple. A wreath of dark curls surrounded his staff and what hung beneath, but all she could focus on was his thickness and the flared tip that stood straight up, bold and aggressive. How was she possibly supposed to fit that inside of her?
“Is that fear or hunger I see in your eyes?” he asked as he approached her slowly, a devilish grin reaching his hooded eyes.
Marigold backed all the way against the bed, until she had nowhere to go, and gripped the coverlet in desperation. He would think she was a silly goose not worthy of his time if she admitted her fear.
“Which do you think?” she answered. Her voice shook horribly, and to hide it, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips the way she’d seen an actress do once.
It must have been the right move. Alex’s grin widened, and his eyes blazed as he closed the distance between them. She did her best not to gasp when he reached her and pulled her into an embrace. His mouth slanted over hers once more, taking hers with deep passion, but it was the rest of his body pressed to hers that made it impossible for her to catch her breath. His spear was hot and solid between them, and he moved his hips in such a way as to rub it between the two of them. Her body reacted exactly opposite of her mind. A tingling ache pulsed through the very center of her even as
what breath she managed between his fevered kisses grew fast and shallow.
When he swept her chemise up over her head, tossing it aside, she froze with fear. His hands explored her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, as he kissed her lips, her cheek, and her neck, but she felt it all as if her body were at the opposite end of a tunnel from her mind. She couldn’t move a muscle as he eased her back onto the bed, kissing her shoulder and collarbone as his hands tugged at the drawstring of her drawers.
He rocked back, quickly pulling off her drawers, stockings, and shoes, leaving her completely exposed to him. Then he was on top of her completely, shifting both of them farther across the coverlet. She was beyond the point of trembling, so terrified as he kissed her, fondled her breast, and wedged himself between her legs that tears stung at her eyes that were impossible to hold back, even when she squeezed them tightly shut.
“Marigold?” Alex’s voice sounded as though it were a million miles away. His mild, sensual tone quickly turned serious. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Darling, I’m so, so sorry.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Marigold snapped back into the moment. Her body had gone as rigid as a statue. Alex lay beside her instead of on top of her. His wolfish expression had been replaced by kindhearted concern. He stroked her hair—still pinned in its elaborate style—and the side of her head. She blinked a few times to focus on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I should have noticed sooner.”
“N-noticed?” she stammered, her voice high enough to be a girl’s.
“That you were…nervous.” She could tell he was choosing his words carefully so as not to hurt her more. “I shouldn’t have been so eager. This is your first time.”
“You…no, I…it’s….” She could barely form thoughts, let alone voice them. Her mouth had gone dry, and she bit her lip to moisten them, afraid she might cry in earnest. “I don’t want to be a ninny.”
“You’re not a ninny,” he laughed. It was an oddly reassuring sound. “You’re just inexperienced. And I’m a randy old fool, dazzled by your beauty.” He cradled her face, smiling at her, and stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Here. Let’s get a little more comfortable.”
He let go of her, rolling to the side, and began tossing the mountain of pillows and bolsters off the side of the bed. Feeling started to return to Marigold’s limbs, and as he peeled back the coverlet and sheets, she was loose enough to crawl under them with him. He carefully tucked everything over them, then settled onto his side, facing her.
“Better?”
Marigold nodded, still feeling ashamed down to her toes.
He nodded to her hair. “Do you need help taking all the pins out?”
“Oh.” She reached up to touch her hairstyle. “I suppose that would be more comfortable.”
“Let me.”
They both sat, Marigold shyly turning her back to him, and Alex began pulling the flowers and pins from her hair. Whether it was deliberate on his part of not, his actions gave her the time she needed to breathe, wipe the last of her tears from her face, and settle her nerves. It certainly wasn’t the way she imagined her momentous wedding night progressing. Tears definitely weren’t supposed to be part of the picture. As Alex finished with her hair, setting the pins on the table beside the bed and running his fingers through to get her locks to relax, she felt like crying because she’d been crying. The whole thing was laughable.
“There,” he said at last, circling his arms around her. He settled her between his legs, her back to his chest, but instead of the fear that the same gesture had raised in her before, she only felt shame. He kissed her slumping shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said softly, brushing her hair back and stroking her arm. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Oh, I think there is,” she murmured.
“Why?” he laughed gently.
She twisted slowly, dragging her eyes up to meet his. “Men like you want a woman who can match their passions.”
He let out a breath, smiling tenderly, and shook his head. “Men like me—” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, his arms holding her. “—want a woman who cares for them but knows her own mind too.”
Marigold blinked. “Do you want to be loved?”
A flash of something old and painful filled his eyes before he answered, “Of course I do. Don’t we all?”
Marigold nodded, but guilt constricted her throat. She hadn’t married him for love. She didn’t love him now. But every moment that he sat there, holding her when he could have ravaged her, built the case for loving him in her heart.
She shifted her body a little more toward, him, draping her legs over his under the sheets. “I want to be the right kind of wife for you.”
He laughed, brushing the side of her face and kissing her lips lightly. “You already are.”
She shook her head, cheeks burning. “No, I mean, I know this part of marriage is important to you. I want to rise to the challenge.”
He kissed her again, his lips stretched in a smile. “You mean you think I’m some sort of ravening beast with a gargantuan sexual appetite, and you want to keep me satisfied.”
He was joking just enough to put Marigold a little more at ease. “Well, yes, of course,” she tried her hand at joking right back. “I wouldn’t want that sort of depravity running loose in the halls of Parliament. It’s my duty to slake that kind of hunger.”
The heat of desire was suddenly back in his eyes, but with a slower sort of smolder. “Do you truly wish to be a slayer of carnal desires?”
Marigold’s lips twitched into a grin. He was teasing her, and yet, at the same time, he was making her a serious offer. “Yes,” she said, resting a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his skin. “I’m so ashamed that I panicked, because what I really want is exactly the opposite.”
He studied her, the heat and fondness in his eyes telling her that he understood. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, then kissed her with just a hair more passion than his last half-dozen kisses. “If you want to be a sensual lover, then we can work on that together.” He kissed her again, parting her lips and teasing his tongue against hers. “It takes practice to learn how to be together this way. It was my fault that I tried to leap straight to step twelve instead of starting at the beginning.”
He kissed her with more passion still, his hand slowly rising from her waist to the underside of her breast. This time, his touch felt magical, and the heat of his body stirred deep emotions within her.
“There are steps?” she asked, still breathless, but no longer ashamed of it.
“No,” he laughed, momentarily light-hearted. “I made that up. But we should start with the most basic of pleasures before seeking out the more ambitious ones.”
“Oh?”
One syllable was all Marigold had time for. He closed his mouth over hers, but instead of just kissing her, he pivoted around her, laying her on her back, her head against the pillow. Gently, he rested his weight over her, nudging between her thighs and into the same position he’d been in when she froze. Only this time, freezing was the furthest thing from her mind. This time she felt as though a fire were building inside of her that could consume her.
“Tell me,” he said, serious again. “At any point, if anything I do makes you uncomfortable or frightens you again, tell me and I’ll stop immediately.”
“You will?” Her heart lifted with a joy far more potent than any caused by his kisses.
“Absolutely.” His expression was as solemn as the grave.
“Isn’t there a point after which a man can’t stop?”
“Balderdash,” he said. “That’s nothing more than a boorish excuse to push a woman further than she wants, which I will not do with you.”
Mad as it was, his offer to stop at any time filled Marigold with the desire to go on as fast as possible. “If that’s the case,” she said, stroking a hand up his arm to thread her fingers through his hair, �
��then please resume step one.”
He smiled. “I believe we’ve already advanced to at least step three.” His voice lowered to a sensual growl.
“Then what’s step four?”
“This, I believe.”
He drew his hand up her side, his fingertips leaving what felt like trails of fire, and closed a hand around her breast. At the same time, he kissed his way down her neck and chest, adjusting the rest of his body as he went, to kiss her breast. When he closed his mouth over her nipple and brushed it with his tongue, Marigold gasped with pleasure. Suddenly, everything felt right. Lady Stanhope was right after all. The sensations his mouth evoked in her were heavenly. Her body, which had felt so normal for most of her life, was suddenly an instrument for him to play, and the music was sweet.
“Do you like that?” he asked after teasing her nipple to a throbbing point.
“I do, actually,” she replied, feigning casualness while writhing impatiently under him.
Alex grinned with wicked understanding and shifted so that he could hold and tease her other breast. “I thought you might. I could tell from the way you kissed me in the elevator that you have a passionate nature.”
“Barring a few unforeseen hiccups,” she whispered, proud that she could joke about what had been painful just minutes before.
Alex nodded gravely. “Already forgotten.”
He bent to kiss her other breast, teasing her with his lips and teeth and taking forever to repeat the delicious things he’d done with her first nipple.
“You have exquisite breasts, you know,” he said instead of giving her the pleasure she now craved. “I must inform you that I foresee myself wanting to fondle and suck them quite a bit in the years to come.”
His combination of ridiculous formality and semi-crude language sent spirals of need straight to the secret place so intimately nestled against his thigh. “I do wish you’d get on with it in the present, thank you very much,” she replied with an equal amount of formality.
