Little White Lies

by Sara Ackerman

  “Were you hurt very badly?” Tavis asked with deathly calm, his glittering sapphire eyes having turned hard as steel at her stammered confession of near rape.

  Amelia shrugged as if almost being raped was of no consequence. If it weren’t for the trembling of her hands no one would know how much it still affected her. “Some scratches and some bruising but otherwise intact.” She gifted Tavis with a coy look. “It was after that incident Bea taught me how to defend myself. She said every woman should know how to take care of herself. Just in case.”

  “Your sister is very wise,” Tavis said, never once taking his eyes off her. The pressure of his hands on hers increased, and Amelia began to feel an intense rush of warmth pooling low in her stomach. Her mouth dried, and her breath came in unexpected bursts from her lungs.

  She cleared her throat and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Was there something else you wanted to ask me, Tavis? Another personal question?” she asked, swallowing hard. Amelia allowed her eyes to roam over the taut lines of Tavis’s neck and shoulders and down to the burgeoning hardness swelling beneath her hot gaze. She gasped and licked her lips.

  He spread his legs a little bit wider, and Amelia’s gasp turned to a low, throaty moan at the delicious ridge caused by hard male flesh, on display for her eager perusal. His dark chuckle recalled her to herself, and she pulled her wanton gaze up to look into Tavis’s dark, glittering eyes. “I think I’ll save that personal question for later tonight. After we’re married.”

  Chapter 12

  He was already five minutes late. Closing the lid of his watch, Tavis placed it in his breast pocket and resumed his pacing in the private sitting room of the inn where he and Amelia were staying in Gretna Green. He smoothed back his still damp hair and ran a hand over the fabric of his already wrinkle-free coat.

  “Good lord,” he muttered. “I haven’t been this nervous since I was sixteen.” Then, he had been a green lad, inexperienced with women but eager to learn. His first was a fine French whore named Giselle. She was a birthday present from his father, the one and only gift he had ever received from the old man. Though she had been much older than he, Tavis had worshiped her, and she in turn had taught him everything she knew about the fine art of making love. They had passed two glorious months together before his father’s money ran out and she returned to London, leaving young Tavis heartbroken and once again alone.

  There had been other women after Giselle, but none who mattered, and certainly none to whom he had ever proposed marriage.

  Tavis stopped mid-pace and scrubbed at his face. “Married!” he said to the empty room, that one word sticking in his throat and causing dots of perspiration to break out on his forehead.

  A bachelor one minute and a husband the next. Tavis still couldn’t believe all that had happened since leaving the hut at the lake. After they returned to pack their belongings, it was a short half-day’s ride to Gretna Green. They had arrived by one, eaten a quick lunch, and were married by two. Tavis had given Amelia his ring with the Stanton family crest on it. Though it was too big and Tavis had assured his new wife he would buy her a new one once they were settled, Amelia had ignored him and looped it onto a gold chain around her neck, where it nestled in the warm valley of her breasts.

  The thought of his ring belonging to Amelia, his wife, did strange things to him. He felt at once happy and also ill. Frankly, this whole business of courtship and marriage made him queasy.

  In the past, he’d never had time to form an attachment with a gentlewoman. After university, he bought a commission and left to fight on the Continent. That left little time for paying court to young misses and learning their unique and mysterious ways. Before Amelia, he had never cared. What did it matter if he knew how to treat a gentlewoman or how to talk to one? All he needed to know was how to lead a battalion of soldiers and to not get killed. Now, it was the only thing that mattered.

  Tavis had mishandled things so badly since meeting Amelia, and he wanted everything to be perfect this evening. He wanted Amelia to see he knew how to treat a lady. He wanted her to not regret her decision to elope with him. So much depended on how this first night as man and wife passed, which scared the hell out of Tavis.

  Once again he pulled his watch out to check the time. He was now ten minutes late, and it was past time for him to join his wife in their room. Here he was having a fit of the vapors to rival any young miss of the ton, while his lovely, passionate wife waited above.

  “You faced thousands of French soldiers, McGuire. You’re a damned national hero. A wee redheaded lass will be easy in comparison.” With a grim nod of determination at the conclusion of his less than rousing speech, Tavis straightened his shoulders, ascended the stairs, and knocked on the door.

  Amelia’s rosy-cheeked face greeted him from behind the door, and he swallowed upon entering. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles and a low fire in the fireplace, yet when Tavis entered the room he was struck dumb by the beauty of his wife. All of his anxieties and fears quieted, moving to the background while he stared in awe.

  She stood near the bed with the firelight illuminating her from behind and highlighting the simple elegance of the nightgown she wore. Made of some kind of shimmery, sheer confection of lace and satin, the soft green brought out the rich tint of her hair and accented the gold flecks in her green eyes. Her cheeks looked flushed, and he wondered if it was from the heat of the room or from her excitement.

  “What are you wearing, Amelia mia?”

  She ran her hands down the smooth fabric and up again. “Do you like it?” she asked shyly. “I bought it today in town to surprise you.”

  It took him a moment to respond, his mouth having gone dry of a sudden, and his mind more agreeably occupied in ogling his new wife. “Aye, I like it.” He prowled forward and grabbed her around the waist. “But I wonder if you realized that while you were standing there with the fire behind you I could see all of you. Each. Luscious. Curve.” He emphasized his point by running his hands up and down her backside. Finding the firm flesh of her bottom, he squeezed.

  “Really?” she asked and wound her own arms around his neck. “What did I look like?”

  He leaned over so his mouth was next to her ear. “Like an angel.” He started spreading soft kisses along her neck and over her face. Remembering how lush and full she had looked standing there before the fire in the scrap of lace, with all of her curves outlined for his ravenous gaze, he amended, “Well, maybe a fallen angel.”

  “If you stood in front of the fire would I be able to see everything of you?” Her hands found their way to his chest, where her fingers smoothed over the hard planes under the fabric of his shirt.

  Tavis grunted in amusement. “I’m not going to wear your damn nightdress, Amelia, so you can find out. I don’t care how tempting you look in it and what it is currently doing to my reasoning. There is absolutely no way.”

  He was rewarded with a sweet giggle. “I wasn’t suggesting you wear my gown, Tavis. I was just wondering what you would look like…you know.” She trailed off in embarrassment and peeked up at him shyly.

  “You would like to see me without my clothes on?” He couldn’t help the pleased grin that broke out on his face at her eager nod. He wasn’t vain about his body. It was well muscled and lean and did what he wanted it to do. That’s all a man could really expect. That and to still have a full head of hair at forty, he supposed.

  Other women said he had a fine form, but hearing his wife was eager to discover what he looked like under his clothing made him feel oddly anxious. Maybe she won’t like what she sees. Or maybe she would think he was too muscled and too hard. Some women didn’t like all those muscles, preferring a softer and leaner male form. He couldn’t think why, but apparently the sallow, half-fed weakling look was appealing to some ladies.

  When he looked down, Amelia had already discarded his tie, and her nimble fingers were at work pulling his shirt free from his waistband. Almost before he realized w
hat was happening, she had helped him remove his shirt. With her fingers spread apart, she caressed the smooth skin of his chest, the delicate padding of her fingers passing over his now hardened nipples. It wasn’t until she raked her nails up and down his abdomen he knew if he didn’t take some control of this situation he would embarrass himself before he even got Amelia out of her nightgown.

  He tried to grab her hands, but the slippery temptress was too quick for him. Both hands snaked down across his stomach to the waistband of his breeches. He looked down in hazy desire at her small fingers grasping the fabric at his waist. She hesitated for several seconds, and Tavis guessed she was warring with her maidenly modesty.

  “Would you like me to finish disrobing, my lady wife?” he asked. She swallowed and nodded.

  Once he sank onto the bed, he motioned for Amelia to come over as he implored, “Help me with my boots.”

  Amelia sauntered until she nestled between Tavis’s outstretched legs. “Show me what to do,” she whispered her face a mere breath away from his.

  Using his hands, he positioned her so she faced away from him, straddling one of his thighs. With only a slight pressure from him on her lower back, she soon bent over his foot, first wriggling a boot off one foot and then the other. He dimly heard his boots hit the floor, too entranced by the sight of Amelia’s wiggling arse while she straddled his thighs. All sorts of lewd ideas entered his mind, seeing her bent over in front of him, the thin fabric of her nightdress doing nothing to disguise the roundness of her bottom. It was only sheer force of will and an iron grip on the counterpane preventing him from grabbing her hips, lifting her nightgown, and taking his wife while she straddled his lap. Tavis was strung too tightly, and at the moment he was unsure how gentle he was going to be with his tender new bride.

  Tavis patted the bed in invitation for Amelia to join him. Her catlike green eyes watched him while he reached down to his breeches and flicked open the buttons, a task made more difficult by the tight press of his swelling erection against the front flap. Finally, his stiff cock pushed free, and Tavis breathed a sigh of relief.

  “What do you think, lass?” Tavis stood and shed his breeches to the floor. “Do I please you?”

  “Oh, my,” she gasped her hand going to cover her mouth. Her eyes had gone as wide as saucers.

  “What’s wrong?” He looked down his body to make sure he wasn’t covered in dirt or hadn’t grown an extra limb since he had dressed earlier that morning.

  “You’re too big,” she whispered gesturing down toward his thrusting manhood.

  He smiled indulgently at her, realizing she was just nervous about what was to come. “No, don’t worry, Amelia sweet. Everything will work out.”

  “No, you’re too big.” A mulish line of determination was set on her sweet face. “Put it back.”

  “What? Are you serious?” At her vehement nod, he snapped, “It won’t go back so easily, Amelia.”

  He tried to be sympathetic, really he did. Once he had seen her reaction, he had even willed his erection to begin to abate. Just a little so she wouldn’t be so scared. Amelia wasn’t making it easy, though. In her agitation, she had begun to gesture about, and all that gesturing and moving was causing her lovely breasts to jiggle and bounce. No matter what he tried to think of so he would become less aroused, all that came to mind were those big, bouncing breasts right in front of his face.

  “What? You have to! Just pull up your breeches and…shove it back in there.” She made a pushing motion with her hands.

  “I assure you, even if I wanted to shove it back in there, which I don’t, like this I don’t think I could. As it is, I am so hard with wanting you I don’t think I’ll be able to button my breeches for a solid week, if not longer.”

  She tapped her chin. “Maybe you could fold it? You know, bend it under and then….mmph? In it goes?”

  “Madam, in this condition, or any condition, mind you, it does not bend.” He was starting to get a little irritated. When he had imagined his wedding night, it had not included ways to put his male part back in his breeches. His imaginings had been more along the line of how to put it someplace else much more warm and inviting.

  “Here, let me try. I bet I could do it.” He didn’t like the purposeful look in her eyes.

  He backed away from her. “No, keep your…” Before he could stop her, his girth was encircled by slender, warm fingers.

  From out of her mouth came a different sort of “oh, my.” This one was laced with breathless awe.

  Tavis hissed out a breath between his gritted teeth. “Amelia,” he warned.

  “Am I hurting you, Tavis?” she asked in concern, her clever hands ceasing to caress his hardness.

  “No, lass, not how you think, at least.” He took her hands in his, lest she take it into her head to start up her torturous caresses again, and held them close to his heart. Lowering his mouth to hers, he took her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

  She kissed him back, at first tentatively, but then with increasing ardor. When he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, her tongue darted out and flicked over his lips. He sucked in a breath, surprised at her daring.

  Amelia shifted in his embrace, apparently not content to be idle, for somehow she had managed to wriggle her hands free from his embrace where they now glided over the taut skin of his biceps and lower onto the firm flesh of his buttocks. When she squeezed, he tore his mouth away from hers and let out a shaky laugh.

  What a unique combination of innocence and seduction! She flushed, perhaps in embarrassment at the forwardness of her actions, but Tavis didn’t mind. He liked her boldness, liked the way her body became soft and pliant in his embrace. Even now with her red curls hanging in disarray on the ivory expanse of her shoulders, he found her delightful.

  Desire thrummed through his body. He wanted her. That didn’t surprise him; he had wanted her since that night in the stables when he’d first seen her. No, this wanting was something more. He wanted to please her, an unfamiliar notion to a man accustomed to pleasing himself.

  “I want to show you such pleasure, Amelia. Will you let me?” He brushed a soft kiss over her still glistening lips.

  “Yes.”

  Picking her up in his arms, he carried her back to the bed and set her down.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked, more for his peace of mind than hers.

  She stared steadfastly into his eyes, not a glimmer of doubt in their emerald depths. “With my life, Tavis.”

  Perspiration dotted his brow at such absolute trust, and an uneasy lump filled his throat, constricting his breathing. Something akin to panic lodged in his chest when his subconscious whispered, You don’t deserve her.

  He didn’t want those harsh words to be true, but they were. Amelia was a good person and warranted more than the outcast son of a traitor. What did he have to give her besides his name? Thanks to his father’s duplicity, even that was tarnished. He had nothing to offer but himself.

  And what if that’s not good enough?

  He had to leave now before anything else happened between them. Tomorrow he would petition for an annulment and return Amelia to London. He would tell Wickes to find someone else to complete the mission, and he’d go home where it was safe. Everything would be back to normal and he’d no longer….this horrible, clawing panic would just…

  Tavis stumbled backwards, his eyes squeezed shut against his own inadequacies, but warm hands encircled his arm, halting his retreat.

  Amelia rose on her knees and placed her small hands on his bare chest. “It’s all right if you’re scared, Tavis,” she said laying her head on his shoulder. “I’m scared, too.”

  She comforted him, her cool, slim arms wrapped around his heated flesh. His racing heart slowed, and the tight grip of fear loosened its hold on his throat, allowing him to admit, “I don’t know what to do. It never mattered before…no one else mattered. What if I’m not enough?” he whispered, finally voicing his fear to his wife.


  Raising her head from his chest, she said, “You have me to lean on now. Those times you doubt yourself, I will be there to be enough for both of us.”

  He pulled her into a tight embrace and buried his face in her hair. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, though it embarrassed him to admit it. “You are no paid consort, but my wife. I would treat you as the lady you are.”

  Lacing their fingers together, she said, “Then we’ll learn together and forge a new path tonight.”

  She was offering him a new beginning, a chance to bury his past and create something new, something precious. Tavis joined her on the bed, humbled by her gift of innocence and trust. He was determined to put aside everything he had known before—costly lessons bought by a younger and less compassionate man—to learn alongside his wife.

  With shaking hands and gentle touches he set out to discover what pleased her, what caused her to thrash her head to and fro, what made her arch into his hands and moan his name. He reveled in the silky feel of her skin under the rough padding of his fingers, of her breathy pants as they fanned across his flesh. Every tremble and sigh seared through his blood and had him aching to claim her for his own. When at last they joined in a heated rush of flesh melding with flesh, he could no longer tell where he left off and she began.

  Later, when the fire had receded from his blood and his skin began to cool, he nestled his sleepy wife into the sheltering embrace of his body. He pulled the counterpane over their bodies and listened as her breathing evened out and slowed. Eventually he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, the first time he had been happy in years.

  Chapter 13

  Staring out the carriage window at the changing landscape, Amelia sighed, not wishing to disturb Tavis, who appeared to be deep in thought. Once they left Gretna to head north for his home, he had immersed himself in some papers his solicitor sent with him two weeks before. He’d apologized and admitted he hadn’t even given them a thought in all this time, but since they were traveling more comfortably now would she mind if he looked them over? So here she sat in a carriage taking her to a new life, with nothing but her thoughts to distract her.