Chapter Fourteen #2
She shuddered. Never again. She was a grown woman.
She folded her long white nightgown, put it away and took out the Salome one.
#
MARCUS UNDRESSED IN his bedchamber and slipped a dressing gown over his nakedness. He knocked softly on Tessa’s door and, after a moment, entered. The room was dim. Apart from the fire burning in the grate, only two candles were alight.
She was shy. She was sitting up in bed with the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. She looked nervous and her eyes were huge.
He bent and stoked the fire with more wood, then turned to face her. “I didn’t explain myself well earlier. About . . . expectations. And your being dutiful.” The heat from the fire warmed him.
“Yes?” It came out like a squeak. Nervous as well as shy, he thought.
“I’ve never been good at expressing myself.
” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking about how we were as children. Back then, you said and did whatever you wanted, without worrying about what I might think. And sometimes I was a little bit shocked—well, we were brought up differently. But knowing I didn’t always approve never stopped you. Do you remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded but looked a little wary.
“That’s how I want you to be.”
Even in the dim light he could see her face fall.
“You want me to act like a little girl?”
“No! Of course not!” he said, horrified.
“You’re not that little girl anymore—neither of us is a child now.
No, I want you to be like yourself! However that is.
Saying and doing whatever you—we—want. And if the other is unhappy about something, they should speak up and we will sort it out. Together.”
There was a short silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Her expression was still faintly troubled.
He groped for the words to explain. “I know you vowed to obey me, Tessa, but you don’t have to—that’s what I meant by not wanting a dutiful wife. When we were children we were friends, equals, and that’s how I want it to be now, as adults and as husband and wife.”
“You mean we really should be honest with each other? Totally frank?”
“Exactly.”
“And if I should say that I didn’t want to lie with you tonight? Or any night?”
His heart sank. “As I said, I would respect that.”
She looked thoughtful. “And if I said I wanted to slip out at night and explore the woods?”
“You could. Though I would probably ask to come with you. But it would be your choice.”
There was another long silence as she thought it over. “So you’re really saying I’m free to do whatever I want?”
He devoutly hoped he was doing the right thing.
‘Whatever I want’ was risky. But he had to get her to trust him.
And he needed to trust her in return. “Within reason, yes. And if I’m unhappy about something—or you are—we would talk things over and hopefully reach a compromise.
” He took a deep breath. “When you were a child, you were full of exuberance and, and life. Somewhere along the way you’ve lost that, but I would be very happy if it returned.
Though not as a little girl and not if you feigned it to please me. ”
“I see,” she said slowly after another thoughtful silence. “Then in that case . . .
He held his breath.
She slipped out of bed and came to him. “In that case, dear Marcus, I agree. And I would be happy to consummate this marriage tonight.” She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his head and captured her mouth instead. Briefly. Just a taste. Because she was trembling.
His own hands were also shaking slightly.
He drew her closer and cupped her face gently.
Her skin was like warm silk. He slipped his fingers into her cool, soft curls, and tipped her chin up with his other hand.
Despite her apparent willingness, she was tense, strung tight.
A pulse fluttered just below her jawline.
He took a deep breath and eased back slightly, and that was when he noticed what she was wearing.
Or barely wearing. Silhouetted against the firelight, every slender curve showed.
The nightgown was practically transparent, a froth of silky shadows tantalizing in what they almost but not quite concealed.
Her nipples peaked, and the shadowed triangle at the base of her stomach enticed.
His eyes devoured her and he rubbed the silky stuff between his fingers. “What is this?”
“A gift from Daisy Chance.”
“Remind me to thank her,” he murmured and bent to kiss her again.
Her eyes, reflecting sparks from the firelight, darkened. A man could drown in those eyes. He stroked his thumb lightly, lingeringly over her lower lip, warm and full and satin-soft.
Her breath hitched. She moistened her mouth with her tongue and waited, gazing up at him expectantly, her lips slightly parted. How could a twice-married woman look so deliciously, deceptively innocent?
He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, lightly, barely touching, and he felt her sigh and soften against him, just a little. He was desperate to take her now, make her his, but he knew he had to take things slowly, to make it good for her.
He was, after all, a civilized man.
Coals settled in the grate. Outside the wind stirred the leaves in the trees. Her eyes fluttered.
Forcing himself to resist the enticement of her mouth he pressed kisses along her jawline, feathered them over her eyelids; slow, light, tender kisses, skin barely brushing against skin.
He breathed her in, the fragrance of her skin, of her hair. A hint of vanilla, soap and nothing else except scent of woman scent of Tessa. Intoxicating.
Again, he brushed his mouth over hers, teasing, tasting, nibbling gently until, with a soft little sound her lips quivered, then parted. And oh Lord, the taste of her. Sweet, luscious, honey-dark. Addictive.
Slowly, leisurely he explored her mouth, her soft, gloriously responsive mouth. He wasn’t used to leashing his desire like this, but the tension it created in him was delicious.
And her response was everything he could dream of.
He felt her knees give and her body soften against him, and he moved them to the bed.
“We won’t need this delightful bit of nonsense.
” He drew the nightgown up over her head and tossed it aside.
Before she could react, he lifted her onto the bed.
He swiftly dropped his dressing gown to the floor, joined her in the bed and continued kissing her.
She returned his kisses eagerly, pulling him against her, and pressing her lovely body against him.
He fought against the ravening desire it released in him.
Not yet, not yet. There was an inexperience to her movements that surprised him, but he didn’t want to think about her past. Not now, not yet.
He explored her slender body with his mouth, his hands, brushing against her aroused nipples, and worshipping her breasts. She moved against him, responding to each touch with small incoherent murmurs. Of pleasure, he hoped.
He slipped a hand between her thighs, and she opened to him, moist and warm and ready.
“Now?” she gasped, and he agreed.
She reached for him, touched him, gasped—and pulled back in shock.
“What is it?” he asked her. “What’s the matter?”
She didn’t respond. She was staring at him, at his nakedness—his manhood—with wide eyes. “You don’t . . .” Her eyes, wide and confused, met his. “You don’t need me to . . . to . . .” With her hand she indicated what she had expected to do.
And he realized what the problem was. She’d been married to two very old men, men who needed help from their very young wife to raise their member to action.
“And you’re very . . . big,” she added doubtfully.
He tried not to smile. “No, I don’t need any help to er, perform,” he said gently. “I’m a young man. All I need is you, here in my bed with me.”
“Oh.” She continued to stare at his erect, his very erect member.
“Shall we continue?”
She jumped. “Oh, yes. Sorry.”
He leaned over her, his arms braced on either side of her. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he murmured. He gazed down on her in a possessive hungry manner that half thrilled, half alarmed her. “It will be all right, you know.”
#
TESSA MANAGED TO NOD. She hoped it would be all right—no, she knew it would.
She trusted him. Nevertheless, she was still shaking.
She told herself to stop it, but she couldn’t help it.
She knew what would happen next, at least she thought she knew.
This wedding night had been unlike any other night in her life.
It was all very well for him to say she should do what she wanted, but how did she know what she wanted? Everything so far had been a surprise, not least the sight—and feel—of his hard, erect member. Without any effort on her part.
She wanted to touch him there again, but she wasn’t sure if it would be all right.
He kissed her again, slow and lingering and she felt it shimmer right through her, right to her bones.
She ran her palms over his face, enjoying the faint prickle of dark bristles under his skin.
He smelled clean and warm and his cologne was light, spicy, enticingly masculine, his kisses laced with a beguiling hint of tooth powder and brandy.
His mouth and hands—oh, the sensation of those large warm, firm-skinned masculine hands moving against her skin, teasing, tantalizing, arousing.
Wanting more, she rubbed herself against him like a cat, running her hands over him, enjoying the feel of the hard, young, muscular male body. So hard. So deliciously hard.
With every kiss, the taste of him flowed into her, potent, dark. The heat of a man. Desire as she’d never known it. His mouth and hands sought, caressed, aroused, demanding a response she hadn’t expected, hadn’t known was in her.