Chapter Thirteen
He took the glass of wine from her and placed both back on the dressing table, before encircling her wrist with his fingers and pulling her towards him.
Her heart skittered and she was so nervous she almost pulled away—until he pressed his lips against hers.
Their first kiss. Her first kiss. It was soft at first, and yet it still took her breath away. She was consumed by the sandalwood scent of him, presumably from his soap, and the way he pulled her against him, her soft body melding against his solid frame.
One hand moved to pluck pins from her hair as his lips progressed from hers to her cheek, her earlobe, her neck…
She groaned, unable to help herself, as a white-hot heat shot through her from every point of her body where his lips grazed.
Was he uncommonly good at this? Or did every kiss make a lady feel like she was going to melt away to nothing?
She didn’t even notice him maneuvering them both to the bed, until she was laying upon it, and his kisses moved to her collarbone, her décolletage…
Then he pulled down the shoulder of her dress, kissing every inch of skin that he bared, until she was writhing on the bed beneath him, desperate for more.
She pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his bare back. She hadn’t even noticed him removing his shirt but it was gone, and his warm, strong body was pressing against hers as he kissed her senseless.
Her worries about what the night would entail disappeared as she lost the ability to think, simply giving into the pleasure he had awoken within her.
Having divested her of every item of clothing she had been wearing, he trailed kisses down her entire body, yet she could not find it in herself to be shocked or to try to cover up. She had not known that desire could feel like this. All-consuming, overwhelming, pulsing through her body.
“Please,” she said with a groan, not knowing what she was begging for. He placed a kiss on the arch of her foot, then returned to her lips, as his fingers slid up her thigh and found the bud of nerves that made her cry out.
*
She was more sensual than he had ever imagined. He had kissed every inch of her creamy skin, delighting in turning it pink, before he returned to her lips, kissing her until he was breathless.
When he touched her for the first time, he found himself watching her face, thrilled to be giving her this first taste of desire. He was desperate to chase his own release and yet somehow teasing groans and gasps from Anastasia as his fingers moved between her legs was almost more pleasurable.
When he could bear the torturous delight no longer, he moved his hips over hers, and locked eyes with her momentarily. She gave him a shy smile, and his heart began to race.
This was not his first time, not by a long stretch—but this time it meant something. This time, it would seal their union as man and wife.
“It may hurt, for a moment,” he said, not wanting to ruin the heady atmosphere, but also not wanting to shock her.
She simply leant forward and kissed him, as they became one.
She gasped and he froze, hating the thought of hurting her, and with no experience to draw on when it came to an untouched woman.
But when she opened her eyes, he saw the desire still there, and she squeezed her knees against his thighs, encouraging him to move.
He kissed her once more, rather surprised at the strength of the emotions filling him at this momentous moment, and her back arched and he gasped himself at the pleasure such a simple motion caused to shoot through his body.
They moved together, both chasing release, his lips pressed to her neck, her breath hot against his ear.
“Laurence…please…oh,” she cried out, and she clung to him as his release took his breath away.
He lay beside her, holding her close, and it took a long time for his breathing to return to normal. He turned his head to look at her, and she blushed and smiled and nestled her head against his chest.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked, his mind rather scrambled at just how mind-blowing the encounter had been.
She shook her head and he felt it against his skin.
Had it been so good because she had been a virgin? Or because she was his wife? Because he’d lain with many women, and chased a lot of pleasure, but never before had it felt as intense.
He turned once more and absent-mindedly pressed a kiss to the top of her head, as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
*
When Anastasia woke up, she was alone. That in itself should not have been surprising; she’d been waking up alone every morning she could remember.
And yet she had always gone to bed alone then, too. Now she was a wife, and she had spent the night with her husband, and she had somehow expected that when she woke up, he would still be beside her.
But he was gone.
She rolled over and tucked the sheets tightly around her naked body. She had never slept naked before, but after they had lain together…well, she presumed she had fallen asleep without even thinking of redressing. Her cheeks flushed warm at the thought.
Had he donned his clothes again when he had left her room to go, presumably, back to his own? Had he waited for her to fall asleep and then snuck out? Or had he woken and decided he was in the wrong place?
The sound of birdsong and the light bluish tinge that crept through the curtains told her it must be the early hours of the morning. Maybe he had not been gone long. She reached out to run her hand down his side of the bed, but it was stone cold. So he had not left recently.
She blinked back unexpected tears and told herself she was merely emotional after a long and surprising day.
She had not known what to expect on her wedding night…
and it had been far more, far greater, than she could have ever imagined.
It had changed her, she was sure. She rather thought if she looked in the mirror, she would see a different woman.
Her name might have changed to Lady Walsham the previous day, but it had not been until the night—their wedding night—that she had truly become her.
It was foolish to feel sad. For why should she expect him to stay? Most grand houses that she knew of boasted a master bedroom with an adjoining chamber for the wife, so it seemed likely that most men and women of their station slept in separate beds.
It had always made sense before. Why would one wish to share a bed if there was no need? Why would one wish to be asleep, and so vulnerable, in the presence of another?
But that had been before. Now…now it felt very unnatural to be parted from him so soon after they had been joined together.
But she supposed it was the way it was going to be. And so she closed her eyes and tried to get a little more sleep, so that she could look at things more clearly, with less sentimentality, in the full light of day.
*
Laurence tossed and turned in his bed, the bed that had once been his father’s, the bed that felt very large and empty.
It made no sense. He had never spent the night, in its entirety, with a woman.
And he had never brought one to this house.
So this bed had always been one he had slept in alone.
It had made sense to leave Miss—Lady—Anastasia’s bed once she had fallen asleep, even if he had found it surprisingly hard to slide her from his arms and pad out the door.
The whole night had been rather more successful and enjoyable than he had expected.
She had looked so terrified when he had come to her chamber, and he had felt compelled to offer her an escape, if only temporarily.
The marriage would need to be consummated, of course, and an heir hopefully conceived—but it didn’t have to be that night. He could have waited.
But she hadn’t wanted to. And then, in rather a surprising revelation, she had given in to passion in a way he had not expected.
Their compatibility, in the bedchamber at least, had been apparent almost immediately.
And the prospect of conceiving a child certainly was not an arduous thought, if the efforts were to be a repeat of that night.
But then why could he not sleep? It had been a long day, and a satisfying evening. He should have fallen immediately into a sated sleep that would take him through to the next morning. But he could not. Something didn’t feel quite right—but he could not put his finger on what it was.
With a sigh, he turned over, facing the door that connected his room to his wife’s, and wondered if her hair was still splayed out on the pillow as it had been when he had left.