Chapter 5
Quinn propped himself on his elbows and studied his new wife.
The fingers that had dug into his shoulders rested on his upper arms. Her eyes were closed, her lashes delicate on her cheeks.
Her lips were parted and her cheeks flushed.
The glorious golden tangle of her hair spread itself across the linens beneath her, glinting in the light.
Quinn could feel its silkiness wrapped about his fingers.
He wanted to kiss her to wakefulness again, but let her doze instead.
The scent of Melissande’s release was intoxicating. Quinn was glad that she had been pleased—and against her every expectation.
Indeed, it had even been against his own.
She stirred and her lips parted, and Quinn could resist temptation no longer. He bent and brushed his lips across hers. Melissande’s eyes flew open and he feared what she might say.
To his relief, she smiled. “That did not hurt,” she whispered and stroked his upper arms. He liked that she seemed to want to explore him and smiled back at her. “You kept your vow.”
“As is my inclination in all matters.”
“But it is not done, is it?” There was a wistfulness in her tone.
Quinn shook his head. “Nay, my lady, we have only half done the deed.”
She nodded, though her smile was less confident than it had been. “I do not know what to do next.” He recognized that she had braced herself for the inevitable and wished he could ensure that it did not hurt, even the once.
“Fear not, my lady, for I do.”
Her smile was fleeting but she did not recoil.
Quinn eased his weight over her, glad that she parted her thighs for him. “I shall try to be gentle.” He caught his breath and closed his eyes at the promise of their union, willing himself to proceed with caution.
It had been so very long.
Melissande’s grip tightened on his arms and he heard her breath catch.
Quinn leaned lower, crossing his arms beneath her and cupping her shoulders within his hands.
He smiled down at her and kissed her again, feeling some of the tension ease from her.
He must proceed slowly, regardless of how long he had been alone, regardless of how much he wanted to hasten.
He had to be slow and careful, so that Melissande might taste the pleasure mating could bring.
Quinn closed his eyes in pleasure as he eased inside her. She was warm, like satin left in the sun, and unbearably soft. He moved and heard her gasp.
He froze, his eyes flying open.
Melissande smiled. “Just a twinge,” she whispered and he was glad that she wanted to reassure him.
Quinn eased deeper, watching her closely, and she inhaled sharply. Her gaze was unswerving, though, and her eyes began to sparkle with newfound confidence.
“It is not so bad as that,” she confessed, to his relief. Her smile turned impish. “I want more, husband.”
Her demand thrilled Quinn, though he still moved slowly.
Her smile broadened and she lifted her knees, welcoming him as he had never expected. Quinn froze.
“You like that,” she murmured.
Quinn could only nod.
“Tell me how to please you, husband,” she whispered. “It is only fair that we each have some pleasure this night.”
Quinn could not find the words.
Evidently, his silence tempted his bride to guess.
Melissande arched against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. She rubbed them there, a move that she clearly found pleasurable, then ran her hands over his shoulders and chest with proprietary ease. She explored him more boldly and Quinn welcomed her touch.
“Does that please you?” she whispered. She tightened her legs around him. “And this?”
Quinn’s pulse pounded in his ears, his chest was tight and still she coaxed him further.
“Melissande... I...” Quinn could not form a coherent thought to save his life.
“This?” Melissande stretched up and kissed his ear.
The gentle touch of her tongue, the sensation of her breath there, the brush of her lips, all combined to make his blood nearly boil.
She ran a line of kisses down to his nipple, then teased it as he had teased hers.
Quinn was on fire. He ran his hands down her back, locked his hands around her waist, and moved deeply inside her.
She smiled, a siren with her gleaming hair beneath her and a thousand promises in her eyes. Quinn gripped her hips and claimed her with a trio of strokes, each deeper than the last.
Melissande drove him onward, rising against him with a passion he had not dared to share.
Her legs tightened around his waist, her arms locked around his neck.
Quinn was trapped within her, captured by her, enfolded and encircled by her warmth.
She urged him to a frenzy with a determination that stole his breath away.
His eyes flew open as her nails dug into his shoulders once more. Quinn realized that she was reaching the crest again. Her eyes were glittering and he nearly laughed aloud that they should find such harmony unexpected.
Melissande was his bride and partner for all time. She was his and his alone—and Quinn would pleasure her until his dying day.
At that realization, Quinn’s release swept through him in a torrent and he roared with satisfaction.
He moved against her, ensuring that she would find her pleasure, and smiled as she gasped in wonder again.
They clung together then fell to the mattress, still entangled in each other, still breathing heavily.
Quinn lifted a hand and pushed a stray tendril of hair back from Melissande’s cheek. It twined around his finger, as if to hold him fast to his lady’s side, and he kissed it.
“Melissande,” he whispered, awed that she was his wife. “My lady Melissande.”
She opened her eyes and granted him a sleepy smile that warmed him through to his soul. She curled against him and slept, even as he marveled at his good fortune.
He had feared this mating might be a trial.
He could not have been more wrong, and he was glad of it.
This was a sign that their future was bright together.
They might have started badly, but all would improve from this night onward.
They would have sons and rebuild Sayerne and rule their estates in wealth and harmony for decades.
They would have every blessing and every joy.
Quinn could not wait. He rose from the bed with reluctance, knowing that they would sleep better with some minor alterations.
He washed them both, then retrieved the lady’s chemise and managed to tuck her into it without awakening her.
He watched her sleep as he donned his own.
He extinguished the lanterns, put a little more fuel on the brazier, then climbed back into the great bed.
He pulled the covers over them both even as he tucked Melissande tightly against his side.
He did not miss that her lips curved in a smile.
He did not doubt that he was responsible for her satisfaction.
Before he slept, Quinn resolved to prompt her smile each and every night.
Against every expectation, he was the most fortunate man in all of Christendom and he would ensure Melissande never doubted his joy in that.
The blood on the linens was a rude awakening the next morning.
Melissande blinked but the incriminating red spots remained. She had awakened alone in the great bed and had peeked, guessing what she would find but startled at the brilliant red stain on the white linen.
Her maidenhead was gone.
She and Quinn were wed beyond any dispute.
What would happen to Annossy? Would this marriage lead to the destruction of all her family had built? Of all she had defended? What did her new husband know of administration? And how much would he take from Annossy to rebuild Sayerne?
She was not certain she wished to know.
Worse, she had broken her own pledge to await Arnaud.
It was true that Tulley had compelled her to do as much, but she had not needed to meet Quinn abed with such enthusiasm.
How could she have forgotten herself? How could she have heeded sensation and ignored all else of import? What manner of wanton was she becoming?
How much more base would she become in this man’s company?
The possibilities were terrifying.
Quinn was already tending the fire, wearing only his chemise, the morning light picking out the glints in his hair. That he granted her a satisfied smile over one shoulder did naught to lessen Melissande’s guilt.
Even now, she felt her blood simmer at Quinn’s slow smile. Had she forgotten every virtue she had been taught to uphold?
What else would Jerome’s son convince her to forget?
“Good morning, my lady.” Quinn strolled back toward the bed, intent in his eyes, and Melissande was shocked that she warmed in anticipation of his touch.
“There is naught good about it!” she replied, hearing the fear in her own tone.
Quinn paused, watching her. Melissande knew it was unfair to blame him for her own failings—unless this had been his scheme.
She pushed a hand through her hair, not surprised to find that it had tangled in the night since it had not been braided.
She was a ruin and was surrounded by the scent of their mutual pleasure. She might as well have been a whore.
It would be easier to blame Quinn if she had not been so weak.
“I thought that last night’s deeds would have made this morning a sunny one,” he said, speaking with care.
“Last night’s deeds are why all is in disarray,” she said, feeling her tears rise. “I might have been at home at Annossy this morning. I might have slept with my hair braided and the linens unsoiled. I might not smell of...carnal union.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirked before he sobered again. “Some might say that a woman is always at home with her husband beside her.” He raised his brows. “And that the marriage bed should smell of carnal union.”
“Some like Tulley, perhaps.” She was no better than a tavern wench.
He sat on the side of the bed. “It seemed to me you enjoyed the fact that you were not alone last eve.”