Chapter Seven #2
He pressed the door closed with his back and approached her with the slow, even steps of a trainer bridging the distance to a skittish filly.
In his hand, he held two glasses of the rich brandy he’d been enjoying, and he offered one to her.
She hesitated only a moment before accepting it, like he knew she would.
He found it unexpectedly arousing that she enjoyed a stiff drink now and again, but he’d determined it was less the fact that she enjoyed brandy, and more so that she knew what she liked and wasn’t ashamed of it.
He watched as she followed his gesture to take up the seat by the hearth.
If she was confused when he placed a dark glass bottle on the floor near the crackling hearth, then she said nothing; neither did Rafe acknowledge it.
The time for that would come later.
As much as he wanted to lay her on the nearby bed and finally begin exploring the gentle curves he’d spent far too long imagining, Rafe had never deflowered a virgin, and he wanted to do right by his wife.
He knew the future of their bed play depended upon this night…
so it was a good thing he was very confident in his skills.
First on his agenda?
Encourage his wife to relax with banal conversation.
“Have you settled in well? The room is to your liking?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the chair beside hers.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied in a voice much smaller than he was used to hearing from her. She was nervous, but he couldn’t very well blame her for that, could he?
“Are you looking forward to the honeymoon trip tomorrow? I was going to warn you that the Channel crossing might be quite rough, but then I realized you’ve already crossed the Atlantic.” He knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead as if to underscore how daft he’d been.
“I’ve been around ships as long as I can remember. Even before Rockford Shipping became what it is, my grandfather was a captain. Luke and I have always enjoyed the water, and we often traveled to the docks and shipyards.” He loved watching her eyes sparkle when she spoke of her family.
“Then you will have to be the one to reassure and comfort me when we disembark tomorrow. I am afraid I haven’t been aboard anything more turbulent than a rowboat on the Serpentine.”
“Truly?” Astonishment dropped her jaw, and she leaned forward. “I thought all lords toured the Continent, or is that an ignorant assumption?”
He couldn’t very well tell her that there hadn’t been enough money in the Blackwood coffers to fund such a trip, nor had his father been inclined to allow him to go out of sheer spite.
Instead, Rafe gave a negligent shrug and sat back in his chair as if missing out on that rite of passage hadn’t bothered him in the least. “I found diversions enough here in London to occupy me.”
She tipped her head in acceptance and finally sampled the brandy he’d handed her. She savored it with obvious relish, and her appreciative moan shot straight to his cock.
“This is quite lovely,” she commented, examining the rich amber color of the drink in the firelight. Rainbows of light danced across her features, highlighting her elegant bone structure and drawing his eyes to the rebellious dark wisps of hair falling forward to graze her regal cheekbones.
“I am pleased you approve.” He watched her sip some more. “Forgive me for noticing, but you seem versed in brandy. It seems I will need to be sure our home is well-stocked with it.”
She had the good grace to blush a bit, and it made her already lovely features even more so.
“It is unladylike, I know, but it is my favorite drink. Claret is off-putting, whiskey burns too strongly, I can tolerate some wine and a sip or two of champagne, but brandy—good brandy—can be delicious and complex.” She moistened her full lower lip with her tongue, and the action drew his eyes like a flash of light in darkness in a beacon of eroticism.
He wanted to lick the brandy from her lips; to nibble the plump flesh and taste her sweetness.
He suspected he could become far drunker from that than from the drink in his glass.
“I agree,” was all Rafe could think to say.
He was so addled, his mind working only in fits and spurts.
What was it about her that made him feel that way?
Where he was normally so confident and composed, just sitting with her in that room was making his heart race.
It must have been his lack of sex. He hadn’t gone that long without a satisfying release in at least a decade.
He’d never lacked for company, and his body was completely off kilter because of it.
The low ache simmering in his every muscle made its presence known with undeniable heat, and try as he might, he knew deep down that his body would not have reacted that way for just any woman.
His lust growled appreciatively over the angle of her shy smile; even the timbre of her voice hummed through his veins like the headiest of substances.
Despite his inner impatience, the two of them settled into a banal conversation about the pleasantness of the day, the quality of the food, anything to lull Victoria into a state of ease.
Gradually, the evening wore on, the hour grew late, his wife had finished her brandy, and the time had arrived.
Already, she was more relaxed than when he’d first arrived in her chamber.
Relax, Rafe reminded himself. Relax and do what you do best. She is like any other woman; being legally bound to her does not change anything.
He’d practically made an art out of making women feel desirable and giving them orgasms. It was a skill he’d long prided himself on, and he’d relished exploring new and exciting ways to share pleasure.
Now, it was finally time to share that talent with his wife.
“You looked beautiful today, Victoria,” Rafe purred, intentionally using that tone when speaking her given name for the very first time. He witnessed the gesture’s intended effect in the dilation of her pupils, the slight catch in her breath. “Utterly enchanting,” he murmured.