Chapter 16
It was with great regret that he laid her down, once she’d caught her breath.
He stood over the bed and watched her, still dazed and panting, wriggle the rest of the way out of her chemise, leaving only her stockings and her wedding ring on her remarkable body.
He stood and he stared, because even a saint would stare in this situation.
And when her breathing began to deepen and her lashes ceased to flicker, he finally pulled a blanket over her, ran his hands over his head, and turned to seek out a set of pajamas and some remaining semblance of his own sanity.
He picked up the remains of her wedding gown and her corset. He discarded his own suit too, all on that chair by the door. There would be time tomorrow to stow them properly. And he looked back over his shoulder again at where she slept, a kind of wonder settling over his shoulders in the process.
How long had he been in love with her? Was it just tonight? Or had this been going on for some time?
He frowned, tugging the pajama shirt on over his head and shaking his hair out with his fingers.
She had been wound so tight that a single release had toppled her directly into unconsciousness. The very first stroke of pleasure had rendered her nearly mute. Vix, he realized, never came undone, even when she was alone.
Not until tonight.
He glanced at the door, wondering if he ought to fetch her water. Perhaps even food.
“Ambrose?” came her groggy, muffled voice. “Are you leaving?”
“Leaving?” he said, turning back to her with immediacy. “No, my love. I thought perhaps you would want something to eat or drink, is all.”
She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest and rubbing her knuckles over her eyes. “Don’t leave,” she said. “But water.”
It made him chuckle, shaking his head. “How am I meant to accomplish that?”
She only frowned at him from across the room, looking somehow impossibly small and delicate over there against his headboard.
He sighed. “All right.”
He opened the door and bellowed down into the night, hoping that someone was still awake down there to hear him.
It didn’t appear all the lights were snuffed yet, so it seemed hopeful.
He stood and waited, and after a moment, starchy Mrs. Jenkins puffed her way up the stairs with a tray and a smile.
She’d brought fruit as well. A cluster of grapes and a little wedge of cheese to go with it.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said at a more reasonable volume as he accepted it. When he turned back into the room, Vix had transported herself to the foot of the bed somehow, and was now wearing the satin nightgown.
Sadly, those pretty stockings were discarded on the rug next to the chemise.
“How did you do that so fast?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her as he kicked the door shut behind him.
“I rarely dally,” she said, her voice still a bit smaller than usual, hesitant somehow.
She watched him cross the room and set the tray down, her dark eyes following his hands as he filled a glass for her and passed it into her grasp.
She blinked twice, the corners of her mouth still sagging, and seemed to steel herself before sipping it.
He waited, ready to offer her more should she need it. He suspected that if he moved now or spoke too soon, he would spook her. It felt like something very fragile was floating between them here, and he could not see or grasp it, so his only move was to avoid knocking it over.
She finished the glass and held it empty in front of her, drawing in a few little breaths before she raised her eyes to him. “Have I made a fool of myself, Ambrose?” she asked.
“No,” he said, rather than demanding to know what the hell she meant. “You didn’t.”
Her expression flickered, her fingers coming up to twist at her hair. “I do not think that was a customary encounter,” she said, averting her eyes. “I may not be experienced, but I think I know enough to know that was not normal.”
“What was the word I used?” he asked, taking the glass from her and kneeling between her legs, waiting until she turned to look at him. “What did I say?”
She pressed her lips together but did meet his eye, her brows drawn close together over them.
“Extraordinary,” he informed her. “Extraordinary is not customary or normal, no. It is exceptional. Better in every way.”
She exhaled, a tentative relief tugging at the lines of her face.
Her hand came up, just short of touching his cheek, settling to stroke the tips of his hair instead.
“At school, they told us men would try to seduce us into their beds,” she said softly.
“The charity girls got a different speech, I think, than the others. We were told about temptation and pleasure and empty promises, but that as soon as a man got what he wanted, his sated appetite would turn desire to disgust when he looked upon us, and all we would be left with was shame.”
He reached up, taking her wrist and pulling that tentative hand down to kiss her palm, holding her wrist against his thumb. “And you believed that?”
She shook her head. “Not at first. Not until I saw it happen over and over again to girls I knew. Pretty girls. Kind girls. Worthy ones. Men would write them poetry and sing them songs and swear eternal love until they were ruined. Then they would disappear.”
He nodded. “You thought I was leaving tonight.”
She made a face, shaking her head. “No, not … I knew you couldn’t just vanish. I live in your house now. You married me. But I thought the disgust might have arrived, even though you didn’t … well, we didn’t … I know I didn’t perform …”
“Vix,” he said, as seriously as he could, his voice as somber as it got.
“Even if things had progressed the traditional way, I would not have left. I do not think you understand how impossible it would be for you to sate my appetite for you in a single encounter. I do not think it possible for you to do it at all, truth be told.”
She scoffed, trying to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip.
“I am serious,” he said. “Look at me.”
She clenched her jaw, but she did it, her dark, dark eyes locking onto his with a brittle glint.
“You saw my desire too,” he told her. “Are you disgusted now? Do you want to flee me because of how I wanted you? How I touched you?”
“Of course not!” she hissed, trying and failing again to jerk her hand away. “That is ridiculous!”
“Yes it is,” he agreed, holding her fast.
“You kept all your clothes on,” she pointed out, her voice trembling a little, like it had lost its footing. “It isn’t the same.”
“Do you want me to take my clothes off?” he asked her, raising his brows. “I will walk around naked for the rest of the night if you wish.”
“No,” she said, clearly furious at the way her lips wanted to twitch into something like amusement. “Maybe.”
“Done,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and moving to unbutton his shirt.
“Ambrose, I was joking,” she said, the amusement escaping now, tugging at the corners of her lips. “Stop it.”
“No,” he said, shrugging the shirt off, baring his torso to her.
She paused, her eyes falling to the newly exposed skin, her brows rising the tiniest bit. “All right,” she said, softer now. “Just the shirt.”
He paused, holding it out in between them, a little surprised to find her so interested. “Are you sure? I’m entirely willing to go full bottom-out for you.”
“I’m certain you are,” she answered, finally cracking enough to let a titter escape, her fingers coming up to her lips. “Perhaps I’m not yet prepared for that.”
He gave her half a smile, tossing the shirt away and moving to drop himself next to her at the foot of the bed. “Yet, is it?” he asked her, reaching out to smooth a strand of hair between his fingers.
“Yet,” she agreed, letting him, her eyes still scanning the parts of him she had never seen before, grazing over the dip of his collarbone, trailing over the swell of his ribs.
“I shall feast on that yet,” he told her, giving her a nudge. “You spoil me.”
“Oh,” she said, her tone immediately dropping to a scold, her brows snapping back together. “I know you must be terribly impatient. I suppose I am being selfish, aren’t I? It isn’t my intent.”
“Vix,” he said, following that strand of her hair down toward her shoulder, twisting it over his knuckles, “shut up.”
She gasped, her pretty lips falling open in outrage. “How dare you?” she asked, shaking her head.
And then she kissed him.
She slid her hands over his cheeks this time, touching without hesitation. She held the warmth of his skin against her palms, and she leaned forward and tentatively brushed her lips against his, like she wasn’t sure this was allowed or what might happen if she went through with it.
It wasn’t like the kiss in the church, he realized. That had been a performance. A point being made.
This was something else.
He touched the back of her neck with the tips of his fingers. He brushed the line of her jaw with his thumb. He leaned closer, but only at her request, at the pull of her hands in his hair.
It felt like she was testing the science of kissing, like she was attempting to prove that such a thing was not actually real, and failing horribly in the process.
She kept huffing and adjusting her posture, tilting her head this way or that, trying different amounts of pressure, experimenting with the tip of her tongue, with the nip of her teeth.
It was divinely unbearable.
She made a frustrated little grunt, pulling back with a frown. Her hands trailed down his throat and came to rest on his bare chest, on the thundering of his heart and the rise and fall of his breathing.
“I will try that again,” she said, like she had missed an archery target. “Later.”
“All right,” he replied, his vision gone a bit bleary. “At your leisure.”
She scooted back, still frowning, her fingers trailing down and away from his bare skin. She was examining him like a puzzle that was refusing to be solved. One she had tried and failed to force her way through.
“I should like some grapes,” she said suddenly, her voice gone brisk. “Will you have some?”
He blinked at her, glancing over at the tray of water and food like he couldn’t remember where he was or that fruit could be eaten. “If you like,” he managed, pushing himself over to grab the tray and set it between them on the mattress. “I prefer the purple ones.”
She plucked one of the green grapes from the bunch and bit it in half, its duet of seeds glistening in the center as she regarded him. “Purple grapes,” she repeated. “I shall tell Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Not if you like the green ones,” he said, choosing one with a twist from the stem.
“I don’t mind the color,” she answered, watching him. “I like when they are small. The big ones lose a bit of texture and rarely taste as pleasant.”
He wasn’t sure why this charmed him, but it did, and he found himself smiling as he bit into his own grape.
It might have simply been that he never would have expected her to confess such a preference to him, or to speak it aloud at all.
It felt like the oddest little victory, soaked in grape juice and color.
“I decided I am going to throw a ball,” she said, pulling one of her legs up from where it dangled over the edge of the bed, and tucking it up under the satin skirt of her nightgown. “A charity ball, to raise money for girls like me, who rely on scholarships to attend school.”
He tilted his head, suspicion stirring in his bare chest. “I see,” he said carefully, “and for no other reason at all?”
She bit into another grape and gave him a sharp, wicked little smile over the split fruit. “None whatsoever,” she lied, making him chuckle.
“And who will we be eviscerating this time?” he wondered, cutting off a sliver of cheese and breaking it in half, offering her the larger piece. “More alumnae?”
“My headmistress,” Vix answered, accepting the cheese with an arch of her brow. “Shall I tell you all the ways she was horrible?”
“I think you already did, just a moment ago with that business about trusting amorous men,” he said, raising his brows in question until she gave him a quick nod of affirmation. “Right, how shall we do it, then?”
She blinked at him, a flicker of surprise passing over her face, though her little devious smile did not falter.
“Ambrose,” she said, reaching across the grapes for his hand. “Are you agreeing to be my accomplice again?”
“Of course,” he answered, twisting his fingers through hers. “I think that was in the vows, wasn’t it?”
She laughed. She laughed properly, not a stifled titter or a hysterical melting break, just a woman letting her amusement out unguarded.
“If it wasn’t,” she said, popping the remainder of her grape into her mouth and settling in to scheme with him comfortably from the rumpled blankets, “it ought to have been.”