Chapter 32
“Aurora and I are taking a little trip into town today,” Auntie Arabella said as she held Luna in her plump arms and squeezed her softly.
A quick peck on her cheek, then she drew back and gave her niece what could only be described as A Look.
“You’ll have the cottage to yourself. In fact, I don’t think we’ll be returning until tomorrow morning. Late.”
A hot blush roared up Luna’s cheeks even as she couldn’t deny the little jolt of happiness she felt at the prospect. “Are you sure?” she asked hastily. “We . . . we wouldn’t want to kick you out of your own home.”
“Nonsense! The vicar’s giving us a drive into Greater Snoring. It’ll be a little holiday for Rory and me.”
With this declaration, Arabella firmly took hold of her sister’s elbow and turned her around to follow the vicar to his automagic mobile, parked out front.
Aurora sent Luna one last stern look, though what in the hecks she had to be stern over now, Luna could hardly guess.
She was a married woman, after all! She had the ring to prove it and everything.
Nigel moved to stand at her side on the sloped green lawn.
His right hand slid around her waist, a nice warm weight, while his left raised to wave goodbye to the aunties along with Luna.
When the vicar’s motor had at last put-putted around a bend in the road, however, he turned her to him and pressed a kiss on her mouth.
His lips positively burned.
A thin and quivery thread of nerves unspooled in Luna’s stomach. She pulled back from the kiss rather quickly and blurted, “Tea? How about some tea? I’m parched, aren’t you? Yes, I think a quick cuppa is exactly what we need.”
Whirling in a swoosh of aged silk, she gathered her skirts and all but fled to the cottage kitchen.
Her heart beat wildly, and she was painfully aware of every bone in the restricting corset she wore.
Because, of course, to wear Extremely Great Aunt Amelia’s wedding gown also meant to wear Extremely Great Aunt Amelia’s undergarments.
The gown simply wouldn’t fit right without them.
Which, in turn, meant she was a mass of layers: chemise, drawers, corset, corset cover, bustle pad, several petticoats, stockings, garters .
. . the whole production. She felt she could hardly draw a full breath, and the magicked atmosphere of the cottage yard was much too warm.
It was scarcely less warm in the kitchen. A little sheen of sweat broke out across Luna’s brow as her shaking hands fetched the old, glazed teapot down from its place of honor on the hutch. She bit her lip, wishing she knew the secret to calming all the swooping butterflies in her gut.
Nigel’s shadow filled the doorway. Luna nearly yelped out loud.
Gods, what was wrong with her? She’d just spent last night wrapped up in this man’s arms, and the kisses he’d given her had filled her with so much fire, she’d thought she would simply combust trying to wait for after the wedding! But now . . .
Well, now he could do whatever he liked, couldn’t he? They were married. She . . . she belonged to him. And he knew things that she simply had no experience with, and what if he was disappointed in her? What if he didn’t like what she did or had or was? What if . . . what if . . . ?
“Would you pop the kettle on?” she called out brightly, even as she rooted through her aunties’ tea stash. “You can fill it right there at the sink, just let the water run for a moment, it sometimes starts out a bit brackish.”
Nigel obediently fetched the kettle, carried it to the sink, pumped the water. When she handed him a box of matches, he lit the stove as well, all very silent and gentlemanly and calm.
But when he was done, and the kettle was on the fire, he turned to her and said, “What’s wrong, my dear?”
“Hmmmm?” Luna glanced up at him briefly then focused on the tea tin in her hand.
“Oh. I just thought we’d have the orange llarmi, but there doesn’t seem to be enough of it left.
Maybe the taeral instead? What is an auspicious tea for weddings?
I feel I once knew, but it all seems to have slipped my mind, and—”
He stepped over and took the tea tin from her hands, setting it to one side. Then he squeezed her fingers gently, trying to catch her eye. She couldn’t look at him. She fixated instead on the very old-fashioned cravat he wore, particularly the mother-of-pearl pin fixed in the center of its folds.
“Luna,” he said, his voice soft and warm. “I love you.”
She bit her lip. Swallowed.
“I love you so much. More than you could ever know.”
“I . . . I love you too,” she whispered.
“And I would never, ever do anything to cause you pain or anxiety. Not if I can help it.”
Luna flicked her gaze up to meet his at last. And she saw in his eyes such a shining, earnest, brilliant adoration, that the little icy chill around her heart began to melt.
She licked her lips, dipping her chin once more.
“Nigel, I . . . I don’t know if you realize this, but .
. . I’ve never done this before. I’m . . . I’m not sure how to go about it.”
“I know. And I’m here. And I will help you. And we will go very, very slowly.”
She nodded, but her throat still felt tight. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
He frowned. “Hurts?”
“I mean for women. The first time. I don’t know much, but I’ve picked up a little here and there, and .
. . and I know it can be uncomfortable. Even painful.
Some of . . . some of the girls at Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character weren’t always as good of characters as they let Mrs. Boggs believe, and they said .
. . they said there could be . . . blood. ”
Nigel’s hand touched her cheek, his fingers gently caressing. “Look at me,” he said.
She drew a shivery little breath. Then, steeling herself, she obeyed. His blue eyes gazed down into hers, full of softness and kindness which did not quite disguise the hot fire she knew burned in their depths.
“I will never hurt you, Luna,” he said with emphasis.
Luna bit her lip. “I don’t know if it can be avoided. Not if we’re going to—”
“If your body is properly prepared,” he cut her off, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, “it shouldn’t hurt. And I intend to prepare your body. In fact, I intend to spend days preparing you, weeks if necessary.”
“What?” The word burst from her with surprise, and she blinked several times.
“Luna, my dearest girl.” He smiled then and kissed her forehead, and though his lips trembled, they were so very tender. “I’m not in any rush,” he murmured. “We will make sure you are perfectly ready, and we will take all the time you need. No matter how much time that is.”
“But our wedding night! Or our wedding mid-morning, I suppose we should call it.”
His smile grew. “Yes?”
“I mean, don’t you . . . don’t you want to consummate things?”
“Considering we no longer live in a feudal society, and our marriage is not the linchpin upon which some perilous alliance depends, I don’t think such old-fashioned ideas as consummation need apply to us.”
“But . . . but, you know.” She licked her dry lips. “What about your manly urges?”
“Oh, I have them. Never fear.”
“Won’t you need to act on them?”
Nigel heaved a little sigh. “Well, here’s the thing about my manly urges,” he said.
“Because I am a man, I am not ruled by my urges. I am capable of controlling myself.” Leaning forward, he planted another kiss on her face, this time against her cheek.
“The only thing I want is to love you. To please you. To see you smile and laugh and gasp and maybe to hear that lovely voice of yours cry out my name in a moment of complete abandon. Everything else will come. In time. When we are both ready.”
Despite her best efforts, Luna felt that telltale prickling in her eyes again. She sniffled, and turned her face into his hand, trying to hide. But he saw anyway. “More tears, my dear?” he said, gently wiping them with his thumb.
“What if . . .” She grabbed his hand, pressing it harder to her cheek as she gazed up at him. “What if today is all we have?”
She didn’t want to speak the words. But the fear was there.
And it was very, very real. They were already living on borrowed time.
They probably shouldn’t have stayed in one place as long as they had, and when the aunties returned tomorrow morning, they needed to be gone already.
She didn’t know where they would go and, something told her, it wouldn’t matter. Her doom was at hand.
“What if this is the only chance we’re given?” she whispered. “One day of marriage. One day of love.”
Nigel cupped her face with both hands and leaned his forehead against hers. “Even if that were true, I would want to spend the whole day loving you. Worshipping your body with mine.”
He kissed her then. Softly, sweetly. And when it grew a little fiercer, Luna found herself responding in kind. Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he bent her over, and she fully gave herself over to the passion of his embrace, fears forgotten in a surge of desperate hunger.
Which was right when the kettle started screaming from the stove.
“Damn!” Nigel growled, still bent over her, his arms clasping and supportive. He looked down into her face, pale hair flopped over his forehead. “A spot of tea, my dear?” he asked through panting lips.
Luna shook her head drunkenly. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”
Grinning, he stretched out his arm, shifted the kettle off the stove, then pulled her close and kissed her again.
“Gods, how many buttons are on this thing?”
“If you’re tired, Mr. Grimm, you may take a break. I can always pop the kettle back on and—”
“No, no! One thing about the man you’ve married, Miss Talbot—he is not one to give up easily!”
“Miss Talbot?”
“Oh. Right. Mrs. Grimm.”
“You know, I do like the sound of that! How many more buttons have you got to go?”
“GODS!”
“There! That’s the last of it.”
“How many layers was that? The bodice, three petticoats, the corset cover, the corset, the stockings—"
“Too many! Now come here.”
“Wait! Don’t I get to remove a few more of your layers first? Not that you don’t make that ruffly shirt work for you, especially without the jacket and cravat, but I still think I should—Oooh!”
“We’ll get to it later.”
“But don’t you need a little breather now? Surely after all that exertion you must be a bit—mmmmmph!”
“Gods, your lips taste like honeysuckle.”
“Well, yours taste like dark taeral and cinnamon.”
“And your hair smells like vanilla.”
“Yours smells like soap.”
“Your skin . . . it’s the softest, silkiest . . .”
“Mmmm, you were saying?”
“Your delicious neck . . . your delectable shoulder . . .”
“Yes?”
“Just let me . . . I need to . . .”
“Oh, Nigel, tell me what you—oooh! Is that what you had in mind?”
“Luna, may I?”
“If you like.”
“And here?”
“Yes, please.”
“What about here?”
“Oh gods.”
“And . . . here?”
“Oh, gods . . . Oh, gods . . . Oh, gods, yes!”
“Nigel?”
“Mmmm?”
“I was wondering—oh!—when you were reading The Rake’s Redemption last night—hmmm!—That is to say, did you happen to make it to—ooooh!—chapter fourteen?”
“Chapter fourteen. Is that the one where Lord Rupert and Delphinia . . .”
“Yes, that’s the one. Well, there was this one part where he . . . where he used his . . . Well, it all seemed very strange to me.”
“I think I might know which part you’re referencing.”
“You do?”
“Did it involve Lord Rupert’s wicked tongue?”
“Maybe. Um, Delphinia seemed to enjoy herself rather a lot, but I admit, I find that passage a bit confusing. Doesn’t seem like it should work that way, does it?”
“Would you like me to explain the mechanics to you, my dear?”
“Oh, you’re familiar with that whole business, are you?”
“I may have picked up a thing or two, perhaps.”
“And the way it is in the story . . . that’s a real thing?”
“If the man in question knows what he’s doing.”
“Like Lord Rupert?”
“Yes.”
“Do you, um, do you happen to know anything about all . . . that?”
“I do. And I could tell you about it, if you like. Describe the finer points and details. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“Or I could give you a demonstration.”
“Um. Yes. Do.”
“Come to the edge of the bed, my dear. Now lie back. And breathe.”
“What are you doing down there? Isn’t the floor a bit hard on your knees?”
“Just breathe, Luna. Close your eyes.”
“Luna?”
“Yes, Nigel?”
“If Ward the Damned Wardsman walks in on us right now, I will blast him to smithereens.”