Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Time moved strangely in the late afternoon.
Phoebe had imagined that she would spend the remaining hours doing something sensible – unpacking, or familiarising herself with the space she was expected to live moving forward.
She had even expected that she would begin to compose a letter to her siblings, as she thought it would be good if she were to put her thoughts together, little by little.
But none of that had been the case at all.
She had settled down in the room and found herself unable to move as exhaustion from the days earlier wore her down.
She had not felt at ease ever since they had heard about Anna’s scandal, her mind and body existing in a perpetual state of unrest while they scrambled around in search of a solution.
And before she realized it, Phoebe had gone from planning to save her sister, to planning her wedding. Her soul felt heavy as well, from all the emotions that she had nestled within her as her wedding approached.
Now, sitting silently, she felt as though she could collapse, so she climbed into the bed, relishing the feeling of the soft sheets against her skin. Moments later, she had fallen asleep.
It was a knock at the door that had woken her up and when she had instructed the person to come in, it was Jenny.
“It is nearly time for dinner, Your Grace. We’ve drawn you a bath. Would you like me to help you disrobe?”
Phoebe stared at the girl blearily in disbelief, unable to fathom how she had been able to let time get away from her like that. But she was too nervous to eat, so she shook her head.
“I-I'm sorry, I do not have any appetite currently, so I will simply take a bath and prepare for bed instead. Do not worry about me, I can handle that task. Do give the cook my sincerest apologies.”
“All right, Your Grace. Are you certain you will be fine by yourself?” the girl questioned in concern.
“I am sure, thank you,” Phoebe assured kindly.
“If you insist,” Jenny curtsied. “Good night, Your Grace.”
When she was alone again, Phoebe took a moment to assess her situation. She had lost nearly three hours – which truthfully served her well because her mind was clearer now – and soon, the duke would be knocking at her door.
Quickly, she took off her wedding dress and headed to the bath to soak in an effort to calm her reignited nerves. The water smelled of flowers and it did help distract her for a moment, however, she found another problem waiting for her when she returned to the room to get dressed.
She had not purchased new nightgowns.
The thought had occurred to her about a week ago, in the midst of all the wedding preparations, and she had added it to the running list of things to attend to – and then, somehow, she had failed to attend to it.
Phoebe was now standing in her dressing room in one of her old ones; plain white cotton, perfectly decent, utterly unremarkable.
Nothing a new duchess ought to be wearing on the first night of her marriage.
But there was nothing she could do about it now.
She stood in front of the mirror for a moment and regarded herself with a critical, yet logical eye.
The gown was fine – perhaps a tad worn but still it was suitable enough.
Her hair was down around her shoulders, cascading down in soft waves that her mother had once said reminded her of honey.
And on her cheek – the scar, right where it always was, for all to see.
She pressed her fingers briefly to it, an old habit she had long since stopped trying to break, and looked away from the mirror in an effort to move on with the rest of her preparation.
Moments later, she found herself tied to yet another issue – she did not know where to stand.
It was only an issue because while she knew what was to happen – or rather what had been implied – she wasn’t sure how to tide herself by in the meantime as she waited for the inevitable.
She couldn't sit on the bed, because that felt too obvious.
She couldn't stand by the window, because she would only stare out of it and let herself be consumed by her thoughts endless.
Eventually, she settled in the chair near the fireplace, which seemed like a reasonable compromise – until she thought about moving again, seconds later.
She was still deliberating when the knock came.
Phoebe stood up so quickly that she nearly knocked the chair back, and then stood very still, straightening her posture, composing her expression.
"Come in," she said, and was relieved to hear that her voice was steady.
The door opened and Edward stepped into the room, bringing with him the usual air of casual confidence. He had changed as well – had rid himself of his coat, and his shirt lay open at the collar in a manner that made it far too easy for her gaze to follow the path of his exposed chest.
His gaze moved to her and then, unhurriedly, around the room. The corners of his mouth shifted.
"You moved the chair," he observed.
Phoebe looked at the chair, noticing that was slightly askew from where she had startled it. "I was sitting in it."
"Were you?" he said pleasantly. "And before that, were you standing near it, trying to decide whether sitting in it was the correct choice?"
She looked at him a narrowed gaze, clenching her hands by her side to hide the fact that they were shaking. "No."
"Mm."
He sounded entirely unconvinced as he crossed the room toward her slowly – as though he had all the time in the world and did not particularly intend to rush any part of it – and Phoebe held her ground with some effort.
"You're nervous," he noted, stopping a few feet from her.
"I am not," she bit back.
“If you say so, wife.”
His tone was patronizing and irritation consumed the nervousness that lay beneath her skin and she glared up at him. He tilted his head to look down at her, the candlelight catching the green of his eyes, in a way that made it difficult for her not to notice how disarming his gaze was.
"Phoebe," he mumbled and a shiver ran down of the spine.
It was the first time he had called her by her name and the direct simplicity of it made her blink.
"You needn't hold yourself like that," he said, and his voice had changed; the dry amusement was still there, but beneath it there was something quieter. "I'm not going to devour you."
Perhaps he had meant it as a joke. However, her mind registered it as a comforting remark, and she let go of the breath she had been holding, tension seeping out from her body.
"I am not in the habit of being nervous," she admitted without understanding why.
"I surmised as much," he nodded. "You are in the habit of managing things. This is not a thing you can manage."
She had no reply to that, because it was accurate enough to sting a little.
He reached out, gently, and tucked a strand of hair back from her face – from the scarred side – with a touch so brief and light that it barely registered before it was gone.
"Come here," he prompted.
She stepped closer, and allowed him to hold her face the way he had after he proposed to her, tilting her head back. When his lips pressed against hers, she went still.
It was foreign, the warm sensation that was followed by a gradual spread of head both within and outside her body. He pulled her closer and held her in a firm but gentle grip that kept her pliant as his lips worked over hers.
She tried to match his actions and he hummed in approval, pressing even closer.
Phoebe gasped as one of hands trailed down her back and his tongue slipped into her mouth, mingling with hers in a slippery tango.
Her knees grew weak and she clung to his shirt in an effort to keep herself up, breathless and dizzy when he pulled back moments later.
“You are a quick leaner,” he complimented, voice gruff.
“I'm... glad to have pleased you, Your Grace.” She panted, her face aflame.
He dipped his head low to her ear, pressing his lips to the shell of it as he whispered,
“If you address me by my title again, I will be very cross with you.”
Something about his tone served as a warning she was all too eager to heed.
“E-Edward,” Phoebe mumbled.
“Good,” he smirked as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw, then at the juncture of her neck before he came back up and kissed her lips again.
This time, he was a little more insistent, the kisses lingering longer between the occasional nibble and tug of her lips between his teeth. His pace was slow and she found it easier to go along with it and kiss him back.
It was startling to realize that she was enjoying it, the feeling of his lips against hers, the soft mumbles of “breathe, Phoebe” that slipped into the air between them before he kissed her again, the way his hand caressed her frame.
Eventually, his hands tugged at the fabric of her nightgown and when she pulled back – shocked to find that her arms had wrapped around his neck unconsciously – he took the dress off. She barely had time to focus on her nakedness before she was swept up into his arms and carried over to the bed.
Edward lowered her onto her sheets gently, leaning back to take in her body slowly, a smile gracing his lips easily.
“You are so beautiful,” he sighed, claiming her lips once more.
When they broke apart, he told her softly, “Do not worry. It might feel different from your previous trysts, but I will ensure that you are thoroughly ravished. I will not leave you unsatisfied.”
Phoebe blinked up at him, confused. “W-What do you mean?”
He chuckled, kissing and sucking at her neck, before making his way down, one of his hands sliding up from her waist to grope at her breast.
“You do not need to hide it. I have no reason to judge you for your past.”
“But... nothing happened. In the past.”
Edward went perfectly still, then he slowly positioned himself to hover over her, placing his hands on either side of her for support.
“What do you mean?” he questioned slowly.
It was hard to distract himself from her body. From the moment he kissed her, it had taken everything in him not to consume her completely then and there.
But he could tell she was nervous and he wasn’t selfish enough to simply take what he wanted without ensuring that she was enjoying their relations. So, he slowed himself down, eager to make every kiss and touch feel as good for her as it did for him.
And it did feel good. It was hard to believe how sensitive she was, how good she tasted. He wanted to go on for as long as he could but her words had made him stop.
“Well...” she hesitated as that stunning red color spread over her cheeks. “I have never been with a man before. In any sense.”
“That cannot be possible,” he said immediately.
Her eyes widened and her expression turned into one of offense.
“Why not?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
Momentarily, Edward found himself distracted by her generous, lovely bosom and he cleared his throat and willed himself to focus.
“Phoebe, you seem greatly unaware of how beautiful you are. I am not saying that out of obligation and I have no reason to lie. You never had a lover? Even just for a little while?”
She shook her head slowly and he sighed deeply. He never would have imagined this being the case.
“Why do you seem… in disbelief?” she queried hesitantly.
Edward scoffed, wondering how to answer such an obvious question.
“Well, I cannot imagine that your scar would have served as much of a hindrance in the way of such matters. Perhaps it might have kept you from being married but I do not think any man with a good enough sense of sight would have allowed you to simply walk away from you without entertaining lustful thoughts. I would expected that with your acceptance of your spinster role, you would have sought after experiences of pleasure yourself or chased feelings of desires. That way no party would have to feel the need to hold an inkling of responsibility.”
“I have never had such desires,” she sputtered indignantly.
“Yes, clearly,” he mumbled with a sigh as he shook his head.
It was surprising enough that she was a spinster, but to have never been with anyone... that complicated matters slightly.
Being her first and only might cause her to grow unnecessarily attached to him, which was something he did not have any strength to deal with. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
However, they would not have intercourse tonight.
He leaned down to kiss her again, relishing in the way she responded immediately, her body arching against him as he ran his hands along her sides. She sighed into the kiss when his tongue brushed against hers and shivered when he slowly parted her legs.
He continued to kiss her as one hand made its way lower and lower, slipping between her legs.
Phoebe gasped when his fingers found her hidden center and slipped past her folds.
“Shh,” he whispered softly, pressing his lips to her jaw as he stroked her slowly. “It’s all right. Just let yourself feel it.”
She seemed to take his words to heart, throwing her head back as the most obscene sounds left her mouth. She writhed and moaned beneath him as his fingers thrust in and out of her consistently, stroking at her moist heat.
She felt... good to touch. It made Edward wonder how she would taste if he were to pleasure her with his tongue, how she would feel around his growing member. His breeches tightened at the though and he forced himself to focus on her, pleased to see her reduced to a mess.
“N-No – I can’t –”
“Do not try to control it, precious. Just feel it,” he whispered as he worked at her slippery, hardening nub.
Her body grew taunt suddenly and she moaned, the sound low and broken, it nearly made him lose the rest of his senses. Her body relaxed and he couldn’t help but reward her with a kiss, surprised to have enjoyed the activity as much as he had.
She kissed back gently, clearly spent and he pulled her covers over her body as he told her,
“We will stop here for now and I will give you a week to prepare. I'd like you to feel more comfortable – accustomed to the idea of what it is we need to do. And then, we will consummate the marriage.”
Phoebe nodded, her eyes fluttering sleepily and he found himself stroking her hair for a moment before he rose to take his leave.
He stopped by the door, glanced back at her once, then he left the room.