Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Though he’d only been married a little over a week, Rowan felt as though he were seeing London through a completely different lens.
As he sat in the shadows of his private box at the Drury Lane Theatre, he realized with a start that he was enjoying himself.
That wasn’t due to the tedious comedy he’d stopped paying attention to ten minutes in, but the woman sitting beside him.
Tamsin sat with her spine straight and chin tilted at a defiant angle.
He knew she could feel the weight of the opera glasses trained on them from the pit, the whispered barbs of the ton wondering if the Rake of September had grown bored of his scandalous young bride yet.
But Tamsin hadn’t shown them one bit of fear or shame.
He felt a fierce, unfamiliar surge of pride. He hadn’t expected her to be so brave, and the fact that she didn’t seem to need protection made him want to protect her even more
The ease of their companionship had startled him.
He had spent his life surrounded by people, but he had very few friends.
Not real ones, at least. Lysander Thorne, the Marquess of Ashford, would probably take a bullet for him, but he couldn’t talk to him about the dusty volumes in his library or the pain of his childhood.
But every day that he spent with Tamsin—riding in the park, debating over breakfast, or reading in the library—he felt the walls he’d built around his heart crumbling. He wanted to believe this was real. That he could trust her.
The nightly kissing and touching were driving him mad with desire.
Slowly easing into the physical side of their relationship was testing every ounce of his self-control.
He had worshipped her skin, learned the specific catch in her breath when he touched her breasts, and shared kisses that left him aching and restless.
He had never had to wait for a woman in his life.
The anticipation was a new kind of fire, one that burned hotter because it was fueled by respect rather than just appetite.
He would have never guessed that friendship was such a powerful aphrodisiac.
She squeezed his hand as the candles in the great chandelier dimmed, plunging the theater into a heavy, artificial dusk as the second act began.
The music swelled to a deafening pitch, and he realized how much it could mask.
The idea of doing something daring, something secret and sensual, caught hold of him, and he shifted uncomfortably at the mere thought of what he could accomplish, unseen, in the darkness of the private theater box.
The railing in front of them hid everything but their upper bodies.
Now that the lights had lowered, even those watching them with theater glasses would be able to see very little.
But would she let him slide his hand beneath her skirts?
It was a scandalous thing for a husband to do to his wife in public, yet that was precisely what made the idea so exciting.
He had yet to touch her anywhere below the waist. In her bedroom, that was the point where she always stopped him. But perhaps here, where she’d have the comfort of knowing things couldn’t go too far, she’d allow it. He wanted to show her that it was nothing to fear.
Rowan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “Tamsin,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against the shell of her ear. “There is something I could do to make you feel so good right now. Do you think you could be quiet while I give you pleasure?”
He felt her shiver, and the delicate tremor made his blood rise even hotter. “I think so,” she murmured back, her eyes fixed on the stage, though her pulse was visible in the hollow of her throat.
“Then stay very still,” he commanded softly.
Under the cover of the heavy velvet railing, Rowan removed one of his gloves and then gathered the voluminous folds of her silk skirts until he could slip his hand underneath.
He found the warmth of her silk-clad knee and moved higher, his fingers deft and certain.
When he found the sensitive skin of her inner thigh above her stocking, he heard her let out a tiny, sharp puff of air—not a protest, but a gasp of pure shock.
He didn’t stop. He moved higher still, seeking the damp, hidden core of her.
Bloody hell, she was so warm and wet. This proof of her desire sent a jolt of pure fire straight to his groin.
He began a slow, rhythmic pressure, his thumb finding the center of her pleasure with the unerring accuracy of a man who had spent years studying the subject.
Tamsin gripped the edge of the railing, her knuckles turning white.
She didn’t look at him; she kept her gaze locked on the actors below, but her breathing had turned shallow and ragged.
Rowan watched her profile—the flush in her cheeks, the way her lips parted—and felt a dark, possessive satisfaction.
Here, in the middle of a crowded theater, surrounded by the very people who sought to tear them down, he was giving her something that belonged only to them.
He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear again. “Come for me, Tamsin,” he breathed. “Let yourself go.”
He continued the steady, relentless motion of his hand, watching her succumb to the sensation until she was trembling against him.
She turned her head and bit his shoulder to keep from crying out in pleasure.
As the play continued below them, he wrapped his arm around her and held her tight, aching with need but feeling more satisfaction than he ever had.
“That was… incredible,” she finally whispered. “I didn’t realize… I didn’t know it could feel so good.”
“I will make certain you always find your pleasure,” he assured her. “I always want you to enjoy our lovemaking as much as I do.”
“Was that what we just did?” she asked, obviously confused. “I thought lovemaking was when you were inside me.”
His cock throbbed heavily at hearing those words from her sweet lips. “This is another way for me to give you pleasure,” he breathed. “I suppose it’s like what you saw at Vauxhall Gardens. Only for you, instead of me.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening, and he realized she finally understood. But she didn’t seem shocked by it. No, she looked… fascinated. She even dared a quick glance at his lap, where his state of arousal was easy to see.
“Shall I…?”
She couldn’t get it out, but he knew what she was thinking, and the mere thought that she’d considered it nearly made him come on the spot.
“No,” he said quickly, but he hugged her tighter against him. “Not here. But I love that you asked.”
“You make me feel… daring.” She sighed and nestled closer. “I never dreamed that I could do something like that in public. Or at all.”
He laughed softly. “Well, I can’t wait to get you home.”
That was probably the biggest understatement he’d ever made.
The carriage ride back from Drury Lane was silent but loaded with anticipation of what would happen when they arrived home.
Tamsin sat in the dark, the scent of Rowan’s leather gloves and the lingering heat of his hand between her thighs making every bump in the road feel like a jolt of electricity.
They didn’t speak, but the weight of what had happened in the theater box vibrated between them like a plucked string.
She couldn’t believe what he’d done to her, how wonderful it had felt, and how badly she wanted to reciprocate the pleasure he’d given her.
He’d been so generous, so patient, but she knew enough to realize that he had yet to take any pleasure of his own, and she feared that he would soon grow tired of waiting.
When they finally reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, Rowan lingered by the door, his eyes dark with desire. “I should leave you to sleep, Tamsin,” he said, though he didn’t move. “It has been a long evening.”
She could tell he didn’t really want to go, but the fact that he was willing to leave made the rest of her doubts fade like smoke in the wind.
This evening had made her realize that there was no reason to put the physical part of their relationship off any longer.
If there was that much pleasure to be had, what was the point?
He wouldn’t hurt her. She was certain of it.
“Don’t go,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She moved toward him, her silk skirts rustling. “I think... I think I am finished with waiting, Rowan.”
She reached up, her fingers trembling only slightly as she began to undo the buttons of his frock coat. He stayed perfectly still, his breathing hitching as she peeled the heavy wool back from his shoulders. When she moved to his cravat, his hands finally came up to cover hers, his touch scorching.
“Tamsin,” he rasped, kicking the door shut behind him, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. “If we do this... if I stay... there is no going back to the way things were. I want you to be certain before we go any further.”
“I have never been more certain of anything,” she whispered. “The way you made me feel earlier… I want more of that. I want to make you feel good as well. I want to be your wife in every way.”
“I want that, too,” he assured her, his gaze gentle and heavy with longing. “I promise I’ll make this good for you, my darling. And if it becomes too much, please let me know. We can go as slowly as you want.”
“I will,” she assured him.
In the amber glow of the hearth, Rowan dismantled the barriers of silk and lace she wore with a tenderness that made Tamsin feel cherished. Was he starting to care for her? At least a little bit? She desperately wanted to believe it.
When she finally stood naked before him, the cool air hit her skin for only a second before he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed.