Forty-two
Her husband led her upstairs, past his study where they had deciphered her uncle’s journal, and stopped at the next door. After turning the latch, he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the threshold.
Three amber glass lanterns hung from the rafter, bathing the room in golden light. The bed was simple with a smooth headboard and cream linen bedding. The bedchamber wasn’t much different from the one she had been using downstairs, except for his frame drums propped against the walls.
She pecked a kiss on his lips and urged him to set her down. A plush carpet cushioned her steps from the stone underneath. She approached one of the smaller drums to glide her fingers over the stretched hide.
“I like when you talk about your studies,” she said. “I must confess, your skill level impressed me. Is drumming difficult to learn?”
He closed the door. “Would you like a lesson after your lady’s maid helps you dress for bed?”
She tipped her head. Did husbands and wives wear night clothes on their wedding nights? Regina had led her to believe otherwise.
“You needn’t send for Joy, unless helping with my gown is too daunting. Ladies’ undergarments are quite the puzzle sometimes.”
He chuckled. “I imagine we can solve it together.”
“Indeed.” She nibbled her bottom lip, glancing past him to the door.
“If you’re having second thoughts—”
“I’m not, but could we turn the lock?”
His smile was soft, affectionate, as he returned to the door. The tumble and click melted some of the tension in her shoulders, but her breath caught when he began untying his cravat.
She crossed her arms, then dropped them at her sides. What was she supposed to do with her hands now, and why did they feel like foreign appendages?
His eyes appeared darker in the lamplight. “You didn’t answer my question, love. Do you want a drumming lesson?”
Regina had reassured her it was common to be nervous on the wedding night, but Evangeline had always felt at ease with Jonathan. She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Should we remove your gown first? The skirts will get in your way.”
“Oh, yes. That makes sense.” She reached behind her back to loosen the sash before turning away. She glanced over her shoulder. “If you can reach the fastener in back…”
He approached her slowly, giving her time to change her mind if she wished.
But she didn’t wish it. When he grazed the backs of his fingers up her bare arms, she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. His warmth wrapped around her, and she was back in the mountains with him—secure and cherished.
As his fingers worked the hook loose, his breath caressed her nape, spreading lovely tingles through her.
“Lift your arms,” he whispered and dragged her gown over her head.
She untied her petticoat while he loosened the laces of her stays. Her light cotton shift did little to hide her figure, but it felt good to be free of so many layers.
“Choose your drum.” Jonathan carried her gown to the wardrobe to hang it on a peg and removed his jacket and waistcoat. When he untucked his shirt tail, she smiled. They were on equal footing again.
“Should I choose a large or small one?”
“The one that calls to you.”
She glanced his way to see if he was teasing, but he appeared earnest. “Very well.”
When she reached the drums, she skipped the smaller one to skim her fingers over the frame of the one next to it. The skin was paler than the rest, stretched taut and secured with grayed nailheads around the rim.
“I recently had that one repaired,” Jonathan said.
“It must be a favorite.”
“Shush, the others will hear and become jealous.”
She laughed lightly and walked to one that looked the most cherished and old. Lamplight reflected off the polished mahogany frame. Its large hide was stained from years—perhaps decades—of use. “This is the one.”
A brief smile lit his eyes. “Are you certain?” he asked, already clearing a stack of books from a stool and dragging it toward the end of the bed. “Sit, and I’ll fetch it for you.”
She did as requested and hiked her chemise over her knees to make space for the drum between her legs.
“Experiment with it,” Jonathan said. “Strike it with your palm and try rolling your thumb or tap it with the tips of your fingers to hear the different tones.”
With him standing over her watching, a rush of heat swept over her. She was a novice, and he was a master. What if she embarrassed herself, or worse, disappointed him?
She wet her lips.
“You needn’t be shy, love. Would you like me to show you?”
“Or stand where I cannot see you. I feel awkward with you looking on.”
Shrugging, he snagged a ladder-back chair, placed it behind her, and sat. His knees nestled against her thighs; his arms circled her waist. She was pressed against his chest, and her heart created its own rhythm, drumming hard.
When he nuzzled her ear, he murmured, “Now you can only feel me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Much better.”
Tentatively, she dropped the heel of her hand on the drum, the deep tone tapping into memories of watching Jonathan play for Semkari. How mesmerizing he’d been; raw and sensual. She took a deep breath and struck it harder. The vibrations traveled through her. She could feel it in her lower stomach.
“Keep going.” He grazed the back of her arm with his fingers, sliding slowly toward her wrist. “Try a thumb roll, like this.”
When he flicked her hand, the sound was different. Exciting, stirring her curiosity. She struck it again, using different parts of her hand on various places on the drum. The sounds were unrelated, no pattern like when Jonathan had played, but it was textured and interesting.
Jonathan swept aside locks of hair that had slipped from her hair pins and pressed his lips gently to her neck. Her breath quickened.
“I love you so much,” he said. “I don’t deserve you, but somehow you are mine.”
She stopped playing and closed her eyes.
Her hand rested against the soft drum skin.
How could she put into words how full her heart was now—how complete she felt?
Laying the drum on the floor, she turned toward him to caress his cheek.
A light stubble scratched her hand. She was free to touch him, and she loved the sensation.
“I’m pleased to be yours. There is nowhere I would rather be than here with you.”
“I need you closer.”
When he pulled her onto his lap, she slid her hands to the back of his neck, slipping her fingers into his hair as their lips met.
The sweet taste of honey lingered in his kiss.
His hands tightened on her waist, a gentle pressure that kept her secure.
As he angled his head, teasing her upper lip with the tip of his tongue, she inhaled deeply, her pulse soaring.
One of her hands slid down to his chest, skin against bare skin. His was searing hot, and she drew back. “Are you feverish?”
“No,” he said, his voice husky. “You do this to me.”
“Oh?” She smiled, recalling some of the drawings she’d stumbled across in a Roman history book from the Wedmore House library. “Are you aroused?”
He chuckled. “Do you want to find out?”
Before she could answer, he stood with her in his arms and carried her to the bed. As he reached to unfasten the front fall of his trousers, she lifted to her elbows. Her eyes widened when she caught her first view of him.
“Heavens,” she whispered. “I thought it was an exaggeration.”
He ripped the shirt over his head and scrunched his brow.
“In the, erm. The, uh—” She waved her hand. She couldn’t remember now.
“What about you, love?” Her heart beat faster as he placed his hands on the bed beside her hips and leaned forward to kiss her stomach through her chemise.
“Are you aroused?” he asked, his warm breath filtering through the thin material.
“I-I think I am.”
A smile slowly spread across his face. “I think you are, too. Do you want to know how to tell with a lady?”
She hesitated briefly, but she was truly curious. She nodded once.
“Your skin is flushed, and you’re breathing harder,” he said as he slipped his hand high on her waist, stroking the underside of her breast with his thumb.
Her skin heated in his thumb’s path; her gaze locked with his nearly black one.
“And I can see your arousal here.” He cupped her breast, brushing his fingers across her nipple.
She closed her eyes, moaning softly.
“Do you like when I touch you here?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice airy.
He captured her hips and slowly dragged her to the edge of the bed. “Untie your chemise so I can see you better.”
She fumbled with the drawstring bow at her neckline, but he waited patiently. When it was loosened, she pushed the fabric aside. A flush spread from his chest to his neck, then his face.
“Beautiful,” he murmured and touched her again. She arched into his hand, reveling in this new pleasure. “Do you want to know another way to tell?”
She nodded, eager to learn more about her body.
When he pushed the hem of her chemise over her hips, she bit her bottom lip. He climbed on the bed beside her to link their fingers, his hand on top of hers. “Have you ever touched yourself, love?”
“No,” she said so softly that she wondered if she had truly spoken.
“May I show you?”
She turned toward him slightly to kiss him and whispered her consent. He slowly slid both of their hands between her thighs. Their fingers brushed soft curls and silky warm skin.
“You have a treasure, too.” He kissed her cheek and caressed a special place that made her gasp. “It’s smooth like a pearl. Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” she sighed as they stroked her lovely treasure and she sank into the mattress. Her breathing grew deeper, more ragged.
“I want to bring you to completion,” he said as he unlaced their fingers to prop up on his elbow.
She met his smoldering gaze and stroked herself again. Flames flared in his eyes. Smiling, she did it once more before surrendering.