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She came to the fireplace and was standing near him when he turned back around.
He held out a glass. “There you are.”
“Thank you.” She took the glass and sipped. Was he nervous? He was staring into the fire, so she sank into one of the gilt chairs and waved at the other. “Please. Won’t you sit, my lord?”
“Yes. Quite.” He sat and drained half his glass, then leaned forward suddenly, the glass dangling from his fingers between his legs. “Look here, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this properly all day, and I’ve yet to find a way, so I’ll just say it. We married rather rapidly, and I was away for most of our engagement, which was my own damned fault, and I’m sorry. But because of all that, we haven’t had a chance to become properly acquainted and I was thinking, ah . . .”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you’d rather wait.” He finally raised his eyes to hers and watched her with something very much like pity. “It’s your decision—I leave it completely up to you.”
It came to her, in a blinding, terrible flash of light, that perhaps he didn’t find her attractive enough to bed. Why should he, after all? She was tall and rather thin, her figure not particularly shapely. And her face had never been called pretty. He’d flirted with her, but then he flirted with every woman he met, high or low. It didn’t mean anything. She looked at him mutely. What was she to do? What could she do? They’d married just this morning; it wasn’t something that could be undone.
She didn’t want it undone.
He’d continued speaking during her awful realization. “. . . and we could wait a bit, a month or two, or however long you wished because—”
“No.”
He stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
If they waited, there was a chance the marriage would never be consummated. That was the last thing she wanted—the last thing he’d said he wanted. She couldn’t let that happen.
She set her glass on the table in front of the fire. “I don’t want to wait.”
“I . . . see.”
She stood and went to stand in front of him. He looked up at her, his eyes brilliantly blue.
He drained his wineglass, set it down, and stood as well, making her look up. “You’re certain?”
She merely raised her brows. She would not beg.
He nodded, his lips firming, and took her hand, leading her to the bed. She was trembling already, just at the touch of his hand, and now she didn’t bother trying to hide her reaction. He folded back the covers and indicated she should climb in. She lay down, still in her chemise, and watched as he took a small tin out of his banyan pocket and placed it on the bedside table. Then he took off his banyan and shoes.
The bed dipped beneath his weight when he climbed in beside her. He was warm and large, and she reached out to touch the sleeve of his shirt. Just that, because she thought her heart might beat itself to death if she touched any other part of him. He leaned over her and brushed his lips against hers; she closed her eyes in ecstasy. Oh, dear Lord, finally. She was now drinking sweet sherry after spending her entire life living in a dry, lonely desert. His mouth was soft but firm, the tart taste of wine on his lips. He laid his hand on her breast, large and warm through the thin cloth of the chemise, and she shuddered.
She opened her mouth in invitation, but he pulled his head back. He looked down, fumbling between their bodies.
“Vale,” she whispered.
“Shh.” He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “It’ll soon be over.” He reached for the tin on the table beside her bed and opened it. Inside was some type of unguent. He dipped a finger in, and his hand disappeared between them again.
She frowned. It being over soon wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. “I—”
But he’d hiked up her chemise, baring her to the waist, and she was distracted by the feel of his hands on her hips. Perhaps if she stopped thinking so much and simply felt . . .
“Let me,” he murmured.
He widened her legs and settled between them, and she realized that he’d opened the placket of his breeches. She could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against her thigh. All sound left her throat as she felt a spurt of excitement.
“This may seem rather odd, and it may hurt, but I won’t be long,” he muttered rapidly. “And it’ll only hurt the first time. You can close your eyes if you wish.”
What?
And he entered her.
Instead of closing her eyes, she widened them, staring up at him, wanting to experience every small part of this. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if he were in pain. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the width of his shoulders and how tensely he held them.
