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The maid bobbed a curtsy, suddenly tongue-tied in the presence of her new master. She trotted to the door and left.
Lord Vale looked after Suchlike. “I hope I haven’t frightened your little maid.”
“She’s just nervous in a new house.” Melisande watched him in the mirror as he roamed her room, an exotic male beast. She was his wife. She was hard-pressed not to laugh aloud at the thought.
He strolled to the little fireplace and peered at a china clock on the mantel. “I really didn’t mean to disturb your evening toilet. I’m terrible about time. I can return in another half hour or so, if you’d prefer.”
“No. I’m perfectly ready.” She took a breath, stood, and turned.
He looked at her, his gaze trailing down over her lace-trimmed chemise. It was voluminous but nearly sheer, and she felt her belly tighten at the touch of his eyes.
Then he blinked and looked away. “Perhaps you would like some wine?”
A small twinge of disappointment went through her, but she didn’t let it show. She inclined her head. “That would be nice.”
“Excellent.” He moved to a side table by the fireplace where a decanter stood and poured two glasses.
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.
